Hired! ~7~

She opened her mouth to speak, but his finger pressed against her lips, quieting her.

“Don’t argue just for the sake of arguing,” he cautioned. “We both know how much you’d hate eating your own words.”

He didn’t just remove his finger. Oh, that would have been far too simple, she thought. She felt pissy thinking it, and tried to figure out where that was coming from. Self-examination before going out with Mr. Dangerous? Weird, but likely necessary. It seemed silly, okay, stupid to be holding onto a work-grudge. And yet he had  figuratively tied her hands there, holding her back from doing all but the most mundane and trivial work that even a gopher could have accomplished.  Still, the curl of lust in her belly could not be denied as that finger slipped down her chin, then raised it. His eyes practically ate her, she thought, her heart fluttering nervously. He moved closer still, then his lips brushed lightly across hers.

“Okay,” he said, a smile on his face, “let’s be off, shall we?” and he lightly smacked her bottom. She jumped, the spell he’d woven around her broken.

No. Not broken. Enhanced.

Still, she wasn’t ready to get into a sexual haze with her boss, version 2.0. Been there, done that, ripped up the tee-shirt,  she thought.

“You’re frowning already.”

Shaking herself, she tried to find a snappy retort, but she found herself unable to find one that seemed appropriate.

“I’m trying to decide what to wear. As a jacket.”

“Well, choose quickly, as our reservation time is approaching.”

Quickly, she opened the coat closet, where order ruled, and grabbed her short leather jacket. It would pair nicely with her outfit.

“Ready,” she said.

“I think you’ve forgotten something.”

“I have my purse here, my jacket…you’re here, so….” she looked at him like he was mentally deficient, he thought.

“Is going out barefoot the new thing?” he mused.

“Oh HELL!” she said, then giggled. “Okay, you win. I’ll go get shoes.”

She dashing into her bedroom and paused. Shit, she’d almost forgotten the unholy mess in here.

“Dear. God.”

She turned to find a look of shock and perhaps horror on his face.

“Katherine…” he said, his voice trailing away as he took in the enormity of the mess.

“No. No, go away. You didn’t see this. It never happened. I mean, never. It’s one date, and you’ll never have to witness this ever again.”

She pushed him back, but he was like a brick wall.

“Well, we’ll debate that later, but what the hell happened in here? It looks like you threw your very own panty party in here. Or a rave. Or whatever the hell they call it these days. This…from my tidy, organized, everything-in-it’s-place  Katherine? I…it…” he ran a hand over his hair, then looked at her, and laughed. “You’re a fucking slob at home, Ms. TidyPants.”

“I am NOT,” she retorted, her cheeks flushing. She shoved at him again.

“Oh, only all this evidence to the contrary,” he guffawed, his hand swinging around to take in the entirety of the room.

“Shut. Up. Mr. Jerkface Jackson.” Teeth gritted she began pushing him in earnest. “Out. Shoes. Go.”

She darted to the open closet door, and grabbed the first pair of black shoes in there. She knew they were the right ones because those had not been affected by the Attack of  First Date Syndrome. Darting back to the door, her foot caught in a bra strap, the other caught in a cup. When she tried to shake it off, she stepped on the boning of the her corset, and yelped. Hopping on one foot, she immediately slid across a silk teddy, and wound up flailing along the side of her bed, until she fell. She landed face first. Burying  her face deeper into the pile of crap on her bed, she moaned.

His footfalls moved across the room. Carefully and slowly, she noted, so he wouldn’t step on her shit. She didn’t want him to get any closer so she tried to shoo him away.

“I’m not ever getting up from here. I’m not ever going to look at you, or remember that you exist in the world. Go away and leave me to die in my embarrassment.”

Her hands made flopping motions at him, as if to wave goodbye.  Her voice, muffled by the pile of clothing and blankets on the bed, came out as a wail. His laughter clearly carried to her, however.

Damn him.

He kept laughing. He laughed so hard that he tried to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, but he slipped on a silk charmeuse robe, rolling right down the side of the bed to land on his butt on the floor beside her legs.

And still he laughed, the dumb ass.

“ohmygawd,” she moaned, but a giggle escaped.

He gulped air, coughed, as he laughed even harder, then tugged on her leg until she fell down beside him.  He had tears in his eyes from laughing, the rotten cur!

“Stop laughing,” she laughed.

“Can’t,” he laughed.

Later, she was never sure how long they sat there in the destruction of her room, but they were both exhausted, sides aching, when they finally ran out of giggles.