“I never said you were an asshole.” I thought it, but I’m not thinking it now.
“Well, we’ve already banned work talk for today, so maybe there’s hope for me yet,” Bradley says.
“Why do you care what I think?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” Bradley says this like he’s trying to figure it out himself. “Maybe for the same reason I’d rather not meet Tom?”
Talk about a leading question I’m dying to ask. But I have a feeling if I do, things will get weird again because I don’t think he’s flirting with me on purpose this time. And if he realizes I’m taking it that way, I’m pretty sure he’d stop. I nod like what he said makes perfect sense. “No worries. Tom doesn’t need to even know we were here. He might find out you took an afternoon off work and no good would come of that.”
I grin and Bradley rolls his eyes in response, but a smile plays on his lips. “You’ve seen me outside of work three times this week, so I think your perception is a bit skewed.”
He’s counting? Another thing I’m not going to mention. Instead, I say, “I don’t think so. What time did you leave the office last night?”
“A little after ten? I had a call with New York that ran long.”
“And what did you do when you got home?” My tone is almost accusatory, but I soften it as I continue. “I’ll bet you a beer you didn’t just veg out and watch Britain’s Got Talent.”
“I owe you a beer then because I’ve never even seen Britain’s Got Talent,” Bradley says. “I picked up a ready meal and watched some soccer – sorry, football – highlights, if that counts.”
The vision of Bradley sitting on a couch alone, ready meal in hand, watching television is downright sad, but I don’t think he needs me pointing that out to him. “It half counts, but the point is that it was Friday and you were in the office until ten p.m.”
“You were there until 7:45,” Bradley counters.
On any other day, I’d tell myself he knows this because I sit right outside the glass castle. But today I think maybe he’d know what time I’d left even if I sat over by Tara. “I had stuff to do. Plus, I had a lot of ideas after seeing the office space and I wanted to make sure I didn’t forget anything.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with. I hired you because your portfolio is imaginative, but I’m afraid you’re getting stuck in an idea of what you think an office environment should be instead of bringing your own flair to it.” That Bradley’s tone is lacking judgment is the only reason I don’t get defensive.
“Hence the big red Try Again written across my design brief?”
Bradley eyes me for a minute like he’s trying to decide whether to speak or not. Then he opens his mouth. “Do you remember when we had lunch at Oxo Tower the day I asked you to join my apprenticeship program?” I nod and he continues. “You were the tenth person I met with, the youngest and most inexperienced, by far. The thing that made me pick your portfolio out of the pile in the first place was what led me to offer you a job that, quite frankly, I wasn’t sure you were up to, even as I made the offer.”
“What thing was that?”
“Your passion. You love art in all its forms, and it shows in your work and the way you talk about it. And that’s what I want for WS because most of my employees love their jobs. I just try to stay out of their way.” Bradley gives a smile that I swear is self-deprecating.
It’s a good look on him.
“You cultivate this whole persona of someone who’s busy and untouchable. Is that you staying out of everyone’s way?”
“I am busy. That’s not manufactured.” Two points for Bradley, maybe three with the look he gives me. “But if I show up at the pub on Friday night, it changes the dynamics, and not for the better. No one wants to socialize with the boss, so it’s better to take that out of the equation.”
“I might call this socializing.” I flick my finger between us, from him to me and back again.
“Well, every rule has an exception.”
“Or maybe you’re not as untouchable as you want everyone to think?”
“Those were your words, not mine.” Bradley’s tone holds a hint of a challenge.
I’m not one to shy away from a challenge, but the flirtatious remark on the tip of my tongue won’t come out. In fact, I back away from it so far, I don’t even recognize myself as I say, “We’re talking about work again. I thought we agreed that topic was banned.”
Judging by the look on Bradley’s face, he didn’t even realize the topic had changed, but he recovers. “It is. From here on out, no work talk allowed. So, how about those Mets?”
I laugh a little. “Don’t the Mets suck? I know nothing about American baseball except my old roommate’s ex was a huge Braves fan. Bea went to a few games, but she said it was about as exciting as watching paint dry.”
“Disparaging a great American tradition. Next you’ll tell me you don’t like hot dogs either.” Bradley’s grinning.
“American hot dogs are disgusting. They’re not even real meat.”
“A little mystery meat never hurt anyone. Besides, a hot dog at a baseball game can’t be beat,” Bradley says. “A little bit of relish, a little bit of mustard…”
He keeps talking, but I’m distracted. The World’s Largest Tea Party is set up in front of us, complete with the Mad Hatter at the gate of the makeshift enclosure holding a bucket to collect coins for charity. He doesn’t hold my attention either.
What does is my reaction to Bradley. He was flirting with me on that train and by not responding I shut it down. Which is what I should be doing. He’s my boss and if I’m aware of the ‘don’t fuck where you work’ adage, he’s doubly so. Possibly even triply since it’s his company. But there’s an attraction there. On both sides. And if someone’s going to push the envelope, I’m pretty sure it’s going to have to be me. He won’t do it based on the power dynamic alone.
In other words, we can have a good day and not damage or shift our relationship in any way. Or I can get in the game. And change it.
