She leans down to pat Nellie on the head. Nellie flinches. “Who was that and why are we hiding in the kitchen?”
“I’m caffeinating, not hiding.” To back up my claim, I beeline toward the coffee bar, almost tripping over Nellie, who believes my energy level means we’re hunting doggie treats. Ugh. All ten of Calla’s team members are serious caffeine addicts, but none of us has a Martha Stewart–esque penchant for organizing or cleaning. The coffee bar is a sticky collection of used cups, spilled sugar and empty coffee pods. I made a note on my phone to Google proper intern responsibilities—maybe he can take over coffee duties.
Val points to the front door. “Our guest was gorgeous. Now tell me he’s smart. And ours.”
“He’s definitely smart. He’s got a huge brain. He has the personality of a troll.” Darn it. Out of coffee pods. I sift through the cupboard, searching for instant coffee, and discover an empty box. “I’m naming him Director of All Things Coffee.”
“Uh-huh.” Val nudges me enthusiastically. She’s a hugger, too, whereas my personal space requirements are more generous. “Bet he’s got a huge something else, too.”
I make the buzzer sound. “Inappropriate, Val. Would you want your future teammates discussing your body the minute you walked out the door?”
Pot. Kettle.
“Sorry.” She pulls a face. “You’re right. Not here.”
I look at her apologetically, but I know she understands. Lusting after the summer intern falls into the category of Shit You Do Not Stir. Above all, it’s wrong. Whether you’re Team Vagina or Team Penis (or prefer not to state your allegiance), you should be able to come to work without your coworkers imagining you naked and performing sex acts. And second and more practically, not only is everyone working all out to launch Calla in two months, but we simply can’t afford the drama and expense of a workplace harassment lawsuit.
I shut the cupboard door and toss the empty box into the recycling. “Come with me to the coffee shop?”
Val nods enthusiastically, which experience has shown is her default factory setting. She’s enthusiastic about everything. When we step outside, my head starts swiveling. I tell myself I’m just soaking in the sunshine. It’s a balmy seventy-two degrees and the morning fog has already burned off. Normally, I’d take a few centering breaths and appreciate being outside, but instead I scour my surroundings. For him.
Fortunately, Val doesn’t notice. Instead, she enthusiastically launches into conversation. “Do you have weekend plans?”
Right. It’s Friday, the day of the week normal people get excited about because they actually intend to leave the house. On purpose. I personally prefer hiding inside where there are fewer people. After I finish my monster to-do list, I have a hot date with a new book and takeout. And Nellie. Nellie and I are practically an old married couple. I tie her leash to the bench outside the coffee shop and plunge through the doors. There are thirty-two people here and the sound wave deafens me.
“No plans,” I roar, stepping up to the counter and placing my order. Don’t feel sorry for the introvert, folks. That’s how she likes it.
“No hot date?” Val examines the muffins on offer. Smart. It’s unlikely we have time for lunch and I’ve eaten my way through the box of tasteless granola bars stashed in my desk. I pull out my phone and make order snacks the two hundred and forty-seventh item on my to-do list. “When’s the last time you went out?”
I tap my calendar. Dates are violet as pink feels clichéd—and violet is as rare on my calendar as unicorns are in my life. Which is A-okay with me. My crowded schedule has no room for hearts and true love.
Val snorts. “If you have to check your calendar, it’s been too long.”
“Three hundred sixty-one days.” Precision is important.
Val digests my disturbingly long period of celibacy as the baristas bellow out names, the space-age coffee maker whoosh-whirs, and a dozen customers chat each other up and make business calls at the top of their lungs.
“You need to get out more,” she says finally. “There are apps for that.”
“Hello? Married to the firm?” I grab my chai latte off the counter and head outside. Nellie barks enthusiastically. She loves coffee dates, even if she anxious-pees if I take her inside. Popping the lid off my cup, I pour her a taste. Uh-oh. Whatever’s in this cup isn’t chai latte. Once again, I’ve stolen someone else’s drink.
I debate slinking back inside and buying—I rotate the cup until I spot the owner’s name underneath my pinkie—Ross a new drink. It’s too much work, though. Plus, if he really likes steamed coconut milk, we’ll never work out. I opt for fleeing back toward Calla, Nellie trotting alongside me, licking her chops.
Val is right behind me. “Sex is like flossing. You should do it once a day, twice a day is better, and if you haven’t done it, you lie and say you did anyhow.”
I roll my eyes. “Who has time to do it twice a day?”
My brain helpfully supplies an image of Dev. He likely has both the time and the stamina to do it twice a day. Probably twice an hour. Bad brain. Not only is he much, much younger than me, but he’s my intern. I meant what I said to Val about respecting our team members. It shouldn’t matter if Devlin is tall, short, fat or supremely built. His outside package has no bearing on his ability to do the job, and I won’t treat him any differently than I’d want to be treated. My social skills might be lacking, but even I know having your boss come on to you is at best horribly awkward and at worst criminal.
Plus, I’ve already had naked fantasies about him, and he’s brought me to orgasm twice since Friday night even if he didn’t know it.
Shit.
Hiring him is a bad idea. If anyone finds out I’m crushing on him, I’ll look ridiculous. And then there will be the usual stupid, giddy delight at going to work, knowing that I’ll see him for a few minutes. Or our shoulders will brush, our knees bump under the table when we work together. He’ll lean in so I can point out something on my laptop screen, and his breath will rush over my arm, and then the kibbles of those brief contacts will turn me into a brainless babbler. It’s happened before.
But how can I fire him now? Not only do I need his big brain to sort out the bugs in my software, but I have no legal ground to fire him for hotness. The grumpy asshole part gives me material to work with, but I need him. And not just in a naked-and-thrusting way. Stop thinking about him.
The ache between my thighs as I walk back into the office is totally wrong. And Devlin King has given me zero reason to believe he sees me as anything other than his new boss, so this is one-sided chemistry.
I’ll just shut it down.
That’s what I’ll do.
Dev
JACK LEVELS A look at me, an impressive feat since we’re bobbing up and down on our boards a quarter mile off the Santa Cruz shore.
