“Show me your concepts.”
“Good to see you, too.”
Her smile tells me she’s unfazed by my rudeness.
“Thank you for the food delivery the other night.
I have enough leftovers in my freezer for the month now.”
I don’t answer.
I still don’t know why I did it.
Something about hearing her stomach growl had made my wolf antsy, and he couldn’t stand me driving away without being sure she had enough to eat.
Which was stupid.
She is a grown woman who feeds herself every day.
She flips open her sketchbook on the table and pushes it across to me.
The page has a neat rectangle marked out to designate the edges of the mural.
Within the lines, she’s sketched a cacophony of blooms.
The perspective is close up, a la Georgia O-Keefe, but the canvas is packed with them, like they’re pressing forward and tumbling off the page.
“This is for the color one,” I say.
Aubrey smirks.
“No.”
There’s challenge and innuendo in the syllable.
She’s testing me.
I stare at the sketch again.
“You want to paint black and white flowers.”
I make my voice flat instead of lifting it in question.
She nods.
“And what design did you come up with for the color mural?”
She sits back in the chair.
“I haven’t decided yet.
I want some time in your space for inspiration.”
Oh, I’ll inspire her.
I’ll inspire her to take her clothes off.
To spread those gorgeous thighs and scream my name at the top of her lungs when she comes.
To distract myself from that mental image, I pretend to examine the sketch.
“Have you ever seen gray flowers?”
Her pouty lips spread into a wide smile.
“Never.”
Her eyes are lit with challenge.
“Have you?”
She’s trying to prove that a colorless mural doesn’t make sense.
With this tigress in my space, it feels true.
Before she walked in, I found the palette soothing.
It’s also true that I find her disruptive, chaotic, and agitating.
I really need to fuck this female out of my system.
“Use this design for the other mural,” I instruct.
“This is for the black and white one,” she counters firmly.
She’s fucking with me.
Issuing a challenge.
Trying to show me the folly of my ways.
One part of me-the most familiar part-wants to tear her to shreds.
Give her a verbal dress-down, fire her from the project, and send her marching back to Brooklyn in those white patent-leather boots.
But then she wouldn’t come back on Monday.
And I’d still have to deal with her for this bachelor / bachelorette party.
And the wedding.
Brick would be pissed at me for causing any ripples or discomfort for my luna.
Fuck.
The other part of me refuses to be taught a lesson by this she-devil.
She wants to show me that a palette of grey is wrong?
Fuck that.
I gave the constraint for this mural.
She’s the one who will have to make the mural beautiful within the constraint.
“Approved,” I say flatly.
“You’ll start Monday?”
She quickly hides her flicker of surprise.
“Yes.
I can be here in the morning.
How will I get in?”
The normal thing would be to give her a key.
I’ll be at work, after all.
Or Grayson could escort her up and let her in.
“I’ll be here,” I say before I even realize I made up my mind.
Her brows rise.
“You don’t trust me in your place?
What, do you think I’ll steal the silver or something?”
“I think you require supervision.”
Her lips part with indignation, but then she lets out a puff of laughter.
“I think you have control issues.”
I lock gazes with her.
“Definitely.”
She gives me that cat-that-ate-the-canary grin again.
“Good luck managing me.”
My dick gets hard.
I have a half-dozen ideas of how I’d like to manage her.
The punishments I’d issue when she misbehaved:
Clothing restrictions.
Spankings.
A ball gag.
Edging.
Tying her to the bed.
“Good luck working under me.”
I might have put a touch of innuendo in my retort.
She lets out another surprised chuff.
Her eyes dilate like she’s turned on.
I catch the scent of her arousal over her nutmeg scent.
Her swallow is audible.
This is the way I want her.
Off-balance.
Aroused.
At my whim.
Now, I act the host.
“May I get you something to drink?”
“Nope.”
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