If only Dunc had known his challenging new job came with Paul Hanks, a man who redefines “stubborn.” They need to work together to meet targets, but thanks to Dunc’s idiot predecessor, Paul won’t take his calls or reply to emails.
There’s only one solution: travel across the country and confront Paul face-to-face. It’s time to take things out of the office.
I drop my keys twice before I manage to get my front door open. Paul laughs about it, and I want to be embarrassed, but how can I be when I’ve made him laugh?
It’s going to be so bad for me if he just wants to be friends.
“Just dump your bag there for now,” I tell him, tossing the keys on the console next to the door that I bought just for that purpose and dropping my laptop bag too. “I’ll give you the twenty-cent tour.”
He’s still grinning as he closes the door and drops his bags next to mine.
“Living area and kitchen.” I wave at the open-plan space, which is actually a pretty great size for an apartment in South Yarra, and then head toward the short hallway. “Bathroom is here”—I open the door on my way past so he can see it—“and this is the spare room-slash-office-slash storage room.” I hesitate, then push open my bedroom door. “And this is my room.”
He peers into the spare room, then saunters past me into my bedroom. Paul Hanks is in my bedroom, and his big, warm body brushed against mine when he entered. My mouth is so fucking dry right now.
He walks over to stand beside the bed and looks around. It’s nothing special, really—bed, nightstands, dresser, wardrobe, rug. The view from the window isn’t bad, but it’s not exactly a selling point either. At least I made the bed this morning.
Turning to face me, he raises an eyebrow. “Are you just going to stand there?”
For a long moment, I don’t understand. Then he raises his hand to his shirt and begins unbuttoning it, and awareness comes crashing in on me.
“Oh thank fuck!”
It’s going to be so bad for me if he just wants to be friends.
“Just dump your bag there for now,” I tell him, tossing the keys on the console next to the door that I bought just for that purpose and dropping my laptop bag too. “I’ll give you the twenty-cent tour.”
He’s still grinning as he closes the door and drops his bags next to mine.
“Living area and kitchen.” I wave at the open-plan space, which is actually a pretty great size for an apartment in South Yarra, and then head toward the short hallway. “Bathroom is here”—I open the door on my way past so he can see it—“and this is the spare room-slash-office-slash storage room.” I hesitate, then push open my bedroom door. “And this is my room.”
He peers into the spare room, then saunters past me into my bedroom. Paul Hanks is in my bedroom, and his big, warm body brushed against mine when he entered. My mouth is so fucking dry right now.
He walks over to stand beside the bed and looks around. It’s nothing special, really—bed, nightstands, dresser, wardrobe, rug. The view from the window isn’t bad, but it’s not exactly a selling point either. At least I made the bed this morning.
Turning to face me, he raises an eyebrow. “Are you just going to stand there?”
For a long moment, I don’t understand. Then he raises his hand to his shirt and begins unbuttoning it, and awareness comes crashing in on me.
“Oh thank fuck!”
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