Page 15 of Double Puck

"Sure sounded like you were." I step close, the scent of her perfume lingering. "Trouble in Brunch Club paradise?"

"I don’t have time for this, Morrison. Just… drop it, okay?"

"Fine. What's the plan then?" I plant my shoulder against her doorframe. "You follow me around with a stopwatch? Pop out of the showers with a clipboard?" I raise an eyebrow. "Because if that's the plan, I need to know now. Personal grooming standards may shift."

Darcy's key card hovers an inch from the reader. "I can assure you, there will be no spying in the showers."

"That's disappointing. For both of us."

"For you, maybe."

She sighs and looks at me, like she's appraising real estate she's already condemned.

Every hair on my body stands at attention.

"You know… I'm going to prove you wrong, Spreadsheet."

"Did you just nickname me… Spreadsheet?" She scoffs a stunted laugh and swipes the lock to her office. "Anyway. You're welcome to try. Now goodbye."

The door swings open and she walks in.

I follow, because apparently I've developed a condition where my legs just do things.

Her office is aggressively clean. The desk is immaculately neat, with three monitors all sitting in perfect alignment. There's a Goldie's cup on a coaster, because of course this woman always uses a coaster, and the ocean is glittering through the far window like it's showing off just for her.

Darcy reaches her desk, sets down the tablet, and turns. “Why are you still standing in my office?”

"Oh, sorry." I glance behind me. “Is this not the unemployment lounge?”

“Out.”

“But Colin assigned you complete access to every measurable inch of me.”

“Of your professional output. Not what you do in your spare time.”

“And yet you’re staring at my body just like you did last night.” Her gaze drops to my chest for half a second, and I just can't help myself. "Ah huh! Made you look!"

She rolls her eyes, and it might just be the damn sexiest thing I've ever seen a woman do. “Congratulations. Now leave, before I assess whether blunt-force trauma would improve your impulse control.”

“Alright, alright. All jokes aside, I’m just waiting for instructions.” My grin comes out thin. “What do I do now? Twenty star jumps while holding my breath? Run laps until I’m statistically unlovable?”

Darcy sighs, and I watch her breasts rise and fall with it. I can't help it. The woman's built like a problem I want to spend all night solving.

“You'll need to give me some time to work out a plan," she says. "But for now, I can give you this.”

She crosses to the desk and reaches across it for a folder on the far side. But as she does, she bends over, and—

WHOA.

Okay. Okay, wow.

The skirt, that tiny, criminal, HR-violating skirt, rides straight up the back of her thighs, and the patterned stockings resolve into full, devastating detail of sheer black lace with a band at the top where a tiny clasp holds everything in place.

And above that? Soft-looking skin, stretching all the way up to where the hem hangs on for dear life.

I shift on the spot, trying to stop the flow of blood heading south.

Her calves flex in those heels as she rummages through some folders, or paperwork. Maybe she's scribbling on some paper.