Page 73 of Business Casual
“I don’t know. Tiny Oompa-Loompas aren’t one of the selections.”
His navy eyes linger on one of the tattoos in the bottom right corner. It’s a small peony, the petals in full bloom. A twin to the one inked across my ribs. His gaze flicks to me and the old T-shirt I have knotted at my waist, considering. I brace for myself for impact, but the flirty innuendo never arrives. He jerks his eyes back to the card in his hands and clears his throat. Like he doesn’t want to be caught doing something he shouldn’t be.
“I think I’d like one of these,” he says, ignoring the suggestivecomment wrapped in a bow that I dropped in his lap. I don’t know if it’s because Jeremy is here and clearly listening or because he’s suddenly concerned with holding a boundary between us. But it stings.
Last night, I stood with my face tilted toward his and waited for a kiss that never came. This feels just like that. Like he’s being careful to make the right choice when he has never once been careful with me. He hasn’t been careless either, but he’s been…open. Honest. Aggressively transparent with whatever is going on in that head of his. He’s made excuses to be close and flirted his way through conversations.
And now he’s standing on the other side of the table pretending to study a card and keeping his thoughts to himself. I thought that’s what I wanted. Everything kept in neat boxes. But I don’t like it at all.
I pluck the card from his hand. “No, you still can’t get a tattoo.”
“Got something special planned for me?”
I snort. “Sure.”
A warning label, right at the hollow of his throat.This man will upset all of your carefully laid plans. He will be your biggest distraction.
“I’m going to hold you to that. In the meantime—” He drops the files tucked under his arm on the table. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“It’s Form 941 for your federal taxes. I didn’t see it with your other paperwork.”
“What other paperwork?”
“The paperwork on your kitchen table.”
I take a small sip from the take-out cup. It’s exactly the way I like it, down to the cinnamon sprinkled on top. “When were you going through the paperwork on my kitchen table?”
“When I was waiting for your coffee pot to brew,” he says, lowering his voice to a gruff rasp. “While you were sleeping.”
When I was naked in my bed, he means, and he was shuffling through my house in nothing but his pants, unbuttoned and low around his hips, bleary-eyed and messy-haired.
He taps the top of the folder. “You need to file that with the rest of your stuff.”
I flick it open and look down at the top piece of paper. Charlie has already filled out most of the information, down to my business-identification number. The itchy, claustrophobic feeling from earlier comes roaring back, pressing against my shoulders.
“I can’t believe I forgot something,” I murmur.
“Yes. I can’t believe you forgot this one document out of the seven hundred you need to complete in order to open a business in the state of Maryland.” He leans over the desk and shows me the blank line at the bottom of the page. “Sign here and I’ll send it in for you.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’m happy to.”
I know he is and that somehow makes everything worse. That he’ll bring me my favorite coffee and the forms I forgot to fill out and ask for nothing for himself. I wish I knew what he wanted. I wish I knew what I wanted too.
I sign the bottom of the paper and toss it in the top drawer of my desk. I’ll send it myself. I don’t need any more favors from Charlie.
He slurps at his coffee, purposely making it louder than it needs to be. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a stubborn woman?”
“With alarming frequency and incredible detail,” I volley back. I give him a tight smile. He huffs a laugh and tips his head toward the door.
“You ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Business visits,” he explains. “You said you wanted to do those this week.”
