Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(56)

Charlie remains quiet as I lead her into my office. In fact, she hasn’t said a word aside from thanking Ginger, who—after forcing details out of Ben—ran to us just outside the hall to the private rooms with a bag of ice.

Now she suddenly seems nervous. Or unsure of how to act around me.

That makes two of us.

I pull up a chair and motion for her to sit. Leaning back against my desk in front of her, I pull the chair forward until her bare legs—looking long and sexy in that tiny skirt—butt up against the side of my thigh. Practically, it will allow me to hold the ice against her cheek for her. Greedily, I need to touch her. The fact that she doesn’t shift away tells me she’s okay with that.

The angry red mark will likely be a bruise in a few days, but nothing to damage that gorgeous doll face of hers. Charlie is perfection. She has a face I could lose myself in. And I do right now, settling my gaze on her lush mouth. I can’t help myself from dragging the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip. Her lips are so much softer than I had even imagined.

Glossy eyes look up at me, waiting expectantly. And I still my hand. I don’t know where to go next. What’s right? What do I allow to happen? Do I just let things happen? Do I unload my past on her as I did on Penny, so she knows the kind of man she’s getting involved with, the kind of violence I’ve seen, the kind of company I’ve kept?

Or perhaps Nate is right. Should any of that matter? It matters to me, but will it matter to her? I know Charlie’s coming with her own bag of secrets. But, frankly, as long as she’s not willfully doing something immoral, I don’t give a shit what she’s done. I just want to help her get away from it.

She lifts her hand to press mine against her mouth tightly.

Are we really doing this?

“I don’t know how to do this, Charlie,” I say, barely above a whisper, hoping she understands me. “I’ve never done . . . this.”

After a long pause, her lips tickle my skin as she whispers, “I think you’re doing just fine.”

I feel my lip curl up in a smile, her attempts to build my confidence charming. I’m learning quickly about Charlie and the more I learn, the more I like. She doesn’t ask a lot of questions and yet she always seems to know what to say.

She drops my hand, allowing me to tend to her cheek with the ice again. “Are you sure you want me doing office stuff for you?” she asks. “I have no experience.” She squeezes her eyes shut, adding in a rush, “With office stuff. I have lots of other experience.” Then her cheeks explode with color.

It’s such a rare sight to see Charlie flustered that I can’t help but chuckle, which makes her cheeks burn brighter and a giggle escape her lips. And that giggle is music to my ears.

Parroting her earlier words, I tease, “I think you’ll do just fine.” I, on the other hand, trying to keep my hands off of you while you’re in my office, will not. “How about you come in at four tomorrow afternoon?”

She smiles and dips her head in assent. “Charlie Rourke, administrative assistant, at your service.”

Hmm . . . I like the sound of that. “You know I’m looking for a female manager, right?”

“To do what, exactly?”

I shrug. “To help me manage this place. It’s a lot to do on my own.”

She bobs her head slowly as if considering it.

“Think about it.” Lifting the ice bag off her, I inspect her cheek. If I look hard enough, I can see where his knuckles made contact. If I ever see that guy again . . . My fists clench in anticipation. “Does it hurt?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “It’s just a bruise. Nothing’s broken. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of them.”

“Your father?” Fuck. Did I just ask that out loud? I hold my breath, hoping Charlie missed it.

“No, from . . .” She pauses, her brow furrowing deeply. “My father?” She swallows. “What do you mean?”

Ah, crap. What is it about Charlie that makes me say stupid shit? I never say stupid shit! Quickly trying to cover my tracks, I clear my throat and say, “Nothing. I mean, a lot of girls working here have had abusive fathers and I just assumed—”

“Cain.” The edge in her tone is unmistakable. It’s sharp with equal parts wariness and panic. She adjusts her body so that her legs no longer touch mine and her back is rigid. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Charlie is too damn perceptive. No one but Storm and Nate knows about John and how I have him basically burglarize my employees’ private lives. Now Charlie’s going to know because, though I’ve never done this relationship thing before, I’m smart enough to realize that it won’t work by lying to someone’s face.

I sigh with regret and then begin to rattle off what John told me. “George Rourke, born May first, 1962. Truck driver with a drinking problem and a history of abusing your mother until her death.” Does Charlie even know that her mother died? By the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, I’m suspecting she might not have known. Fuck! My insides are twisting. This is just getting worse and worse. “You ran away on your eighteenth birthday and there’s been no trace of you until you flew from New York to Miami two months ago. Look, I have fairly extensive background checks done on all of my employees. The private investigative type.”