Falling for Your Boss by Emma St. Clair

Chapter Ten

Zoey

My plan works.And by that, I mean that I’m able to get Gavin to the bedroom. Getting him in bed is another thing altogether. But my makeshift human sling made from his top sheet worked really well combined with his floors. I have an all-new appreciation for hardwood. I may have stroked them and given them a little kiss when I finally had managed to get Gavin as far as his bedroom. Not like anyone’s going to know. And he won’t know why he has a headache tomorrow since he didn’t wake up when his head bumped the steps again on the trickiest part of my plan, which was getting him out of the sunken living area.

He’s still out. Which concerns me for his fever.

Sitting next to him on the floor, I dial Nancy’s number, hoping to get Patty on the phone again. She answers on the third ring, her voice warm and reminding me so much of Nancy’s, but a little lower and a little sweeter.

“Hey, this is Zoey again.”

“Hello, Zoey! Did you manage to find Gavin?”

I eye the half-dressed, sweat-slick man lying beside me on the floor. “I did.”

“How’s he doing?”

He jerks a little in his sleep, muttering something, and without even thinking about it, I rest my hand on his forearm until he settles again, the lines on his forehead smoothing out.

“Not great. He’s got a high fever and passed out. I wondered if you could give me a little advice. How long did Nancy’s fever last?”

“It broke not too long after I arrived. But she was disoriented and confused—maybe a little delirious. It’s a fast bug, but quite intense. Just keep Gavin taking pain relievers every three to six hours. Don’t let him be stubborn and fight you on that either.”

I smile at the hint of scolding in her voice. I can hear how much she cares about him. It would be dangerous to my heart if I hadn’t already realized how out of my league he was. Being nice to his mom and two other older ladies who aren’t even blood relations? Yeah, Gavin is just too much.

I agree to keep Patty apprised on how Gavin is doing, and I swear before we hang up, I hear Nancy shout something about not doing anything she wouldn’t do. She must be feeling better.

Sighing, I hang up the phone and look down at Gavin. “We’ve got to get you medicated and in bed. Any suggestions on how to do that?”

I could make him a pallet on the floor, but I would feel a lot better if I could get him in bed. He’s going to have to wake up at least a little for this to work. While I’m trying to figure that out, I strip the bed and replace the sheets with a new set I find in the bathroom linen closet. Everything is folded neatly, and I have to wonder if this is Gavin’s doing, or if he has someone who keeps his house looking so orderly.

I have to step over his body as I’m tucking in the sheets, trying to make the corners perfect. Not only because I like them that way, but because I suspect he does too. It feels wrong to put his sweaty, ripe body into these clean, cool sheets, but there’s no way I could put him back as it was. And it’s not like I’m going to put him in the shower. I briefly considered giving him some kind of sponge bath, but that would shove me from the slightly creepy territory where I’m currently residing into You, the creepy Netflix series Sam got us all hooked on. Plus, it would be my luck that Gavin would wake up while I was washing out his armpits. I would never live that down.

I’ve got the bed properly made, the corner tucked in on the side that has a Harlan Coben novel and a pair of reading glasses. It is literally a twin of my dad’s bedside. Further proof that Gavin and I are worlds apart. He and my dad could be drinking buddies.

I shudder and turn my attention to the man lying on the floor. I’m amazed at how much stubble shadows his jaw after twenty-four hours. His fever might have subsided a little, as his skin no longer has a sheen to it. No, it’s just miles of golden, hard flesh that I am not going to ogle while he’s passed out. Nope.

He’s going to have to wake up, at least a little or I won’t be able to get him into the bed. With a deep breath, I crouch beside him and shake his shoulder gently.

“Hey, Gavin.”

He makes a sleepy sound and smacks his lips, but doesn’t so much as crack his eyes open. I shake him a little harder.

“Gavin. Wake up, big guy.”

“Zoey?” Suddenly, those deep chocolate eyes are open, clear, and fixed on mine.

He may be sick and smell a few degrees north of death, but he still makes my whole body react. Especially when his face stretches into a smile.

“It’s so good to see you. Hi,” he says, his voice sounding sleepy, and okay, maybe his eyes aren’t all that clear. He’s awake-ish, and I need to take advantage of this before he goes back to dead asleep.

“We need to get you in bed,” I say, shaking his shoulder again.

“You’re trying to get me in bed?” His eyebrows go up and that smile stretches even wider.

“No—I mean, yes. But not like that. Get up.”

“I like it when you’re bossy,” Gavin says. He lifts a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell.”

“I don’t plan on it,” I mutter, my cheeks reaching maximum heat level. “Come on. Move.”

