First Impressions: The Fix Up Part 7

Holly looked back at him. "What?"

"The penthouse. My friend, Parker, calls it the millionaire mausoleum."

"Parker has a point."

"It's one of the perks of this CEO gig, so I guess I can't complain." He stepped past her to shove a key card into the slot beside a ma.s.sive mahogany door. "If nothing else, it's convenient having a place in the same building as my office."

"I imagine so, if you're a workaholic."

"Guilty as charged."

"Me, too," she admitted. "But I love my job, so I'm not complaining."

"Same here." Ben frowned. "At least I did. I haven't done the CEO thing long enough to fall in love."

"You will," she said encouragingly, hoping it was true.

He shrugged, then shoved the door open. He flicked a light switch, bathing the entry in a pool of warm light. He turned to Holly and smiled. "There's another CEO perk besides the apartment."

"What's that?"

"An administrative a.s.sistant who hates social functions almost as much as I do, and who was more than happy to slip out on a quest to purchase a tasteful variety of women's loungewear in your size."

Holly stared at him, not sure whether to be more impressed by his foresight or by the ma.s.sive slate foyer he'd revealed by pushing open his front door. "Wow." She stepped through the entry, resisting the urge to touch a marble statue or the textured wallpaper or Ben's abs. She settled for keeping her hands to herself. "Impressive."

The compliment applied to the game plan, the apartment, and the abs, though she was pretty sure Ben didn't take it that way.

"Thanks," he said. "None of it's really mine. It comes with the job, but it's not really me, you know?"

Oddly enough, Holly was pretty sure she did know. This place didn't look like Ben, but she checked it out anyway as she padded barefoot to the edge of a cream-colored plush carpet that seemed to extend for miles. She peered into the room, noticing there wasn't a speck of furniture anywhere. Just a ma.s.sive television the size of a small car.

"Here's the downside," he said, stepping up behind her. "None of the furniture I ordered has been delivered yet, so we're going to have to make do without it. Are you okay sitting on the floor?"

"Do you have bedding?"

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at her. "Are you proposing a slumber party?"

She laughed and tried to ignore the flush spreading through her body at the thought of getting into bed with him. c.r.a.p, maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

"I just meant we could make a cozy nest of blankets and pillows on the floor," she said. "Seems like the perfect way to watch a movie."

"Deal," he said. "You get your PJs. I'll get the popcorn going. We can make the blanket fort together."

"You really do think of everything, huh?"

"I try," he said with a grin. "Carol said she'd leave the shopping bags in the powder room over there. Pick whatever you like and join me in the living room when you're ready."

Holly moved past him, not sure how she felt about a guy planning everything about what she'd wear or how she'd spend her evening. Part of her wanted to be annoyed. Wasn't her controlling ex's behavior the sticking point in their relationship?

But part of her found it kind of hot for a guy to take charge every now and then. Besides, it wasn't like he was ordering her around. She knew without a doubt that if she'd declined the dress or the pajamas or the movie night, he would have backed down immediately. This take-charge side of Ben was what he'd hired her to help him tap into, right?

She slipped into the powder room he'd pointed to, amused by the notion that anyone could call it a "powder room." It was the size of her living room, complete with a sitting area and ma.s.sive granite counter lined with two ornate copper sinks. Behind her was a row of shopping bags lined up on a velvet-cushioned bench. She peeked into the first and found several pairs of fuzzy pajama bottoms in various sizes and colors. The next bag held a few pairs of Lululemon yoga pants and some cute tops with built-in shelf bras.

He really did think of everything, she mused as she peeled off her dress and unhooked her bra, grateful to be free of the constricting garment. Of course, she doubted Ben had really been the one to think of the importance of getting rid of an underwire at the end of the day. More likely it had been his secretary who came up with the idea, but still. Just knowing he had a hand in helping her free the girls was enough to leave her feeling downright grateful.

