The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(23)

“When you blush, it makes your freckles stand out.” He traces the bridge of my nose with the tip of a red pen. His eyes move from my face to his hand as if he can’t believe he did that. Me neither.

I brush a hand across my nose, still feeling the burn from his phantom touch.

Get a hold of yourself.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I wave him off, desperate to end this conversation. “I’ve got work to do.”

His brows pull together as if he can’t believe he’s being dismissed. He ignores my comment as he walks over to the far cubicle wall I covered with half-assed drawings of ideas.

My entire face turns red as he runs a hand across my drawing of Princess Nyra.

“And what’s this supposed to be?”

“A new float idea I came up with.”

He shoots me a withering glare. “I could guess that based on the shape. But what are they supposed to be celebrating?”

“Are you making fun of my drawings again?”

“No. Now answer my question.”

“Would it kill you to say please sometimes?”

He blinks at me.

I release a tense breath. “It’s a classic Hindu wedding.”

He rubs his jaw and stares at it. “Interesting. And when are you presenting this to the team?”

“Friday.”

“Hmm.” He traces the poorly drawn mandap. My terrible attempt at the floral canopy mocks me as his hands hover over a stick figure meant to be Princess Nyra’s prince. At least my presentation makes up for the poor visuals. I even included real photos this time of Indian weddings since the drawing is anything but professional.

Something about Rowan’s stare sets me on edge. “What? If it’s a bad idea, spit it out already. I’d rather not look like an embarrassment in front of my coworkers again.”

He shakes his head, removing whatever look of longing from his face. “The idea is fine.”

Fine. The word repeats in my head, ramming into my skull like bullets. Lance always said everything was fine. Our sex life. Our relationship. Our future. Fine. Fine. Fine.

Fine isn’t good enough for me anymore and it sure as hell isn’t good enough for the team. I stand and go to remove the drawing from the wall.

Rowan’s massive hand covers mine, stopping me from removing the tack. The current of energy from last week is back in full force. I suck in a breath when his thumb caresses my knuckles.

His hand disappears all too soon, taking my rush of attraction with him. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.”

I laugh to myself. “I think touching my hand can be considered tame compared to other things.”

His entire body freezes. “What’s your angle here?”

“Angle? What are you talking about?”

“Are you trying to get money out of me?”

“What?! Money?” God. Is that what he really thinks about me? I might not have the most squared away finances, but I would never do something of the sort. Especially when I encouraged him.

“It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened,” he grumbles.

Oh my God. Does he go around having this issue with others? “Is kissing your employees a repeat occurrence for you?” The question leaves my lips in a whisper.

“What? No.” He blinks twice, giving away his surprise.

My muscles relax.

Huh. So maybe I’m special after all. The thought makes me smile to myself.

“But I’d rather you name your price to me in private than go to HR with a complaint, but I can’t stop you. I won’t stop you,” he amends.

I’m not sure I’m even breathing at the moment. “I’m not going to HR.”

The way he stares at me makes me feel like I’m sitting on the stand, with a lawyer assessing me for any kind of weakness.

“Okay.” He refocuses his attention on the drawing. “The idea is good. Great even.”

Okay, we’re segueing into an entirely different conversation. My brain hurts from the emotional whiplash.

He shoots me a bored expression. “Take a breath. I’m not in the mood to call an ambulance when you pass out and crack your head open.”

“How dare I consider for a second that you would catch me before that happens.”

“That requires caring and I’m fresh out of fucks to give.”

I release a heavy laugh, and our usual cycle repeats of him looking at me with the strangest expression. “I better get to work.”

He plucks my drawing off the wall and leaves the thumbtack on the corner of my desk. “I’ll be taking this.”

“What? Why?” I take a seat because I’m not sure if my legs can sustain me anymore.

“Because this drawing isn’t going to fix itself.”

“And you’re going to fix it?”

Something flashes in his eyes. Anger? Sadness? Fear? I can’t place whatever haunting look crosses his face because none of those labels make sense.

He grips the paper with a tight fist. “No. I don’t draw but I know someone who does.”

“Really? You have friends?!”

He drags out one long blink. “I don’t consider those who work for me as friends,” he spits out.

Okay then. Moving on… “Do you think they’ll help me?”