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Breaking the Boss’s Rules
The moment stretched, the atmosphere thickening around them, blanketing them …
‘So what do you think?’ Joe asked.
‘About what?’ Focus, Imo.
‘Changing career? Within Langley if it remains a viable option. Or elsewhere.’
Forcing herself to truly concentrate on his question, she let the idea take hold. New Imogen Lorrimer—wearer of red dresses and trainee interior designer. Yeah, right. There was no version of Imogen who would leap out of her comfort zone like that.
And she was fine with that. More than fine. The whole point of a comfort zone was that it was comfortable.
‘Not for me, thank you. I’m very happy as I am.’
End of discussion; there was no need for this absurd urge to justify herself.
Glancing at her watch, she rose to her feet and pushed the chair backwards. ‘Look at the time. I need to get ready before the taxi gets here.’
An audible hitch of breath was her only answer, and she looked up from her watch to see dark brown eyes raking over her. Without her permission her body heated up further—a low, warm glow in her tummy to accompany the inexplicable feeling of disappointment at a decision she knew to be right.
‘You look pretty ready to me,’ he drawled.
Was he flirting with her? Was she dreaming?
An unfamiliar spark, no doubt ignited by the sheer effrontery of the dress, lit up a synapse in her brain. Hooking a lock of hair behind her ear, she fought the urge to flutter her eyelashes.
‘Is that a compliment?’
‘If you want.’
There was that look again—and this time she surely wasn’t imagining the smoulder. Even if she had no idea how to interpret it.
‘It’s also an observation.’
As he rose to his feet and picked up a black tie from the back of his chair Imogen gulped. Six foot plus of lean, honed muscle.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘seeing as you had a bathroom break a quarter of an hour ago, my guess is that you’re avoiding this discussion. True or false?’
Mesmerised, she watched his strong fingers deftly pull the tie round his neck before he turned and picked his jacket up.
‘False …’ she managed.
Right now she needed to get away from the pheromone onslaught—she wasn’t avoiding the discussion. Much …
‘If you say so.’ Slinging the jacket over his shoulder, he headed towards her. ‘And, Imogen? One more thing?’
‘Yes?’
Oh, hell—he was getting closer. Why weren’t her feet moving? Heading towards the door and the waiting taxi? Instead her ridiculous heels appeared superglued to the carpet as her heart pounded in her ribcage. A hint of his earthy scent tickled her nostrils, and still her stupid feet wouldn’t obey her brain’s commands.
His body was so warm … his eyes held hers in thrall. Hardly able to breathe, she clocked his hand rising, and as he touched her lower lip heat shot through her body.
A shadow fleeted across his face and he stepped backwards, his arm dropping to his side.
‘Don’t forget to smile,’ he said.
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