She chose a pair of pale gray, rabbit-soft pajama bottoms that turned out to be cashmere, and a yellow cami top with a lined shelf bra that promised enough support to keep her decent in mixed company, but enough softness to let her breathe easy. A drapey lavender cardigan and a pair of fuzzy blue slippers completed the ensemble, and she padded back out into the living room feeling more comfortable than she'd felt in a long time.

Of course, she was still working, wasn't she? This was a job, after all. The lines were getting as fuzzy as the slippers on her feet. She'd certainly never had a job like this one, but she'd also never had a client like Ben.

Ben.

He was crouched on the living room floor fiddling with the television, so he didn't see her come in. Behind him was a ma.s.sive nest of blankets and two giant bowls of popcorn.

"Wow, you take movie night pretty seriously."

He looked up and grinned at her. "My dad has BALSAC, I have WoHaReHa."

"WoHaReHa? That sounds like a medical condition."

He laughed. "WoHaReHa-another acronym. Work Hard, Relax Harder."

"I didn't know you could relax hard."

"You can do anything hard if you put your mind to it." He grimaced. "Okay, that sounded dirtier than I meant it to."

Holly grinned and moved into the living room, settling into one corner of the blanket nest. She grabbed an orange bowl filled with popcorn and shoved a handful into her mouth. "Oh my G.o.d, real b.u.t.ter."

"d.a.m.n straight. It's the only way to eat popcorn. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I don't suppose you have root beer?"

"With or without ice cream?"

"I think I might love you."

He laughed and flicked something on the television, bringing the giant screen to life. He stood up and walked toward her, dropping the remote onto the blanket beside her. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared around the corner as Holly grabbed another handful of popcorn and thought about how nice this was. It wasn't normally how she'd behave with a brand new client, but there was nothing normal about this arrangement with Ben. Professionalism aside, there was something about him that made her feel like she'd known him for years. Like they were old college buddies or pals from middle school.

Of course, "buddy" and "pal" were the furthest words from her mind as he strode back into the room wearing navy fleece pants and a snug gray T-shirt. He was holding two root beer floats, and she couldn't decide which sight was more delicious.

"Here you go," he said, handing her one of the mugs. He shoved his gla.s.ses up his nose and sat down beside her, pulling a pile of blankets over his legs. There were at least three feet between them-a nice, platonic distance-but she could feel the warmth of his body even from this far away.

"What are we watching?" She took a sip of her root beer float, enjoying the creamy fizz on the back of her tongue.

"Plan 9 from Outer s.p.a.ce. Have you seen it?"

"I've never even heard of it."

"Excellent. It was made in 1959, and it's considered by many to be the worst movie ever made."

She gave a dry laugh. "And we're watching it why?"

He grinned and spooned up a bite of ice cream. "Because it's so bad, it's gloriously, tragically awful. You'll see." He dropped his spoon back in the mug, then picked up the remote and flicked a b.u.t.ton.

He scrolled through a menu on the television screen as Holly snuggled back against the blankets and took a sip of her own float. It was creamy and delicious, with the perfect proportions of soda to ice cream. She watched the screen as the credits gave way to a grainy, black and white image of a funeral. She nibbled another handful of popcorn as the film segued into a parade of lurching zombies and flying saucers trailing along on strings.

"You weren't kidding," she said around a mouthful of root beer float. "This is terrible."

"I know." He grinned and reached into her popcorn bowl. "Isn't it awesome?"

"Kinda. Did you just steal my popcorn?"

"Mine's gone. You have plenty."

"Not if you keep snarfing it like that."

"Snarfing? Did you just make up a word?"

"I work in PR. If I can make an antisocial geek into a charming CEO, I can make a random string of sounds into a real word."

"Good point. Shh! This is the best part."

