Talking Dirty with the CEO(35)
“Hey Naughtygirl,” he said, kicking back his chair and putting his feet up on his desk.
“Joseph?”
God, he loved the way she said his name. “Yeah, it’s me. You were supposed to call, remember? About the job offer?”
“Job offer? Oh, the e-mail. I didn’t think you were serious.”
“Of course I was serious. I would never offer you a job if I didn’t mean it.” And he wouldn’t. He only took the best for Ashton Technology. “Your writing is fantastic but I’m wondering if you’d prefer something more hands-on. My research department could use someone who thinks outside the box and who’s passionate about tech. Someone like you, in other words.”
A small silence down the other end of the line. “I…well…thanks. Can I think about it?”
Something in her tone made him frown. She sounded quiet and almost fragile.
It made his chest feel tight. “Are you okay, honey?”
This time the silence seemed to stretch forever.
“Yes,” Christie replied, but she didn’t sound okay. That note in her voice gripped him and wouldn’t let go.
“Well, I’m not.” He paused. “I’m feeling lonely here and I keep thinking of sheepskin rugs. And you naked on them.”
A soft intake of breath. “Oh, are you?”
“Yeah.” A strange feeling swept through him. Almost as if he was nervous or unsure of himself. Which was just damn weird since he was never either of those things. He shook it off. “What do you think?”
“I…I don’t know.” She sounded hesitant. “I thought we weren’t going to see each other again.”
“We weren’t.” Words on his tongue, words he never thought he’d say. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. I want another night, Christie.”
Another long silence.
He found himself gripping the phone tight. “Don’t say no.”
Finally, she spoke. “Okay. I won’t.”
Ridiculous to feel so relieved but nevertheless he did. “Then give me your address and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You want to come here?” More surprise.
“I want to see where you live.” To sate the curiosity burning a hole in his gut.
For a long moment he thought she wasn’t going to agree, then rather abruptly, she told him her address. In Ponsonby, not far from his downtown office. Fantastic—at this time of night it would only take him five minutes at most.
“It’s nothing fancy,” she told him, a defensive edge to her voice. “It’s just a crummy apartment.”
“How could it be just a crummy apartment with you in it? I’ll be there in five.”
…
Christie stared around the apartment at the wires, cables, and electronics tools scattered all over the table. At the clothes draped over the couch, the tech magazines spread untidily over the coffee table, the books facedown, spines irretrievably broken. The half-eaten pizza and the half-drunk coffees.
Ugh.
She should never have said yes. What had she been thinking only a little while ago about his apartment? Neat and tidy and clean. Full of expensive furniture and art. And hers was…
Ugh. Just ugh.
Her jaw tightened as she battled the urge to do a frantic cleanup. No, why should she?
Yeah, she had a sad computer-geek type of apartment. So what? He was only coming around to have sex, nothing more. And she had no problems with that.
A shivering excitement welled up inside her at the thought of seeing him again, and she found herself surveying the mess and deciding that perhaps he was worth neatening up for after all.
Springing into action, Christie got rid of the leftover pizza and coffee mugs, chucked the clothes into her bedroom, did a double-take once she actually saw the state of the bedroom, realized the bedroom was actually going to be used, chucked everything off the bedroom floor into the wardrobe, then stuffed everything that didn’t fit in the wardrobe into the tiny hall cupboard.
When she’d finished, the apartment was looking…okay. So not all that tidy but at least it had lost that sad, unkempt look. Unlike her, alas.
Christie stopped in front of the mirror in the hallway and pulled a face at her reflection. In a faded Yoda T-shirt with “Do or do not. There is no try” on the front of it and a pair of comfy, baggy gray sweatpants, she knew she looked like the kind of person who never left her apartment.
Pride, St. John?
The doorbell rang and Christie sighed. Too late for pride. Perhaps now Joseph would see what he was really getting himself into.
Swallowing back a sudden burst of nervousness and the even stronger burst of excitement, Christie walked sedately to the door. No, she would not run to open it. She wasn’t a teenage girl and he wasn’t her first date. She would be calm and cool. Casual even.