“Stop fighting me on this. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”
A door slammed behind us.
I figured he’d set me on the couch in his office, so I was surprised when I opened my eyes to see us enter a room off the sitting area that I’d assumed was a private bathroom.
But it was a private bedroom.
With a bed.
An unmade bed.
Brady gently laid me down. As soon as the back of my neck met the cool pillow, I closed my eyes and sighed. I turned my head and the scent of Brady’s cologne drifted up, so I knew he’d spent the night in here recently.
A rough-skinned hand circled my ankle and he wiggled my left shoe off my foot, then my right shoe.
The room went silent.
I tried to focus on my breathing, hoping that would chase away the stabbing pain in my head.
The mattress dipped.
I immediately tried to sit up.
But he pressed one hand on my shoulder and the other against my stomach, cautioning me, “Slowly.”
As soon as I was upright, I noticed he held a glass of water and a bottle of pills. “What’s that?”
“A miracle drug. It’ll get rid of your headache. The only drawback is it will knock you out for a few hours. But you can stay here and I’ll keep an eye on you.” He shook out a pill and held it to my lips. “Open.”
I couldn’t look away from the tender concern in his eyes as I swallowed the medicine with a long drink of cold water.
“What is this place?” Half a dozen suits hung in the open closet space. There was also a rack of ties and several pairs of dress shoes lined up on a shelf next to workout wear and gear.
“It’s supposed to be a dressing room. I got rid of the uncomfortable chaise in favor of an actual bed.”
I smoothed my hand down the outside of his arm. “Brady, how often do you sleep in here?”
A muscle in his jaw ticced. “Too often.”
“Did you sleep here after you got back from Atlanta?”
“Yes.” He ran his knuckles across my jaw. “I knew if I went home I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I caught up on some work and crashed here about three a.m.”
“You should be the one getting TLC, not me.”
“I like that you know what this is.” He swept his thumb across my bottom lip. “I like that you let me do this for you.”
It seemed appropriate somehow when a fresh wave of pain nearly split my head in two that I realized I’d fallen for him. Four weeks ago, he was the beautiful, aloof CFO I admired from afar. Now, here I was in his private dressing room, with him tending to me with a loving touch that surprised both of us.
Brady pressed his lips to my forehead in a lingering kiss. “You’ll want to be lying down when the medicine kicks in.”
As soon as I’d gotten settled, he draped a cool cloth over my eyes and tucked the blanket around my feet. “I’ll leave the door open. I’m right outside if you need anything.”
*
I woke up and my head was clear, completely free from pain.
The dressing room didn’t have windows, so I didn’t know what time it was. Before I sat up, I stretched out in this bed Brady regularly slept in. It caused a sharp ache in my chest to think of him in this tiny space alone and exhausted.
Once I was upright, I noticed he’d placed a can of Coke on the table with a note propped up in front of it that said DRINK ME in Brady’s bold handwriting. I reached out and the can was still cold. I popped the top and chugged almost the entire thing. Within a few minutes, the fizzy sugar buzz pushed me one step closer to feeling human.
Off to the left of the dressing room was another door that did lead to a bathroom. A “Holy shit, the CFO has a nicer bathroom in his office than I have in my house” kind of bathroom. All marble, glass and chrome, with a walk-in shower, the toilet separated like a water closet, and a deep sink and vanity with a mirror that rose up at least twelve feet to the sloped ceiling.
I used the toilet, washed my hands and face, ran a comb through my hair and went looking for my man.
Brady was still at his desk. Papers were strewn everywhere. His dark hair nearly stood on end, he’d run his hands through it so many times.
But it wasn’t his crazy, sexy hair or the pursed set to his full lips or even the hint of chest hair peeking out from his shirt where he’d loosened his silk tie. No, what snared my attention was that Brady Lund wore glasses.
Tortoiseshell glasses that made him look even more like a smart woman’s wet dream—a geeky brainiac numbers man.
Glasses that made him look hotter than ever—I’d take Clark Kent in his suit and glasses over Superman any day.
Glasses that made me want to climb on top of him and test the bounce factor of that chair.