“Mm. But only because you’re so cute.”

And then I die when he boops me on the nose. Like I’m a child. Or a bad house cat. At least he’s moving, I tell myself as he starts to get up. I swear, Gavin is like Will Ferrell in that movie where he gets shot in the neck with a horse tranquilizer. He manages to get his feet under him, but he’s jerky and lumbering and heavy weight as I manage to wrap an arm around his waist and direct him toward the bed.

It’s like three steps, but three steps is too many supporting his unsteady weight. Which is why, right as we reach his side of the bed, we do a repeat of earlier, except this time, he’s crashing down into the bed, dragging me on top of him.

I’m in bed with Gavin.

The part of my brain that might have daydreamed about being in his arms is doing the wave in the stands, the cheers deafening. I need to shut that down. He’s not fully asleep this time though, and his arms snake around my waist, even as I’m trying to wiggle away. I mean, there’s a slim part of me that wants to stop fighting, but I cannot be in bed with my totally out-of-it boss. But then he rolls right over so that he’s half on top of me, one leg hooked around mine and his arms octopusing around me as his face nuzzles into my neck.

That stubble lights up my nerve endings and I’m a sparkler on the Fourth of July, lit up and sparking and hot to the touch.

“Gavin,” I say, trying to shove his arms down and climb out of his hold.

But he isn’t having any of it. “You smell nice, butterfly.”

Butterfly. The romantic part of my heart just went into a full swoon at the pet name. But it’s not really for me. He’s not awake. This is the fever talking. Not my handsome older boss who has this incredible house, a great smile, and a view that people might kill for.

When his lips land on my neck, just below my ear, things get a little too real. Because aware or not, my entire body is humming with complete and total awareness. He has no idea what he’s doing, and I’m all in. Or, almost all in. I’ve saved a small stack of chips, just enough to use my full force to pull away from Gavin as he gently starts sucking on my neck.

It has been so long since someone has kissed me that these tiny physical affections shouldn’t be a big deal, but they are massive. And he won’t even remember. That gives me even more determination, and I manage to push, wiggle, and kick my way to freedom. I swear, tomorrow, we are both going to be covered in bruises in the morning. When I looked in his bathroom while getting the sheets, I could see the start of a wicked black eye.

I’m almost out of bed when his hand comes out of nowhere, wrapping around mine. I’ve always been a tall girl, towering over other girls growing up, and wearing size ten shoes, which is great for searching clearance sales since all the typical sevens and eights are sold out. But my hand almost looks small wrapped up in Gavin’s big hand.

“Don’t go, butterfly,” he says, in a voice that goes straight to my heart.

But his eyes are closed, his breathing is evening out, and his fingers begin to loosen their grip on mine. Slipping my hand out of his ranks as one of the most disappointing moments of my love life. Not that this should count toward my love life. I need to hold on to what I can, though, because I suspect after today, my utter embarrassment at the memory of tonight is going to mean I won’t be able to look at him the same way. Seeing him vulnerable like this, being in his arms, having his hand touch mine—it is killing me.

I manage to get myself up out of the bed before he can suck me in like a tractor beam.

He smells, I remind myself. He smells bad.

And he’s not really aware. He doesn’t want you.

But he needs me. His text said so. Without me, he would have passed out alone in the living room an hour ago. He might be bleeding to death.

Wow, my head is filled with drama. I need a task to focus on, so I gather up the dirty sheets from the floor, trying to angle my head away as I breathe. Next up, I’ll find the pain relievers and see if I can get him to take some with water.

I’m pulling the bedroom door shut with my bare foot when a voice startles me into dropping all the bedding.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

For the second time today, adrenaline shoots through me. But it doesn’t subside because who is this gorgeous woman in a designer suit and why is she in Gavin’s house? How did she have the code to get in his house? My stomach lurches with an ugly shot of jealousy.

A young girl hangs back just behind her, not even looking up from a tablet in a pink case.

“Um, hi?” I don’t even have the first clue how to navigate this conversation.

“I guess you’re the new girlfriend,” the woman says, her tone haughty and her look haughtier. I don’t need to know more about her to dislike her. She’s in Gavin’s house, looking beautiful and like she belongs here. And she is sizing me up like I’m a Who down in Whoville that she could crush under her Louboutins.

She raises a perfect dark eyebrow. “Or are you the maid?”

“Neither, actually,” I say, gathering my wits enough to pick up the spilled sheets and holding them to my chest like a shield. “And you are?”

That eyebrow goes even higher. “I’m his ex-wife. I’m here to drop off his daughter.”