Free Zipper Fall by Kate Pavelle Page B

time. “Is… is that you, Mr. Azurri?”
    “Yeah.”
    His deep, gravelly voice made my heart speed up and I had to press my index finger to my nose to contain a sudden sneeze. I leaned back in my computer chair, my other hand limp over my forehead. “H-how may I h-help you?” I could tell my voice was a bit breathy, and I absolutely hated that stupid stutter.
    “I need some help with advertising, and I can’t show my face at your old company anymore. I called my former assistant, hoping she could arrange for the work, but she now has your job, and she says you’re freelancing.” His voice was full of disbelief at his ill fortune. “You owe me, Gaudens. And I want that video back.”
    “Mmm,” I hummed, not committing one way or the other. “Do you want me to come to your office?”
    “No! Not there. Not ever. Just… meet me at Starbucks, the one off Fifth Avenue.” All of my business seemed to be taking place at Starbucks these days. “Half an hour.”
    I grabbed my laptop and some of my new marketing materials, got out of my jeans and T-shirt, and put on a pair of gray tailored slacks with a black leather belt and monogrammed white dress shirt. I slipped into my uncomfortable yet professional leather dress shoes, and spent a good ten minutes brushing my teeth and tousling my hair so it was shiny and spiked in a carefree, sexy mop, hoping it would suggest the richness of a field of ripe wheat. My heart was beating hard.
    This is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date.
    I got there first and ordered an iced grande latte with an extra shot of espresso. I was sucking cold coffee through a green straw when I saw a flash of warm, chestnut hair burst through the door, and there he stood in all his glory.
    He wore dress slacks and a white linen shirt with a stand-up collar, no tie. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his sinewy forearms, and his sapphire-blue eyes drilled me with a predatory gaze. The straw stayed in my mouth, frozen. I quickly released it, licked my lips, and stood up, extending my hand.
    He took a few steps closer and grasped it, giving it a firm squeeze. “You owe me, Gaudens,” he growled, putting on his serious face.
    I felt the vibration of his voice all the way down my spine as his powerful hand swallowed my smaller one. His hand was strong and warm, with rough fingertips, the nails too short to dig into my palm. I didn’t miss the way his eyes scanned me up and down on the sly, or the way they lit up. My hand felt warm in his, and I thought my knees would buckle. A treacherous blush made its way up my neck and onto my cheeks, and I could only nod.
    We stood there and squeezed for a while, locked in an ancient ritual that must have originated with our caveman ancestors. Neither of us was willing to loosen his grip first, and it would have been awkward had I not enjoyed the waves of heat rolling off his body. He smelled good—an image of a dark closet flashed through my mind, and I bit my lip, struggling not to whimper. Then again, he didn’t have to hold me with such vehement firmness; I had no intention of going anywhere. My eyes sought his shocking pools of blue and saw the lines of his face were hard, but the assessing warmth in his eyes betrayed more than just a glimmer of interest. I couldn’t rip my gaze away.
    I tried to find my voice and failed. My knees felt a bit soft, and the distance between us three feet too wide.

Chapter 5

     
    “Y OU can let go of my hand now,” he said.
    I realized he loosened his grip a while ago and I had just been standing there in a public coffee shop, holding a strange man’s hand for the sake of prolonging contact.
    “And stop looking at me like that.”
    “Like… like what?” I whispered
    “Like a kicked puppy. Dammit, I need your help, and this project would have been on track if it weren’t for you. You broke it, you fix it.” All business now, he settled in the solid, wooden chair and pulled out the blue report folder I