Sleeping with the Boss (Anderson Brothers, #1)(18)

Just like him, she was afraid. He was terrified of being burned again, but for some reason was unwilling to let this particular box of matches go. What was it she feared? “So, what makes you a bad dating candidate?”

“I’m gone. I’m leaving the country in two weeks.”

Alarm bells went off. But they were nothing compared to his utter disappointment. Still, he didn’t want a relationship, right? This should be great news. “Leaving for where?”

“First to Egypt, then, I don’t know. Anywhere but here. I’m going to travel for a month and see the world I’ve missed my whole life. After that, I have an internship in Cairo lined up that I hope turns into a permanent gig.”

“Okay, so that puts you out of the long-term dating column for sure, but what makes you think you aren’t a candidate for…” He mimicked her gesture of pointing to himself, the door, and back to her. “Because I’d really like to do a little…” And he made the same triangle gesture again.

She laughed at his silly pantomime, which made him grin. This girl was so open. No way was she double-crossing his company. Nobody was that good an actress.

He laid his hand over hers. “Again, I apologize for the misunderstanding at the restaurant.”

“Already forgotten,” she said. “I’d have gotten over it anyway. I’m not the jealous type.”

“You weren’t jealous of Sparkle Jeans?” He thought her name for Suzanne was hilarious.

Her brow furrowed and she cocked her head. “No. I was disappointed. It seems to me, a person can only be jealous if they have a claim on someone. I don’t date, so I have no claim on anyone—no jealousy.”

Totally surprised by this news, he lifted his hand from hers. “You don’t date?”

She grabbed a pillow from the corner of the sofa and hugged it to her. “Well, I have—I did—but it’s been almost a year. It was great at first, but when my grandma got really sick, we mainly hung out between classes. Eric and I got pretty close, but my obligation as a caretaker got in the way… That along with the fact that he was an *.”

The hackles on his neck bristled at the knowledge someone had hurt her. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I’m glad he’s gone.” She pitched the pillow back into the corner of the sofa. “When I got my master’s degree last May, I stopped going anywhere at all. I just sat here in Sissy’s house as a full-time caregiver.”

“Sissy?”

“Clarisse, my grandmother.”

Relief flooded through him in a warm wave. That explained not only her unfamiliarity with the bar, but why she lived at this prestigious address.

His eyes roved her body from her shiny blond hair to her chipped pink toenail polish. He wanted this woman. Wanted her so badly it hurt, and he was certain she felt the same way, but tonight wasn’t the night. It was too soon. He stood. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Maddox?”

“It’s a date, Mr. Anderson.”

“I’d say I’m sorry I dropped in on you unexpectedly, but I’m not.” He walked to her door and patted it. “Nice door.”

As the elevator closed, he could still hear her laughter, and it made him feel like he was full of helium. Like he did in the old days before his life fell to shit.





Chapter Seven


Claire had changed into casual clothes—a simple skirt and a ruffled floral wraparound blouse—and had stowed her business clothes in a bag at her feet. She was worried that it was almost five o’clock, and she hadn’t seen Will at the office all day. She’d expected him to at least pop into the file room at lunch. Maybe he’d had second thoughts about taking her out tonight.

Nah. She didn’t get that vibe off him. He seemed for real.

Her phone vibrated from inside the desk drawer. She slid the drawer open and pulled it out. Five text messages. Three from Heather fishing for gossip; one from her grandmother’s insurance agent, Mr. Sinclair, saying the life insurance money transfer to her brokerage account should take place before close of business today, but wouldn’t be accessible for several days; and one from a phone number she didn’t recognize, obviously Will. It was a calendar alert that read, “Reminder: Dinner with Claire—5:15 p.m.”

So, Will hadn’t gotten cold feet—which made her whole body flush hot. She giggled and repressed the urge to break out some wicked dance moves right there in her office. She shot a response to Mr. Sinclair and shut down her computer. Then she called Heather.

She dreaded this phone call. She loved Heather, but she was the biggest snoop and matchmaker ever. It had never bothered Claire before because it had never affected her. Her life as nurse for the dying had been less than interesting. Now, evidently, she was top of Heather’s vicarious living list based on the number of phone calls she received from her—at least one an hour.

She spun her chair to face the window and rolled her eyes as the phone rang for the third time.

“Well?” Heather answered. Not even a hello.

Staring longingly at the scrap of blue sky visible over the building across the street, Claire pulled a pencil out of the cup on the table under the window. “Hey, Heather.”

“What happened today?”

“Well, I got to the office about eight.” She rolled the pencil from one hand to the other across the slick table surface, knowing that wasn’t what Heather was fishing for.