Hard Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 1)

Page 12

Mr. Coolen's mouth hangs open, his expression softening as I force him to hear me. I don't know what's coming over me, but I can't just stand here and watch this man rip Oliver apart for no reason.
“Now, you can be patient, wait for Oliver to let you know when he's ready, and be grateful he's not some jackass just trying to take your money.” Mr. Coolen looks like he's about to say something, but I hold up a finger and keep talking. “Or you can go thumb through the phone book and find some dirt-bag to give you everything you're not going to want. You pick. Which one is it?”
His mouth wiggles as he tries to figure out what to say. Darting his eyes between us, I watch him deflate. He has no argument, because he knows I'm right.
This time he lost.
“Do you know when the delivery is coming?” he asks Oliver, his tone less abrasive.
“The twenty-first.”
“And you'll be starting it once it comes in?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Mr. Coolen taps his hand against his thigh, and feigns a weak, embarrassed smile. “Okay, that sounds good then. I'll talk to you soon.” And with that, he's gone.
I can feel Oliver's eyes on me. Glancing at him, he's got a funny smile on his face.
“What was that?” he asks.
“That was me telling that jerk of a client where to stick it.”
“Yeah, but why'd you do that? I thought you thought my work was dumb and you have better things to do.”
“I do. But it doesn't mean he gets to just come in here and ream you out for something you already told him.”
“I don't get you, Narissa. Yesterday you were all over me, today you want nothing to do with me. What gives?”
Rolling my eyes, I ignore his question. “Can we get back to this now?” I ask, pointing at the cabinets.
“In a minute. I want to know why you felt the need to jump in there when you've been acting like you can't stand me since you got here this morning.”
“I never said I couldn't stand you.”
Oliver strokes his jaw, his gaze shifting around my face. “You didn't have to say it, I can feel it. Not everything needs words.” He walks with smooth, long steps across the room.
My eyes follow his every move. He touches the table softly, his fingers gliding across the wood with the same ease I felt yesterday. The pads of his fingers brush back and forth, tracing the grain as he drops his head to his chest and looks at me under heavy lids.
I swallow hard. This man is intimidating in so many ways. My heart is in my throat, my stomach is flipping like a gymnast doing a bar routine. My palms are clammy, and my muscles begin to shake.
Oliver's eyes never leave mine. He smirks, caressing the wood in a way that puts an erotic massage to shame. “I know what this is,” he says. “Yesterday scared you. I made you feel so damn good you don't know how to handle it. Now, you want to pretend like it never happened.”
Yes. . . No. . .
It's more than that.
Oliver did make me feel good. His mouth is magic. His touch is panty melting. But, letting it happen again is too dangerous. My father will kill both of us. Not to mention the damage that can happen if I let him close and he ends up rejecting me.
Inhaling a slow breath through my nose, my nostrils flare. “You don't have any clue what I'm thinking.” Pressing my hands down on the table, I lean forward and challenge him. “Maybe yesterday wasn't as good as you think.”
Arching a single brow, Oliver keeps moving. His steps slow and methodical as he gets closer to me. “Oh yes it was. It was really good, we both know it.”
I can't stop the cynical laugh as it swells. Chuckling, I shake my head. “You can try to convince yourself all you want, but what happened will never happen again.”
He smiles, a sexy fucking smile that sends a blast of heat through my body. My clit is starting to throb, and my panties are growing wetter by the second.
“What's making you so cold?” he asks, stopping a few feet away from me. “Where did the girl from yesterday go? I thought we were friends, Narissa.” Oliver places a hand on his chest as if he's covering his tender heart.
“You thought wrong. You're just a guy my father hired for a job. That's it. Friends is the last thing I'd call us.” Crossing my arms, I tilt my head a hair and glare at him.
“Fine. You can go then. Go home, I'll tell your dad you're done.”
“But I'm not done. I want to finish what I started.”
Oliver holds out his arms, and grins smugly. “So do I. But we can't always get what we want now, can we?”