The question even I don’t know how to answer: am I going to?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When we teeter over the edge, a piece of Victoria sponge cake is involved. Specifically, a piece of Victoria sponge cake between Bradley’s forefinger and thumb that he holds out for me to take a bite of. Which I do. Then suck the jam off his fingers and don’t break eye contact.
Between my own jolt of awareness at what I’ve done and the look on his face, my voice is shaky when I say, “Oops. Sorry. I guess I found something I like there.”
“I shouldn’t respond to that on the grounds I’ll incriminate myself.” Bradley keeps his hand within reach of my mouth, like he might caress the V of my tank top or wrap his hand around the back of my neck. He does neither, but he doesn’t move away.
“Maybe you should. Incriminate yourself, I mean.” I hear the words come out of my mouth, but my brain screams, I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“I most definitely should not.” Bradley’s words don’t match the heat in his gaze.
If his expression was typical bland Bradley, I’d back off. Instead, it’s the little push I need to say, “But you want to, don’t you?”
Bradley’s throat bobs up and down as he swallows. “You’re a beautiful woman, Scarlett.”
I cut him off. “If you start your next sentence with a ‘but,’ I’ll walk away right now and never look back. I swear to you.”
For about twenty seconds, I think Bradley’s going to call my bluff. But then his shoulders relax and the corner of his mouth tilts up. “I guess I’d better not do that then. However--” He pauses, but continues before I can say anything. “--this feels like playing with fire.”
“This meaning…?”
“Whatever we’re doing here.” Bradley’s eyes sweep over my face, lingering on my mouth. “As I said, you’re a beautiful woman.”
“And?” I’m egging him on, but any minute he’s going to shut m
e down.
Isn’t he?
“You’re my employee. I have a personal policy against dating my employees.” For all his talking, his gaze hasn’t left my face. “Truthfully, I don’t date much at all.”
“I haven’t been dating either.” Or even hooking up. I used to. But a couple months ago, I just sort of stopped. Nothing happened, except I realized I was spending a lot of energy going out and hooking up when I could get the same amount of pleasure from my vibrator with way less hassle.
Bradley raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure the woman at the market said something about you bringing your various dates by her stand for them to buy you a brownie.”
I hesitate for a minute because I think if I’m too direct Bradley’s going to write me off as promiscuous and that will be the end of whatever it is we’re about to maybe fall into. I’m not ashamed of my past behavior, but some men have double standards when it comes to women and one-night stands, and I’m not so sure Bradley isn’t one of them. Then again, if he is, it’s better to know now because the last thing I want is for him to think I’m a strings-attached type of girl.
“I used to go by Bess’ because I’m not a big fan of the whole morning-after breakfast thing. Plus, going for brownies serves the dual purpose of leaving the flat and avoiding the awkward ‘I’ll text you’ conversation.” I quell the urge to cross my arms.
Bradley nods. “I’m sure you’ve left many a man pining after you.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.” I shrug. “I’m not interested in pining.”
“So, what are you interested in?” Is it my imagination or does Bradley’s voice drop a notch?
“In general?” I dig my heels into the ground. My knees feel shaky, but somehow our conversation has gotten this far. “Or with you?”
Bradley’s eyes widen just a fraction, but his expression doesn’t change. “With me. Your move with the cake wasn’t a mistake. What do you want to happen here?”
Besides for you to fuck me senseless?
I’m not that bold. Not yet. I shrug like I haven’t been thinking about him that way more and more. “You find me attractive. I find you attractive. Neither of us are into the whole dating thing, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”
“Except that I’m your boss and I have a personal policy against dating one of my employees.” Despite his words, Bradley takes a step closer.
I shrug again like I’m not affected by his nearness. “Personal policy is different from company policy, right? Besides who’s going to know? You won’t tell anyone and I won’t either. I have no desire to be the butt of office gossip.”
“You’re very close to Tara and Tom.” Bradley steps forward another two inches. There’s less than a hand’s width between us now.
“All good friendships are built on a foundation of trust and half-truths.”
A woman behind me comes up and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Hi, love. We’re about to take the photo if you two can squeeze in at the table. We want as many people as possible so we can capture what a brilliant showing we have today.”
“Um…” I don’t get any further than that because the woman steers me away from Bradley and towards the table before going off to corral someone else.
“I guess we need to find a spot.” Bradley steps up next to me with a half-grin on his face. “I should ask that woman if she’s looking for a job.”
“She’d have the office kitchen shaped up in no time.” I glance up at Bradley as his hand meets the small of my back. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten we haven’t finished our conversation.”
“On the contrary, I think we’re done. You don’t?” Bradley asks.
“I don’t think we got to the point where we reached an agreement.” Unless the agreement was to acknowledge a mutual attraction and go no further. In which case, yes, we’re done.
“I think as long as we agree on discretion, the rest can remain flexible.” Bradley’s tone is the same one he used earlier while talking about my portfolio.