Holly smiled and grabbed another handful of popcorn, feeling ridiculously happy. It was more than just the delightful cheesiness of zombie attacks and bad acting. It was the closeness of Ben, the salty goodness of the popcorn, the cozy comfort of sharing a blanket nest with a big, strong man who looked like an oversized version of Clark Kent.

She kept stealing glimpses at him, marveling at the fact that she hadn't even known this guy twenty-four hours ago. She snuggled closer, telling herself it was just a friendly response to a friendly situation.

Ben glanced at her and shifted closer, near enough now that she could feel the heat from his bare arm. He plunged his hand into the popcorn at the precise moment she did the same, their greasy fingers tangling at the bottom of the bowl.

"Well this is awkward," he said, flashing her a grin that was anything but awkward. "Guess I should make more."

"Guess so."

"Or we could thumb wrestle for the last handful."

"Thumb wrestle?"

"Don't tell me you've never thumb wrestled?"

"Guilty as charged. Not only am I a Plan 9 virgin, but also a thumb wrestling virgin."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, studying her face for a moment. Then he leaned closer, his breath ruffling her hair. "In that case, I believe it's my job to deflower you."

Chapter Six.

Ben couldn't believe he was honestly trying to flirt with a gorgeous woman by using a bad sci-fi movie and a thumb wrestling challenge.

He also couldn't believe it was working.

"One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war." He counted slowly, his fingers locked with Holly's as they moved their thumbs back and forth over each other in the bizarre digit dance that accompanied the rhyme. "Five, six, seven, eight, try to keep your thumb straight."

She giggled and lunged with her thumb, a valiant effort, but a misguided one. Her thumbs were half the length of his, and this was her first time playing. It was hardly a fair fight, but that didn't mean Ben planned to let go of her hand anytime soon.

"Oooh! Almost!" she cried as the pad of her thumb slid down the side of his, a gesture that shouldn't be s.e.xy, but totally was. Her skin was warm, her hands were soft, and he could see straight down the front of her top to where she most definitely wasn't wearing a bra.

Of course, that was something his father would do, so Ben quickly looked away and focused on their intertwined fingers.

"Nice effort," he said, maneuvering his thumb to the side, letting her take another swipe at him. Her nails were polished with a tasteful shade of sh.e.l.l pink, and he had a crazy urge to suck the popcorn b.u.t.ter off one digit at a time.

Holly lunged again with her thumb, sitting up on her knees for a better angle. She was totally cheating, but he didn't care. He just wanted to keep touching her like this, to hear her laugh as she gripped his knuckles and maneuvered her thumb against his.

"Dammit! I almost had you." She laughed as he moved his thumb out from under hers without much effort. He let her get a little c.o.c.kier, jabbing too quickly as he dodged easily out of her way.

"Nice try," he murmured. "Try keeping your hand steady."

"Like this?"

"Mmm-hmm. Better."

"Ha!" She attacked again. "You just wait, Mr. CEO. I will own you."

"I welcome the challenge."

Just like he welcomed the closeness of her body, warm and lush and round and so very, very near. Ben let her take another swipe at him, in no big hurry to end the game.

"I think you have an unfair advantage at thumb wrestling," Holly said as her thumb skittered off the side of his.

"How's that?"

"You have hands the size of baseball mitts. Seriously, did you eat your Wheaties as a kid or what?"

"Something like that."

She grinned and pounced again, her thumb sliding off his and making everything jiggle pleasantly beneath that pale yellow top. He should probably stop it-both the game and his urge to ogle her. It was hardly the right tone to set for the CEO of a major corporation and the branding expert he'd hired to turn him into a suave, sophisticated leader.

"Oh, you are so dead!" She laughed again, and Ben decided suave and sophisticated were overrated.

He hooked the pad of his thumb over the top of her nail, pressing it firm against the top of their locked fingers. "One," he counted, slow enough to let her squirm away if she wanted. "Two-"

"Ha!" she declared, wriggling free in an impressive display of agility. "Not so fast, big guy."

"Still primed for battle, I see?"