He picked up my other foot, his hands warm and steady. “Is that so? Next time I’ll do them for you, and you can show your friends.”
“They’d absolutely kill me!” I exclaimed, then added softly, “You look really handsome when you’re concentrating like that.”
Brandon’s eyes flicked up to mine, amusement dancing in their dark depths. “So I only look good when I’m concentrating? Is that ‘what you’re saying?”
I felt my face flush again. “Oh my god, you’re impossible! You should just say ‘thank you!”
“Whatever,” I mumbled, trying to hide my smile. “Just hurry up with that foot. You’re distracting me from my show!”
As Brandon focused on finishing my other foot, Max suddenly became agitated, circling us with increasing enthusiasm, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, eyeing the dog’s strange behavior.
Brandon glanced up with a deadpan expression. “I believe it’s… rutting season for Max.”
I burst out laughing at his ridiculous explanation, my foot jerking slightly in his grasp.
The next morning, I woke to find myself nestled in Brandon’s arms. Bright sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across our bedroom. Brandon’s face was relaxed in sleep, all the sharp edges and intensity softened.
I couldn’t resist–I reached up and gently pinched his cheek, feeling the smooth skin between my fingers. His face looked younger, almost boyish in repose.
Just as I was about to pinch his other cheek, Brandon’s hand shot up and captured my wrist. His eyes remained closed, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“And what exactly are you doing, Mrs. Stark?” he murmured, voice husky with sleep.
“I–nothing!” I stammered, trying to free my hand. “Let go!”
Instead of releasing me, Brandon pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me in a warm cocoon. “It’s still early,” he said, burying his face in my hair. “Let’s sleep a little longer.”
“It’s not early at all!” I protested, squirming in his grasp. “I have work today! This is technically my first real day, and I don’t want to make a bad impression on Leo. Brandon, come on!”
When I didn’t respond, I wiggled harder. “Brandon! Get up!”
“This is your fault,” he grumbled, finally loosening his grip. “You woke me up with your pinching.”
This is not my fault! Let me go!” I pushed against his chest, finally breaking free. One glance at the clock sent me into panic mode. “Oh my god, we’re going to be late!”
Brandon sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Alright, golget ready.”
I sprinted to the bathroom, frantically brushing my teeth while trying to decide what to wear.
I raced through my morning routine, nearly tripping as I pulled on my clothes. “This is a disaster,” I muttered, frantically searching
Chapter 161
for my phone. “First real day and I’m going to be late!”
Brandon appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a crisp suit.
“Relax,” he said, handing me my phone. “You won’t be late.”
If I am, I’m deducting it from your paycheck, I threatened, shoving my feet into sensible flats.
“Deal,” he agreed easily.
As I rushed toward the garage, Brandon fell into step beside me. “I’ll ride with you today.”
I stopped short. “What? Don’t you have your own car?”
“I do, but…” he shrugged, the picture of innocence, “they haven’t been driven in a while. Some might be rusty. Others might be out of gas.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Brandon Stark, with his collection of luxury cars worth millions sitting in our garage, was claiming they might be rusty? And out of gas?
But the clock was ticking, and I didn’t have time to argue. “Fine,” I said, shooting him a look that promised this wasn’t over.
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