Sleeping with the Boss (Anderson Brothers, #1)(10)

The only indication of her state of mind was the twitching of her pinky fingers. She was uncomfortable. Well, of course she was—he’d really f*cked up, not only by blasting in here and startling her, but by pushing her so hard in her office yesterday. “Look, Claire. I’m sorry I came on so strong yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Her eyes met his. “I liked it,” she said, barely above a whisper. She smoothed the paper flat around her sandwich. “Loved it, actually.”

The breathy sound of her voice made his whole body stand at attention before his brain even had time to process her words. I liked it. He’d liked it, too. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. He hadn’t blown it after all. There was that honesty again. He was attracted to this quality about her even more than her ass, and her ass was pretty f*cking spectacular. “Yet you turned down my offer for lunch.”

A slight smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, and all other things implied.”

“Why?”

“Fear.”

“Of?”

“Everything.” She fiddled with the corner of the sandwich wrapper.

That was a completely unexpected exchange. Raw and real, but a little too vague. They were right on the edge of something, teetering before either pulling back or falling off completely. He remained still, hoping she’d go on without prompting.

“Do you want some of this sandwich?” she asked, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“Sure.”

After placing both halves on one side, she ripped the wrapper in half, then put part of the sandwich on it and slid it to him.

Still, he sat silently and waited. She seemed to want to tell him more but didn’t know how. He had seen this dozens of times with the men in his unit. Honesty needed to be given, not forced. Sometimes, though, it could be coaxed. “You were talking about fear,” he prompted before digging into the sandwich. The fact that she wasn’t trying to get rid of him, knowing he was one of the owners of the company, boded well for her innocence. No way was this girl the spy.

She took a bite and chewed for a moment before answering. “Yeah. Well, I’ve taken care of people my whole life, pretty much. Now all those people are gone. For the first time ever, I’m free.”

“So you turned down my offer for lunch because…?”

Her eyes shot up to his. “Because I’d reached my all-time record number of Claire-isms for the day and the earth might have exploded if I committed another.”

“Claire-ism?”

She ate a bite of yogurt and nodded. “Yeah. When something goes massively wrong or especially when something is embarrassing, my friend Heather calls it a Claire-ism. I’m forever doing odd or embarrassing things.”

“Your skirt ripping was a Claire-ism.”

“A prime example. So was spilling my purse.”

He nodded. “So how does that relate to my lunch offer?”

“That had massive Claire-ism potential.”

He smiled—he found himself doing that constantly around her—and took another bite of the roast beef sandwich. “In what regard?”

“In every regard. First, I wasn’t sure you meant it. Second, I would have done something awkward. Third, it made no sense.” She dipped her spoon in the yogurt, and he watched her pull the utensil between her lips.

He leaned closer, staring at her full mouth before reluctantly dragging his gaze back to her deep hazel eyes. “First, I meant it. Really meant it.” Her breath caught, and she blinked slowly. “Second,” he said, leaning even closer—close enough to smell something floral, perhaps her shampoo, “something that you consider awkward, I might like. Take the ripped skirt for example—I liked that a lot.” A blush crept up her neck and over her face. “And as for not making sense…” He leaned back in his chair. “Go out to dinner with me so I can show you how much sense it makes.” She remained silent, but her eyes never left his. “Say yes,” he prompted, surprised at how badly he wanted her to agree.

Still no answer, but a faint smile curved her lips and she looked away. Good. She was considering it. She balled up her sandwich wrapper, and put it, along with her plastic spoon and empty yogurt cup, into a paper bag. When she stood, he did, too, holding his breath in anticipation.

“Yes.” She met his eyes and her smile broadened. “Yes. I’d like that.”

Nothing about this woman was guarded or deceptive. No way was she the spy. “Excellent. So, how about tonight at eight?”

…

Claire couldn’t believe this was happening. Gorgeous men never asked her out. Never. Yet, here was William Anderson inviting her to dinner. It took everything in her not to jump up and down, pumping her fist in the air. In her buzzy haze, it sounded like a great idea. Screw responsibility, her body cheered, but then she stilled as a wave of disappointment flooded her. She had her Tuesday girls’ night out with Heather. They met twice a week for drinks now that Claire was no longer tied down. “I can’t. I already have plans.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s too bad.”

No shit.

“Tomorrow?”

Everything in her wanted to say yes, but it was just too good to be true. A man this important and desirable would never seek her out like this. Something was off. “So, do you do this often?”