Chapter 24

24

Lena

I polish off the food, then lean back with a sigh. "That was good."

"Here, finish this." He pushes his untouched plate over.

"Oh, I can't."

"You're still hungry."

"If I eat any more, I'll fall asleep in my chair."

"You can take a nap on the couch." He jabs his thumb over his shoulder toward the settee in a corner of his office.

We're in the adjoining terrace, with floor-to-ceiling windows that open onto the lights of the city. A table and chairs placed around it invite people to sit down and enjoy the view. Which I never have, until now. And only because he's here with me.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I frown.

"Because you're my?—"

"Employee, and you need the pitch done on time. Got it. Speaking of, I really do need to get back to it." I begin to rise, but he presses down on my shoulder.

"Sit down and finish your food first."

I don't even bother arguing with him. I know better. All he has to do is glare at me and order me in that dominant voice of his, and every single shred of feminism in my body goes out the window. So annoying. Also, I don't want to miss out on my favorite food. If it had been anything but Indian-Chinese I might have objected, but seriously, I love this cuisine. I dig into my veg fried noodles with my chopsticks and tuck in.

"You really love this cuisine, eh?"

"Of course." I try to say with my mouth full. It comes out as "Uff—cooos."

I chew, swallow, then shove another mouthful in and another. When I'm done, I place my chopsticks down with a sigh. "This particular confluence of Indian flavored Chinese food is something I discovered in London. They don't have this in LA. It has the flavors of my mother's cooking but with a Chinese base which is so unique. It reminds me of home, but it's also so exotic."

"Like you."

"Eh?" I jerk my chin in his direction. "Did you say something?"

"Just that it's refreshing to come across a woman who relishes her food and eats without compunction."

"You mean eats too much, right? Of course, that was after you insisted I eat." I make a face. "But that's why I can never get rid of these curves."

"I love your curves."

I flush. "I wasn't fishing for compliments. And you shouldn't speak like that."

"Just telling you the truth. You're the most perfectly-formed woman I know… when you're not speaking, that is."

"What the—" I gape at him. "That was so sexist. So inappropriate. But why should I be surprised? It's exactly the kind of thing you would say. And just when I was thinking that, perhaps, you're not that bad a person. I really don't get you." I pat my mouth with a napkin, then drop it on the plate. "You get me my favorite food—I don't know how you found out it's my favorite cuisine. It's something I rather not know actually—and then you compliment me and insult me in the same sentence. It's messing with my head. You—" I stab my finger in his direction "—are messing with my head. It's time for me to get back to work."

I rise to my feet, and this time he doesn't stop me. I brush past him when warm fingers circle my wrist. "I'm sorry."

"Excuse me." I whip my head around. "Did you just say what I think you did?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

"Sure, you did."

His lips twitch. "Yes, I did. I'm old-school. I believe a woman's place is in the home."

"Don't you mean barefoot and pregnant and cooking for her man in the kitchen?"

"That, too."

I scowl. "And having a hot meal ready for the hard-working husband who comes home in the evening."

"Err, yes?"

Anger flushes my chest. My stomach flip-flops. I don't find the thought of cooking for him a turn-on. I don't. I pull at my wrist but his grasp tightens. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset." I toss my head. "Why should I care that you have such an archaic, outdated, pre-historic view of the world?"

"Would you rather I lie to you?" he asks softly.

"I'd rather you not talk to me at all," I say through gritted teeth.

"I tried that. Didn't work, remember? It only had you getting your knickers in a twist."

"My knickers are fine, thank you very much."

He opens his mouth, and I raise my finger. "And not one more inappropriate comment from you about my knickers, Mr. Kane."

He seems taken aback, then mimes zipping his lips. And when I tug on my hand, he releases it. Why is he being so compliant? It's a ruse, it has to be. Jerkass is playing another game with me, no doubt.

"I really do need to get back to work to finish that pitch," I mutter.

"Your boss is a slave-driver, huh?" he murmurs.

I blink. Is that JJ being nice? And did he just make a crack at himself? That is so weird. And I'm too tired to deal with him right now.

"Can I get back to my work now please?"

"Why don't I help you?"

Two hours later, I lock my fingers together and stretch my arms above my head. "I'm beat." I yawn so long, my eyes water.

Daddy J—I'm definitely exhausted which is the only reason I called him that—glances up from behind his desk where he's putting the finishing touches on the presentation on his computer. After dinner, we moved to his desk, where we worked in almost complete silence. We were very productive. What would have taken me a minimum of five hours to complete on my own had been done in less than half the time. The man's brain is razor sharp. He was always ten steps ahead of me. In fact, it felt like he was holding back and waiting for me to catch up as we'd worked on the pitch. Now, he narrows his gaze on me. "Why don't you take a nap while I wrap this up?"

"I can help," I protest.

"You've done a lot already."

"All I did was work out the outline of the revised deck. It's you who's been filling in the words."

"They were my ideas to begin—" he points out.

"Yes, but I fleshed them out further."

"And now I'm folding them into the presentation. This won't take long and you look beat."

"I am." I yawn again.

"Go on." He nods toward the settee in the corner of his office.

"You sure?" I say doubtfully.

"Relax, I'm not going to make a move on you while you're asleep, if that's what you're worried about." He smirks.

I scoff, "That's not what I'm worried about. It's just... I don't want you to think I'm slacking off or anything. After all, I was supposed to complete the pitch."

"And we did it together."

"You won't hold it against me or anything, will you?" I shuffle my feet.

"Are you doubting my word?"

"No, it's just... It doesn't feel right for me to sleep while you're still working." I yawn, this time so loudly my jaw cracks.

"Go on," he chuckles, "it's nap time for you, young lady."

"Hmm." He does think of me as someone much younger than him. At other times, it feels like he treats me as his equal. And this chemistry between us? It's so unexpected. Somehow, his age and his maturity, not to mention his confidence and complete assurance in everything he does, is so appealing. And it's not just his looks, which of course, are not a deterrent. There's something else about him, something lost, something wounded inside of him that seems to call to me every time I see him. It's the same thing I'd sensed in Isaac. Only, there's a lot more anger in Isaac. In JJ, though, it's settled into something darker, edgier inside of him. Something that identifies him as a predator. A person who doesn't trust anyone easily due to his experience.

"Lena?"

His voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Yeah, okay. I'll take a short nap. Wake me up when you're done, okay?"