Free For His Protection by Amber A Bardan Page A

absorb the image of
nestling in Ty’s lap.
    “Now that would be acceptable.” His voice lowered to a
whisper. “I promise you’ll enjoy your seat.”
    Her eyes widened at his words and the implication of all the
things that might be possible in that scenario.
    The phone on the desk rang in a series of low beeps. He
stood and reached for the receiver. Brooke seized the gap and rose from the
chair, crossing the room and pretending the potted tree was far more
fascinating than it really was.
    Ty spoke on the phone but his gaze trailed her. Oh hell,
this job was going to be unbearable. Really unbearable. Somehow the
professionalism she’d cultivated with icy excellence turned to crap around him.
She’d be distracted, useless and unable to pay attention. Because of him. Him
and his flirting, watching, thinking about her, thinking about her god-damn
pussy—shit…now why’d she have to go remember that?
    “My PA Wendy is on her way in,” Ty said, hanging up the
phone and sitting in the chair that was probably still warm from her ass. “She
can answer any questions you have. In fact it wouldn’t hurt to take a few notes
from her.”
    Brooke flashed him a look from the corner of her eyes and
made a completely noncommittal sound. Take notes from his PA? His PA who by his
own admission would be wearing man-pleasing heels and panty-flashing skirts, no
doubt…she probably spent most days dropping stuff around his office just so she
could bend over for him like a good little assistant. Because honestly what
woman would be immune to Ty? He had special pheromones or some crap like that.
    She glanced at his desk then looked away.
    No note taking .
    A knock sounded on the door. Brooke spun toward the sound,
her vertebrae straightening. A woman—well-groomed and middle-aged—stepped in,
balancing files in one arm. Clearly not his PA. She looked like a cutout from Business Woman’s Daily not a bang-the-secretary dream sequence.
    Ty stood. “Brooke, this is my PA, Wendy.”
    The woman smiled, her eyes scrunching as she approached with
her hand extended. Brooke ran her gaze over the woman from her black and white
heels and sleek city dress to the artful bun at the back of her head. Brooke
took Wendy’s hand. So maybe my bitchy little mind jumped to conclusions—Ty’s
fault mostly. With his reputation, the way he oozed sex, one had to assume
he’d surround himself with groupies.
    “Nice to meet you.” Brooke stepped back and ran her fingers
over the back of her go-to high ponytail.
    “Thank you, Wendy, for being so accommodating with all of
this,” Ty said.
    “Certainly, Mr. Black.” Wendy took the files to his desk.
    Brooke’s jacket pocket vibrated. She pulled out her phone
and glanced at the screen.
    Still on for bridesmaid dress shopping tomorrow? XOXO
    Brooke expelled a long breath and turned to face the wall.
Crap, bridesmaid dress shopping… How had it slipped her mind? The one friend she’d
made in the five and a half years since she’d extracted herself from anything
and everything that might even remotely resemble a relationship and it turned
out she had completely forgotten how to be a decent friend. She wouldn’t blame
Charlize if she cut her out of the bridal party. It was bad enough at the
bridal shower when her social skills with other bridesmaids consisted of a
couple of nods and one-syllable sentences.
    Exactly why she didn’t do this people crap. Questions like, “How
come you don’t have a boyfriend?” made her want to put her head through
glass—or better yet give a little truth with a “Sorry, honey, if I tell you,
you’ll spend your life sleeping with a nightlight”. Both would be a
buzz-kill—and not so socially acceptable.
    So many truths didn’t seem to be acceptable.
    Charlize made friendship easier. None of that small talk
rubbish. They could go for jogs, play cards or have a coffee without anyone
gushing about a guy.
    “Is everything all right?”
    Brooke turned around. The