The tension in his shoulders melted instantly. He didn’t even check the screen. He just knew the sound of relief when it buzzed.
“Hey,” he answered. The softness in his voice surprised him.
“Wow. Immediate pickup,” Tachina teased. “Someone must’ve missed me.”
She just didn’t know how much. It was like she had known he had needed to hear her voice. He would have liked it even better had she walked through his office doorway.
“You just don’t know,” he murmured.
“Aww…is the big CEO having a bad day?” She chuckled.
“You can say that.” He loosened his tie. It was almost cutting off his air supply.
He picked up sounds of construction behind her. Workers yelling, drills whining, the hum of progress on her magnificent design. He imagined her with her safety vest, hard hat, a sandwich in one hand and her tablet in the other.
“You’re on site at the Artisan?” he queried.
“Yup. Grabbing lunch and watching drywall go up. Living the glamorous life.”
“You okay?” He instinctively wanted to know.
“I’m good. I just needed to talk with you while I ate my fancy grilled cheese.”
He smiled. His heart, normally steady and slow, kicked up like it had found rhythm in her voice.
“Let me guess…extra pickles?” He couldn’t believe that was a thing. The first time he’d seen her eat them on a grilled cheese, he’d thought she was playing.
Tachina had been dead serious.
“One would think, but for some reason, I couldn’t stomach them today. And hey! We don’t judge innovation in this house,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “And speaking of houses, where are we staying tonight? Mine or yours?”
“Yours?” he inquired innocently. He’d let her think they were, but he’d already had made plans for them. Not that he minded her place, but tonight, they’d be at his.
“Mine? Why mine?”
“I’m just kidding. Tony is prepping dinner at my place,” he admitted.
“Oh, so you already knew the answer before I asked.”
“It was just strategic planning. Neither of us will have to cook tonight,” he said.
“I do like the sound of that,” she said with a sigh.
“Dinner’s at six. Chef’s choice, and you love his cooking.”
“Fine. You may have won tonight, but I get control of the TV, and if you complain, I’ll feed Kian all the sugar he wants before bed,” she warned.
“That’s domestic terrorism,” Vic said.
“Call it what you want, Maxwell.” She laughed.
He never realized flirting could feel like breathing. Natural. Like home. When the call ended, he stared at the screen until it went dark. He thought of calling her back just to hear her laugh again but knew she needed to work, as did he.
But he knew one thing for certain.
He loved her.
His house smelled like heaven. Tony was creating magic in the kitchen. Old-school rock was playing from the speakers, and occasionally Tony sang along with the songs. The man was a geniuswhen it came to concocting good foods. Vic was lucky to have employed him for years. Hi stomach rumbled as the aromas grew stronger.