My breath catches.
“Come,” he says gently.
I don’t protest. I don’t think I even could. He guides me to the couch and motions for me to sit. My legs feel unsteady as I lower myself beside him. He takes the bag, sets it between us, and begins pulling out containers like this is the most normal thing in the world.
I sit there, hands folded in my lap, my heart thrumming wildly as I watch him serve the food.
He passes me a container and a bottle of water. “Eat.”
It’s not a command exactly…but it’s close enough that I obey immediately.
We eat in silence for a few moments. I try to calm my racing thoughts. Try to focus on the food instead of the fact that I’m sitting on my boss’s couch, close enough that our arms brush every time one of us moves.
“So,” he says finally, “you were raised by your grandfather.”
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “He’s been my guardian since I was little.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a businessman,” I reply carefully.
He glances at me, clearly sensing there’s more to it, but he doesn’t press. “He sounds protective.”
“He is,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Very.”
“What about your parents?”
My smile fades slightly. “They’re not around.”
His expression softens. “I see.”
I hesitate, then ask, “Do you have family?”
“A sister,” he says. “Natalya.” Something warm seeps into his voice when he says her name. “She runs a floral shop.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“It is,” he agrees. “She’s stubborn. Strong. Too kind for her own good.”
From the way he talks about her, I can tell he loves his sister fiercely and is very protective of her. I like that about him.
His shoulder brushes mine and a chill passes through me. I can barely form a rational thought in my head. I take a bite ofmy sandwich. I can barely taste the thing but at least, it distracts me from the tension sizzling between us.
“You’ve got something—” he murmurs then reaches over and gently swipes his thumb over the corner of my lips.
I jolt from the suddenness of his move—and the intensity of his touch—causing my elbow to knock off his sandwich. The sandwich slides right from his hands and lands squarely in his lap.
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no—”
I jump up in a panic, dropping to my knees in front of him without thinking.
“I’m so sorry,” I babble, grabbing napkins and dabbing frantically. “I didn’t mean to, I swear—this keeps happening, I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”
It takes a second too long for my brain to catch up with my hands and when it does, I freeze, my eyes growing wild.
I am practically gripping onto his crotch.
Mortification crashes over me.