“Yeah. I need some.”
“And food?”
She stares off into the distance. “Maybe. I’m not sure I remembered to eat last night.”
“Pretty sure you skipped lunch too.”
“Did I?”
Maybe not. My brain was swimming in so many sexual endorphins after I fucked her in my office that the building could have burned down around us without me noticing.
“Look. The coffee cart in the lobby is open. They have sandwiches, breakfast burritos.”
“Sounds good. You grabbing them for us?”
“No.” I shake my head. “You are.”
“But—”
“You need a break. Need to stretch and move your body. Need a fresh perspective.”
She tries a second time, glancing down at a spreadsheet. “But?—”
“Look, Seraphina. I need coffee. Have to have a look at what you’re working on so I can come up to speed.”
“We should just push through. Brew some coffee here.”
“Get yourself a mocha. You need the calories, if not the caffeine. And I want an Americano. Those pods”—I glance at the piles on her desk. Is there actually any organization to it?—“are not going to get us through this.”
“I’ve been modeling projections?—”
“Seraphina.” I sharpen my tone. “Listen to me. Go get us food and coffee. I’ll grab bottled water. I’ll look at whatever you want, and we’ll start fresh when you get back.”
“You’re being ridiculous. This won’t take long.”
“And you’ve been at it how many hours?”
She rakes back hair from her forehead. “Since about two.”
“Boss’s orders. Get out of here.” When she doesn’t move, I tip my head to the side. “Now.”
She huffs out an annoyed sigh, and she accompanies it with an eyeroll. If this wasn’t so important, I’d give her the spanking she’s clearly asking for. She probably needs it to settle in. But I’d bet a million dollars, she’d shoot daggers instead of thanking me.
Instead I swallow my smile. “The sooner you get that handled, the sooner we can dive in.”
That seems to convince her.
She stands, and I see she’s in soft, snuggly jeans and sneakers. Fuck me. Her jeans highlight her curves and femininity.
Even though she’s completely covered, they’re indecent.
Or maybe it’s just because I can’t get enough of her. “The way you dressed should be illegal.”
She blinks, as if she can’t keep up with my change of conversation. Her response is prim and proper. “I’m dressed to work, Mr. Blackwell.”
Truthfully she could be wearing a potato sack, and I’d still be distracted by her.
“Go,” I tell her. Before I change my mind.