fixated on her broken sink. A new picture flashed behind her eyes: Justin standing in her kitchen, clothed only in a pair of jeans and a toolbelt.
Then Steve mentioned that the South Carolina trip had been moved to Thursday, and she completely—well, partially, anyway—forgot about a shirtless Justin in her apartment.
“Moved to Thursday?” She couldn’t finish the two-day shoot in time to catch her Friday flight. “No one mentioned that to me.”
“It was just decided,” Steve explained impatiently. “Justin can’t go Wednesday.”
“B-but I leave for my vacation Friday.” It wasn’t as though flights to the small island left Hartsfield every day; who knew when she could arrange the next one? With the fashion show coming up, she’d been lucky to squeeze in time off now.
Steve shrugged. “So you’ll take your vacation some other time. I know it can be rescheduled because you’ve already done it for us once. And we appreciate what a team player you are, Liv.”
The veiled threat didn’t escape her. Team players got promoted. People who balked at rescheduling got passed over and were forever doomed to small offices with no windows.
When the interminable meeting finally ended, Olivia and her co-workers slunk from the room to return to their offices and rediscover their wills to live. She had just made it inside her own office when Justin surprised her, asking from her doorway, “Are they always like that?”
“Long and boring? Yep. Steve is—” Mentally, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
Complaining with Meg at lunch away from the office was one thing. Saying something derogatory about management here, in front of someone she didn’t even know, was stupid. Normally, she didn’t make workplace faux pas, but she’d been distracted all day.
The reason for her distraction stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. When he bypassed the two upholstered chairs available in favor of leaning casually on the corner of her desk, she discovered that he smelled like a maddening mixture of denim, spicy cologne and male.
“I wanted to apologize for the trip postponement,” he said. “Steve assured me that bending the schedule would be no problem. I never would have asked if it weren’t important, but my—”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” If her appendix burst Wednesday, Steve would have insisted she be a team player, crawl out of her hospital bed, and get her butt to South Carolina.
“Maybe I could make it up to you sometime,” he suggested with a flirtatious smile. “Buy you lunch, or something.”
“No!” Go out alone with Justin? Bad idea. And she didn’t even want to think about the “or something.” “That’s not necessary.”
He blinked, and she realized her immediate refusal had probably made her sound like the office poster child for PMS.
She backtracked quickly, not taking the time to organize her thoughts. “I meant to say, no, thank you. Nice offer, but, I, um, have these restrictions. Salad only.” Which he most definitely wasn’t.
“I hear a lot of places serve that now.” His lazy grin held just the right amount of amusement—teasing, but not mocking.
“Right. Of course. Bad example. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve sort of given up…” She stopped, thank God, just shy of explaining about walking chocolate. Which he most definitely was. “It’s a diet thing.”
Justin pushed himself away from the desk, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women.”
“Excuse me?” Unless he meant one of those women who couldn’t string together a coherent sentence—which she blamed on how good he smelled—he was about to be in trouble.
“Someone with hang-ups about her body, who always wishes she were skinnier.”
The angry heat that blazed through her had nothing to do with his hitting close to home, it was based on principle. “You’ve known me for a matter of hours, Mr. Hawthorne, and you think that gives you the right to diagnose any so-called hang-ups?”
He grimaced. “In my defense, I was headed toward a compliment.”
“Yeah?” She crossed her arms. “Well, you took a wrong turn somewhere.”
His gaze slid down her body. “What I should have said is that you…don’t need to…”
He trailed off, his male admiration too frank to need words. Olivia tried to be offended by the perusal—who the hell was he to so boldly assess her and pronounce judgment? Her body, on the other hand, must’ve missed the memo on political correctness. Her skin prickled with awareness, growing warmer. His expression shifted as he raised his eyes back to hers. The appreciation had been replaced by something deeper, more urgent, and Olivia swallowed.
Even if she’d been able to muster any indignation, it would have been a tad hypocritical coming from someone so recently having toolbelt fantasies.
“Justin, I—”
“That’s an improvement,” he interrupted approvingly. “Much better than ‘Mr. Hawthorne.’ I’d like us to be on a friendly basis.”
Just how friendly did he have in mind? Desire swirled through her abdomen, warm and thick and slow, like honey.
“Olivia?” A knock accompanied Jeanie’s voice on the other side of the closed door.
Blinking, Olivia tried to reorient herself to her surroundings. For a moment there, she’d forgotten she was even at the office. Carefully looking past Justin, not wanting to risk meeting his eyes again, she called back, “Come on in, Jeanie. I have those proofs ready.”
The door opened and Jeanie stepped inside, her expression hesitant. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I—hello. You must be Justin.”
Smiling, he shook Jeanie’s hand, and annoyance caught Olivia off guard. A moment ago, he’d used that smile on her. Had she reacted with the same girlish, awestruck expression that was now on Jeanie’s face? Probably. Less than a full day into a new resolution to change her dating diet, and here she’d been, devouring Justin with her eyes and going all trembly and fluttery inside when he locked gazes with her.
She just needed some distance, time to regroup and strengthen her resolve.
Once Jeanie had the manila folder she’d come in for, she walked away, stopping at the door with an inquisitive glance in Olivia’s direction.
“Please, leave it open,” Olivia said. “Justin was on his way out.”
Judging from his raised eyebrows, this was news to him, but he turned without argument. As Jeanie had done, he paused at the entrance to the office. “We can just finish our discussion later,” he said with a wink.
He’d winked at her? It was such a kitschy thing to do, yet she didn’t hear bad ’70s pickup lines in her head. Instead, she was tempted to smile. The only thing that kept her from doing so was the threat of “finishing” their chat. Let’s see, which part was she most eager to revisit—why she didn’t think it would be a good idea to have lunch with him, what he thought of her figure,
