CEO's Expectant Secretary(32)
“Did your father ever see it after you renovated it?”
His eyes narrowed. “No. My father was a great man, but he never liked to admit when he was wrong.”
“You don’t have that trait,” she said. “That was one of the things that drew me to you. You are extremely confident, and can made decisions at the speed of lightning. So many of the decisions you made when we were working together, I would have second- or third-guessed. But you went ahead and made them. In the rare moments when you were wrong, you admitted it and took another track.”
“The ad business requires decisiveness. If you stay in the same place too long, you’ll get run over. I have too many people counting on me to allow that to happen,” he said, meeting her gaze with laser-blue intensity. “I can’t let them down.”
He would never allow himself to let them down, just as he would never surrender the responsibility of his child. His sense of obligation was fierce and steadfast. She felt a shudder ripple through her at his expression and she found herself wondering if he would be the compassionate father she hoped he would be, or the hard taskmaster his father had been for him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I called ahead and the caretaker said he would put cold cuts in the refrigerator for us. After that, perhaps you’d like to rest again.”
“A sandwich sounds good, but I’d rather go for a hike than take a nap. I can nap in San Francisco,” she said.
“Not that I could see,” he said. “According to Anna, you were barely taking breaks for meals during the last week.”
“I’m surrounded by tattletales,” she said in frustration. “You have these people watching me like hawks.”
“I’m your husband now, Elle. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe and well-cared for. “
Responsibility. Obligation. Duty. She didn’t want to be any of those to Brock, but she was certain he wouldn’t understand her gripe, especially since she was pregnant with his child.
“Sandwich and hike, then,” she said, lifting her chin. “You can take a nap if you’re feeling tired,” she suggested, unable to resist the urge to goad him a little.
He chuckled and pulled her toward him. “You’ve forgotten. You always fell asleep before I did at my apartment.”
She lifted her hand in surrender. “I can’t argue with that,” she said as he planted a kiss on her mouth.
Several hours later, after lunch, hiking, and consuming a warmed-up chicken pot pie, Brock sat on the sofa and Elle brought him a scotch on the rocks. He noticed she did it as if she hadn’t thought twice about it.
“Thanks,” he said and studied her for a long moment. “It occurs to me that you may know more about my preferences than I know about yours,” he said as she sank onto the couch beside him with a bottle of water.
“Hmm,” she said and laughed with a self-satisfied smile. “You’ve never been anyone’s assistant, let alone my assistant.”
Brock took a sip of the perfectly chilled scotch. “You don’t have to be arrogant about it,” he said with a grin.
She slid a sideways glance at him. “I am not, nor have I ever been, arrogant. The concept is completely foreign to me.”
“Okay, then you’re a show-off,” he said, taking another sip.
She dropped her jaw. “I am not a show-off. If anyone is a show-off, it’s you,” she said. “Look at you, with you laser-blue eyes and dark hair. You’re charming when you’re inclined…”
He frowned at her. “When I’m inclined?” he echoed.
“It’s not every day,” she said.
Brock shook his head. There were so many people who sucked up to him on a daily basis—but not Elle, and he liked her for that. “So what’s your favorite cocktail?” he asked.
“Strawberry martini with sugar rim,” she said and licked her lips. “Delicious.”
The sight of her tongue on her plum-colored lips made his gut draw tight. “Noted. Favorite meal?”
“Depends on the day,” she said. “Especially since I’ve been pregnant. Lately I’ve been craving macaroni and cheese,” she said with a wince. “That’s gonna do terrible things to my hips.”
“Your hips are perfect. Favorite sandwich?” he continued.
“When I’m good, I’ll take a chicken and vegetable wrap. When I’m bad, open-faced turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes or roast beef.”
“I like that about you,” he said, shooting her a smile. “I like that you are a red-meat eater,” he said, remembering the way she’d once savored a steak with béarnaise sauce.