CHAPTER SIX

DOMINIC

Pickle Rye bustles with activity as I hold the door open for Avery. It's safe, neutral ground for me to bring up the subject of her helping with the interior decorating of the Stone Precision office—a public space where a cool head is required versus giving in to inappropriate urges.

Like kissing the hell out of Avery's pretty pink mouth.

Ever since yesterday, my body's been running a low fever. Work was impossible after getting home, so I went for a late-night jog hoping it would clear my head.

Newsflash: it didn't.

Which is how I ended up in the shower fisting my dick while replaying that quiet moment beside Avery's car, thinking about how good her soft curves would feel against my chest.

"How'd you find me?" Avery drops down into a chair across from me after we place our lunch orders. I set the laminated number they gave us at the edge of the table before relaxing in my seat.

"Hard to miss someone laid out on the sidewalk like a sacrifice to the sun gods." Plus, I made an educated guess about where she'd be and parked near the same spot she occupied last night. But I'm not going to share that slightly stalkerish detail with a woman who's already suspicious of my every move.

"I wasn't able to say anything before my meeting with Mike today, but I've been meaning to talk to you about setting up my office."

"What do you mean?"

"My business partner says I have no taste, and he might be right. Someone needs to go with me to pick out furniture, decorations, whatever for the office. I think that someone should be you."

Her brows practically hit her hairline. "Why don"t you hire a professional interior decorator?"

"Because I have you." Or I will.

She chuckles and grabs a napkin from the dispenser, toying with the paper-thin edges. "But I"ve never done anything like that before. Why would you even think of me?"

Because I want you close.

Because I can"t get you out of my head.

"You"re not afraid to tell me the truth. No matter how harsh it may be. You also said you wanted to be a graphic designer. I realize this is different, but a creative mind works in any situation."

"Not to sound too mercenary… But if I agree, what"s in it for me?"

Satisfaction wells in my gut. Hook, line, and sinker. "You"ll get free meals and a pass to use your creative skills to the fullest. Something that's not happening over at Design Time."

Her shoulders rise and fall in begrudging agreement. The napkin is in shreds at her fingertips, a pile of white wisps from all her fidgeting.

"When will we shop?"

"Whenever you"re free. Weekends, nights." I can tell she's intrigued. This is a good deal with the pros far outweighing the con—the con being me.

More questions follow. Details hashed out. Until a look of resolve settles over Avery's face. "Okay, I'm in." She offers her hand across the table, and we shake on it—a sense of victory running through my veins. "Why does it feel like I just sold my soul to the devil?"

Should've known she'd get one more jab in.Chuckling at the constant sass, I respond in kind. "Because you"re overdramatic."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Easy, children." An older woman sets our plates of sandwiches on the table. "You two remind me of my son and his wife. Always bickering like a pair of squabbling pups but loyal to each other the moment someone else steps in with a disagreeing word. How long have you been together?"

Avery's eyes are almost as wide as the ceramic saucers in front of us, and it'd be hilarious if it wasn't so obvious that the thought of us in a relationship is unfathomable to her.

"Oh… we're not… I don't…"

"It's new. Thanks for this," I gesture to our lunch, "We'll let you know if we need anything else."

The woman jerks back at my abrupt dismissal. But how else was I supposed to save Avery from stuttering through some explanation of how we're not together? How she doesn't even like me?

So, sue me if I'd prefer to avoid hearing her less-than-sterling view of me… again.

"You didn't have to be so rude. She was trying to make conversation."

"She didn't have to be so nosy," I say before taking a bite of my ham sandwich.

"Welcome to a small town. Are you sure you're ready to settle down here? Because most people are like her." Avery nods to the lady as she flits from table to table. "Curious. Chatty. Small talk connoisseurs."

"You're not." She winces, and I curse my stupid comment. Our working agreement is barely solidified, yet here I am, fucking it up left and right. "I meant that as a compliment. You don't say more than is necessary to get your point across, and you don't feel the need to fill silences with fluff."

When laughter bubbles up rather than a snarky remark, my muscles release their tension, and I ease back into my seat.

"You may be the only person to view that as a positive. I can't tell you how many times Mike has lectured me about being more outgoing with customers."

"From what I've witnessed, you do alright. Every time I've been in Design Time, you end up helping someone who needs it. Otherwise, they seem fine to browse uninterrupted."

"Explain that to Mike," she says, plucking a tomato off her sandwich and dropping it on the side of her plate, where I promptly snatch it for myself. Avery glances up in surprise then continues, "Business has slowed a little since I started. At least on the retail side. I feel like he thinks if Julie and I engage with customers more, then they'll also spend more. Like it's a graph of correlation."

Avery draws an imaginary line ascending in the air. "But truthfully, Julie and I aren't the ones who changed. Design Time's retail section still displays items from years ago—some are literally like a decade old based on the dates on their packaging. Is it any wonder they're not selling? If they weren't popular three or four years ago, they're not going to be now with an added layer of dust. That's metaphorical by the way, because Mike's anal about us dusting everything into a shiny sheen of perfection."

"You're passionate about the subject." This is the longest conversation we've ever had, and I'm glad to hear there's another person out there who warrants her ire besides me. "Have you mentioned this to Mike? Because those are valid points."

"You've met Mike. Does he seem like the type of person to take anyone's advice but his own? You two have that in common."

"Yet I've specifically asked for your input and help setting up my company's office."

Avery sighs then a reluctant smile tugs at her mouth. "Fine. You've got me there." An alarm goes off, and she flips her phone over from where it's been resting on the table. "That's my five-minute warning. I've got to get back to work."

She stands, and I quickly follow, tossing cash on the tabletop for a tip. "I'll walk you back."

"I suppose if I say you don't have to, you'll disagree, right? It's kind of your M.O."

"You know me so well already. Makes for a strong partnership, don't you agree?"

The afternoon sun temporarily blinds us as we step outside to the sidewalk. Readjusting to the sudden brightness, my footsteps fall into line with Avery's.

"Sure… we're a match made in heaven."

I know she's joking, but if I have my way—and I usually do—it'll be reality soon enough.