Good Girl(6)

Lydia: Really??? Want to go to Ikea after work??



Payton: No, not really, nerd. It's our second weekend in Vegas. We are not spending Friday night at Ikea.



Oh. Well, maybe Saturday then.

I've got a team meeting in five minutes so I pocket my phone and make my way to the conference room. The second through fourth floors of this hotel are all office space. These floors aren't accessible from the guest elevators, so we're sorta hidden, like having a building within a building. We've got separate elevators from the employee entrance that service nothing but these three floors and the executive suites on thirty-four. Not that I've seen them—they're for senior-level employees who live on site. Can you even imagine?

My department—human resources—is on the fourth floor along with legal, accounting, security and the executive offices. I'm a human resource associate, reporting to the director of human resources, who reports to the vice-president of human resources. If it sounds like a lot of people, it's because it is. I'm one of seven associates. We all started together this week and we will eventually be divided up and assigned as the lead contact by department. Housekeeping, food services, front desk and bell services, entertainment, recreation, retail and gaming. That's just the front-of-house stuff.

This place really is a world all of its own.

There's a break room on each floor with free coffee, so I stop there on my way to the conference room. It's got one of those fancy coffee machines that make lattes and espresso and hot cocoa and even regular coffee. God, working here is like a day at Disney for me! There's fruit and snacks and bottled water too, and—oh, my God. I stop dead. That guy. The break room has that guy too. I mean, he's here, in the break room. Not that he's stocked in the break room, like a free packet of peanuts, which are indeed stocked in the break room. Gah, Lydia! Focus!

I've taken two steps into the room, my heeled feet clicking on the linoleum and announcing my presence before I can do so myself. He's in the midst of uncapping a bottle of water and I have half a second to observe him before he notices me.

Half a second to confirm he just does it for me.

Why is that? All I've done is kiss him. Why does he have this effect on me? It's not like I'm so innocent that a kiss sends me reeling. I've kissed guys before and none of them made me feel like this. They made me feel, if I'm being honest, apathetic. Hence why I'm still a virgin. Because why bother? If a guy makes you feel like you could take it or leave it, just why bother?

Yet this guy makes me feel like I could be actively promiscuous. Yup. When I see him I'm pretty sure I've got untapped slut potential. Holy all of everything that is good, why is he so attractive? It almost hurts to look directly at him. I feel all warm and turned on and weird.

He notices me and I see the flash of recognition or surprise in his eyes. I suppose it's a mixture of both, but it means he remembers me, doesn't it? It so does.

He says nothing, but his eyes remain on mine as he turns to face me. He brings the bottle to his lips and sips, seemingly unhurried, just watching me. His expression gives away nothing, and if I hadn't caught that brief look in his eye when he first saw me I'd think he didn't remember me, but he does. I know he does.

We're alone. Just us, an empty break room, the hum of the refrigerator and the smell of coffee permeating the air.

This is my chance.

"Oh, hey, um, so you work here?"

That's what I come up with for my big moment.

"We met the other day. Last weekend. Whatever." I add a stiff wave to the pile of awkward that just left my mouth.

"That we did," he replies with a small nod of his head. He recaps the water without looking at the bottle because his eyes never leave me. Gah, his freaking eyes. They do things to me. Dirty things, at least in my mind. His gaze dances across my face and I feel flush everywhere. I take a tentative couple of steps forward, my heels clicking against the floor. He has smart eyes. Intelligent. Insightful. He looks like a man capable of quick decisions. He looks like a man who doesn't miss the details.

"So you work here? I work here." I sound a little breathless when I say it. I exhale and try to pull myself together.

"Yes. It appears that we both work here."

I think I'm repeating myself. I need to move this along while I have the chance, before someone walks in or he takes off.

"So that was nice," I offer. "When we met."

"Nice?" I think his lip twists into the tiniest hint of a smirk when he speaks, one eyebrow quirked in question or amusement. I wish I could run my fingertip over that eyebrow. Examine the tiny line running across his forehead and whisper my fingers across his jaw.

"The kissing thing," I clarify. "In case you ever wanted to do it again."

His eyes widen and both brows rise, the smirk gone. Then he shakes his head a fraction and smiles. I'm amusing him. Shit. I must sound like a teenager, he's surely used to offers way beyond kissing.

"And whatever else you want," I amend quickly. "I mean, if you're interested."

"Jesus Christ." He says this slowly and not necessarily in a reverent way. The hand not holding the bottle of water comes up and drags across his jaw and then he tilts his head a little as if he's easing some kind of stress in his neck. The smirk is gone.