“I’m pretty flexible.” I lower my voice and stand on my tiptoes, bringing my lips close to his ear. My heart thumps so hard in my chest it’s almost painful. If there’s a time to be bold, this is it. But Bradley is my boss. And misreading this thing between us could cost me more than my pride. But I take a deep breath and bet myself a spa facial I’m right because if you can’t bet on yourself, who can you bet on? “Flexible enough that I’m imagining my legs over your shoulders while you fuck me.”
I watch Bradley’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat for one eternal moment. Then he says, “Now I’m imagining that, too. We need to take this photo and get out of here.”
“Great idea.” I bite the corner of my lip to keep from grinning outright.
I owe myself a facial and I’m going to shag Bradley Waring-Smith tonight. I’d bet my life on it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I don’t expect Bradley to become all sensual and seductive after leaving the World’s Largest Tea Party, but I expect more than I get on the train back to London. He frowns over his phone and says almost nothing for the whole journey, so by the time we get off the train at Bank Street Station, I’m pissed. At him. At me. At this whole charade I’ve proposed.
I jog up the stairs at the Mansion Street exit like my life depends on it. Bradley matches me step for step and, prick, he’s not even winded when he asks, “You okay?”
Unfortunately, I’m not in such good shape and I have to take a deep breath in through my nose before I can respond. “Yep. I’m good. You?”
“You seem…” Bradley looks like he’s trying to pick the right word out of the air. “Upset?”
“I’m not used to being ignored by someone who claims to want to fuck me.” The words sound crass, but they’re not as bad as my tone. N-e-e-d-y. Bloody hell.
Bradley hears both, but he doesn’t call me on either. Instead, he takes a step closer and says, “My apologies. I was clearing my calendar so we’d have no distractions.”
Oh.
I tilt my head so I’m staring at his lips. I could kiss him. Right now. It would erase the last sixty seconds. But a kiss on the sidewalk outside the station won’t push us into bed like a kiss behind closed doors will, so I drag my gaze up to his eyes and say, “Good thinking.”
“I’d ask if you prefer my place or yours, but I feel like the answer to that is obvious.”
“If it’s your place, then yes. I hope that’s okay.” Visions of Tara walking in on Bradley and me make me cringe inside. God, I’d never live down sleeping with the boss. Especially after our conversation last night in the pub.
Bradley nods once and slips his hand into mine, threading our fingers together. Bradley Walking-Sex is a hand holder? I didn’t see that coming and I jolt like I’ve been hit with an electric shock. But he doesn’t let go and by the time we’ve turned down towards the river, I can admit I enjoy the feeling of our hands intertwined. Bradley’s fingers are long and thin, his grip strong in mine. The most surprising part is the calluses on his palm, rough against my skin. It’s one thing I can’t help asking about.
“I wouldn’t have thought you had time for much manual labor.” When Bradley raises an eyebrow at me, I add, “Your hands. I expected them to be smooth.”
“Wrangling a keyboard and phone is harder than it looks.” Bradley grins. “But I’ve been known to pick up a hammer over at the construction site every once in a while. More often if I’m frustrated.”
I try to picture it and I can’t. “When do you do this, exactly?”
Bradley shrugs. “Whenever. Anthony typically has some demolition I can do. He figures it’s in his best interest.”
“So you just go over to the site and say, ‘Hey, I’m pissed off. What do you have that I can knock down?’” Nope. Still can’t picture it.
Bradley laughs and I’m not sure if it’s his rich deep laugh or the fact he squeezes my hand tighter, but I get all warm and flushed. Then he says, “There are all different kinds of frustration.
It’s not usually my temper that needs curbing.”
So, between escort service, blow-up doll, and secret girlfriend, Tara, Amalie, and I should have included knocking down a wall?
I squeeze his hand in response. “Am I supposed to be reading into that? Because I’m totally reading into that.”
“Good.” Bradley’s grin widens and we turn down another street, slowing as we come to a row of tan and white buildings. They’re sleek and new, and even though I hadn’t pictured where Bradley lived, if I had it would have been somewhere like this. He fishes his keys from his pocket and hesitates before letting go of my hand. “Would you like to come up?”
My brow furrows because, um, isn’t that what we’re here for? But I see a shadow of uncertainty on Bradley’s face and nod. “That would be great.”
He doesn’t become any less awkward as we enter the building. From fumbling with the lock to stumbling on the stairs, he seems nervous. My instinct is to take over, but I curb it, even as he misses the table in the foyer of his apartment when he goes to drop his keys and they land on the floor.
“I’m out of practice here. My apologies.” He laughs, but it’s tinny, unlike his laugh five minutes ago.
It’s what makes me listen to my instincts after all. Bradley’s my boss, but I’m in charge of this situation right now. I put my hand over his and say, “I have an idea. How about you show me where I can find the loo and then we have a glass of wine?”
“The loo is straight through here. Come on in.” Bradley doesn’t offer to take my jumper or my bag before disappearing into the flat.
I follow him around the corner and stop dead. If I were to picture Bradley Waring-Smith’s flat, this would not be it. Floor to ceiling windows greet me across a huge open room whose walls are filled with art. From a black and white photograph of a man leaning against a light post to an abstract purple and blue print and a… “Is that a real Ellsworth Kelly?” I blurt out.
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