Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(80)

“I’m going down to grab a sandwich,” he says. “Want anything?”

“Alex, right?”

He nods.

“Mind if I tag along?”

“Oh. Well, sure. Okay. Yeah. I mean, I’m just gonna get something downstairs and bring it back.”

“Sounds perfect to me.” I grab my purse and follow him to the elevator. He’s tall and so skinny that I’m guessing I have at least ten pounds on him. His hair is cut short, almost into a military buzz, and he’s wearing a T-shirt announcing that Pluto is still a planet. On that, I agree wholeheartedly, and I tell him so.

It is as if I have opened the conversational floodgates. By the time we reach the lobby, I know everything about him except his Social Security number and have been invited to join his World of Warcraft guild anytime.

“So you’re dating Damien Stark,” he adds, as we cross the lobby to the small cafeteria. “That’s cool.”

“I think so,” I say politely, but I can’t help but cringe a little. I am starting to realize that by being Damien’s girlfriend I have taken on more than just Damien. I have parked myself under a microscope. For someone who has lived most of her life behind a mask of polite indifference, it is not the most comfortable place to be.

“Yeah, so the sandwiches here are pretty good,” Alex says, and I am grateful for the change of subject. “The pizza kind of sucks, though.”

“Salads?”

“Beats me,” he says. “I don’t do rabbit food. Meet you back here?”

I nod, then head toward the rabbit food area. I’m waiting for the server to put together a Cobb salad for me when a familiar-looking Asian woman steps into line behind me. I’m trying to place where I’ve seen her before when she points at me and says, “Innovative, right? You’re the new girl.”

“Nikki Fairchild,” I confirm. “I’m sorry, I’ve been introduced to about a million people, at least it feels that way. I don’t remember your name.”

“No, no, we haven’t met. I work in the building. Lisa Reynolds. I’m a business consultant, and I’ve known Bruce for years.”

I suddenly remember where I’ve seen her. “You were in the lobby on Friday,” I say. “At one of the tables.”

“I usually am at least once a day. I can’t live without coffee, and I like to get out of the office. Here,” she adds, then digs in her purse for a business card. “If you ever want to sneak downstairs for a latte, give me a shout.”

“Thanks,” I say, genuinely pleased. I haven’t met that many people since I moved to Los Angeles, and I’m psyched to have a potential friend in the building.

I promise Lisa I’ll give her a call this week, then head upstairs with Alex. I want to get back to work, but I also know I should get to know my team. I suggest that we eat in the break room, but I have to confess that I am relieved when he tells me that he’s going to eat at his desk so that he can play WoW.

I’ve finished the salad and am deep into an analysis of some troublesome code when Damien calls. “Hey,” I say. “Did you see that article in Tech World?”

“Talking shop, Ms. Fairchild?”

I laugh. “What else should I talk about? The scarf you sent me? Your skill at picking out gifts has become a little rusty, but I guess there is some logic. If I already own it, I probably already like it.”

“You make a good point,” he says. “I’ll keep that in mind for future gifts, too. At the moment, though, I was hoping to talk about the very interesting piece of correspondence I received this morning.”

For a moment, I have no idea what he could be talking about. Then I remember the drive in the Bentley. Oh my.

“Are you in an office or a cubicle?” he asks.

“An office,” I say. I swallow, recalling all the things I wrote in that letter.

“In that case, my dear Ms. Fairchild, I think you should close your door. For that matter, I think you should lock it.”

“Damien, I’m at work,” I protest, but I do as he says.

“What a coincidence. So am I. Imagine my surprise as I’m reviewing my morning mail. Requests to speak at business conferences. Investment opportunities. Real estate proposals. All intriguing opportunities, but none so enticing as what I find when I open a simple letter sent on my very own stationery.”

“Damien …”

“You have a way with words, Ms. Fairchild. I was quite relieved that my assistant was at her desk when I read your letter. I don’t know that I would have been able to hide my erection. You really are quite a little minx.”

My brows lift. “A minx?”

“I can still remember the sound of your voice,” he quotes, “so smooth I almost came just from the sound of it. And the cool leather against the hot skin of my ass. Even then, I wanted your hands on me, your cock inside me. I barely knew you, and yet I wanted to submit to you utterly.” He says, “Yes, I think minx is a very accurate description.”

“Oh.” Hearing my own words read back to me, I have to silently agree. “I was inspired.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. When I ran across the scarf in the apartment this morning it reminded me of you, and after I got your letter, I thought that I should return it right away. You see, we didn’t really let that scarf live up to its potential.”