My Valentine

Chapter 4

Ever since that encounter with the man who turned out to be my boss, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Day and night he occupies my thoughts. I crave the chance to see him again, though I have no idea what I would say if the opportunity ever came. The last time we met I couldn’t bring myself to utter a single word. His phone rang, he left, and that was the end of it. More than a month has passed, and the restlessness has only grown sharper.

Then the golden opportunity arrived.

Laura spun her ankle—deliberately, I suspected—just as she was about to deliver a package of drinks and something else, something not meant for ordinary eyes. The manager was furious.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Laura? Why would you spin your damn ankle when you’re about to deliver this?” He snatched up the package and shoved her aside, scanning the room for a replacement. Every gaze in the place dropped to the floor. Until his eyes landed on me.

“You. Take this to Mr. V at his penthouse.”

I pointed at my own face. “Me?”

“Stop asking dumb questions and do what you’re told.” He walked away without another glance.

Laura looked at me with a soft, apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, Valarie.”

James, the assistant manager—gentler than the old man who ran the place—came over. “Valarie, this will be your first time going to Mr. V’s, right?”

I nodded.

He gave me the address, then, as I turned to leave, he caught my wrist. His voice lowered, concerned. “Don’t be scared. Just deliver the stuff and come back quickly. Remember—don’t go into any room. Wait for him at the door. He doesn’t like people snooping around his house. Understand?”

I nodded again and left. The stares of the others followed me out. A quiet dread settled in my stomach. Why was everyone acting so strange? And why had Laura risked injuring herself just to avoid this delivery? What kind of man was Mr. V that even the staff seemed afraid of him?

The penthouse took my breath away. Glass and light and quiet luxury. I followed James’s instructions exactly and waited at the entrance. Silence stretched. No one appeared. Anxiety prickled along my skin. If James hadn’t warned me, I might have stepped inside to look for him. Instead I stayed put, heart hammering, torn between fear and a sharp, almost painful hope of seeing him again—the Greek-god face, the chiseled jaw, the body I had not been able to forget.

My feet trembled against the floor. Sweat gathered at the base of my spine despite the cool air. The quiet was unbearable.

Then footsteps approached.

I swallowed hard, eyes widening, ready to stand and greet him. And there he was.

Gray sweatpants. Shirtless. His torso still damp from the gym, sweat tracing the clean lines of his abs and the hard curves of his biceps. He wiped his face with a towel as he came toward me. I couldn’t move. I simply stared, mouth slightly open, until his gaze locked on mine and reality snapped back into place. Shame flooded me. I dropped my eyes to the floor.

His voice reached me—deep, husky, the kind that settled low in the chest.

“Where’s the stuff?”

I didn’t answer.

“Where’s the stuff?”

I jumped, thrust the package toward him. He took it, turned to leave.

I forced the words out. “Thank you, sir.”

He didn’t stop.

“I really owe you everything. I’m beyond grateful for what you did. And I’m sorry for my lack of professionalism earlier—”

He halted. Still facing away, he spoke again.

“Do you like what you see?”

The question stunned me into silence.

He turned fully, walked back until he stood close, and repeated it, slower this time.

“Do you like what you see?”

Something in me gave way. The careful control I had been clinging to dissolved.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I do.”