Penelope
There's only one thing more dangerous than falling asleep on top of Wolfie Cox . . .
Waking up in the same situation.
I'm happy to report that, despite the hard, tough-guy act he puts on, the man makes a shockingly good pillow. This morning, I'm feeling more well rested than I've felt in months. Sure, I could credit it to the high-thread-count sheets or even blame the Jameson I had before bed, but I know the truth-there's something about this tough, grumpy man that makes me feel entirely comfortable and totally relaxed.
I'd be an anxious wreck this weekend if Wolfie weren't by my side, supporting me through every outdoor activity and boring corporate conversation with my boss. Even if our relationship is fake, the comfort of having him here with me is very, very real.
And that fact scares the absolute shit out of me.
It's just an act, Penelope. It's pretend. He's not your boyfriend. Don't get attached.
I repeat this mantra over and over in my head as I hurry through my morning routine-a quick shower, a double coat of mascara, and I'm ready to face the day.
Wolfie, however, is still sound asleep by the time I'm done in the bathroom, soft, rumbling snores leaking from his lips. It's kind of cute, to be honest. I give his shoulder a little shake and he growls, squeezing his eyes closed extra tight before barely cracking one open.
"What?" he grumbles, holding up a hand to block out the sun.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. It's time to get up."
He acknowledges me with a grunt, then shoves off the covers, and it takes every bit of self-control in my body to ignore the stiff outline of his morning wood in his gray sweatpants. As if I weren't already having a tough time keeping my hands to myself.
He may be kinda quiet and grumpy, but the man is hot as fuck.
Once Wolfie is showered and dressed, I slip on a much comfier pair of shoes than those torturous boots from yesterday. We head for the elevators, ready to start our day with two of my favorite F words-free and food. The itinerary promised a full continental breakfast starting at eight, and I'm dying to find out if there's a Belgian waffle in the cards for me this morning.
What can I say? I take my breakfast foods very seriously.
We step out of the elevator and walk shoulder to shoulder through the lobby, joining the dozens of familiar faces loading up their plates. The long wood tables boast all the usual hotel breakfast offerings-fruit, yogurt, and those little packages of cereal that serve as totally rude reminders of how many Cheerios are actually considered a serving.
But then I spot a Belgian waffle on a coworker's plate and do a little happy dance, which gets a low, gravelly chuckle out of Wolfie. I'm not sure the last time I heard him laugh, and being the cause of that laughter is as good as a gold medal in my book.
While I step into line for the waffle maker, Wolfie digs into the oatmeal bar, then wanders off to scout for a seat. He only looks slightly uncomfortable navigating the tables filled with my coworkers, but he eventually finds an empty table in the back with a gorgeous view of the pond.
Perfect.
Before he sits, I watch as he shrugs off his black jacket and drapes it over the chair next to his, presumably to save it for me. It's a small gesture, but a thoughtful one, and something about it makes the butterflies in my stomach flap their wings extra hard.
Repeat after me, Penelope. It's just an act. It's pretend. He's not your boyfriend. Don't get attached.
Maybe I should tattoo those words across my forehead, because my silly, love-deprived self is having a hard time remembering that.
Just as I step up for my turn at the waffle maker, the piercing shriek of a chair being pulled across the wooden floor snaps my attention back toward our table. It's Spencer, tugging a chair up next to Wolfie's and gesturing for David to do the same.
My chest squeezes in a moment of panic. Oh no. I can't leave poor Wolfie to flounder on his own with my boss and his godawful nephew. Maybe this Belgian waffle and I just aren't meant to be.
But just as I set my plate back on the stack and turn to rush to Wolfie's rescue, he looks my way. Instead of shooting me dagger eyes and crying out for help, he gives me the slightest smile and a gentle nod as if to say, "I've got this."
And he does. My horror turns to pleasant surprise as I watch Wolfie greet his new tablemates, scooting over to make enough room for them.
Even from a distance, I can hear Spencer blathering on and on about some article he was reading in the business section of this morning's paper. It's an awfully corporate conversation for the breakfast table, but Wolfie takes it all in stride, nodding along and throwing in the occasional "wow" and "oh, really?" for good measure.
The waffle maker dings and I pry it open, using my fork to scoot the sweet, buttery goodness onto my plate, then grab a fistful of syrup packets and rush over to our table.
"What's up, Penny?" Spencer greets me, his mouth curling up in a sly smile. "You're just in time. We're talking about the crazy article that ran in this morning's Tribune. You do read the business section every morning, right?"
"Of course," I mutter under my breath as I settle into my seat next to Wolfie.
It's not a lie. Every morning on my commute, I scroll through the Tribune website and read every business article that isn't stuck behind a paywall. Being a good corporate consultant means staying informed of the market, so I've gotten used to doing a hefty amount of reading. That being said, I haven't so much as opened my web browser yet today. I haven't had the time.
"So I'm assuming you caught the article on that merger, right?" Spencer presses, his stupid smile feeling greasier by the second. "What do you think?"
What I think is that you're a total asshole who is just trying to make me look dumb in front of our boss.
Before I can conjure up an answer that's vague enough to sound convincing, Wolfie interjects with a grunt of disapproval, slowly shaking his head. "Don't even get her started. She spent all morning talking about the announcement that your two major competitors are merging. I don't want to hear any more."
It takes me a full five seconds to realize what he's doing, but then he shoots me that look again. The I've got this look.
Holy shit, Wolfie is totally saving my ass right now.
And why is that hot as hell?
"Sorry, honey." I play along, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't mean to bore you with so much corporate talk first thing in the morning."
"I'm used to it." He lifts a heaping spoonful of oatmeal to his lips before adding, "This woman would talk about work twenty-four/seven if I let her."
David gives the two of us a nod of approval. I shift my attention back to cutting up my Belgian waffle, trying to figure out what I did to deserve such a remarkable save on Wolfie's part.
As always, Spencer takes the moment of silence as an opportunity to run his mouth, going on and on about his personal thoughts on the merger. I swear he says the same thing ten times in different words, but at least I won't have to read the article now. He's more than summarized it for me.
Once my coworker's rambling slows to a halt, Wolfie pushes his now empty oatmeal bowl to the side and plants his forearms on the table, leaning into the conversation. "Did you read the follow-up article about how they'll be laying off half the staff as a result?"
Spencer scoffs. "Of course I did."
"What were your thoughts on the salary increase for the CEO that they talked about?"
Spencer rolls his eyes, coolly rattling off something about how it's important to pay our leaders what they're worth, but I only catch every other word. I'm too focused on the devilish smile pulling at Wolfie's lips, the tiny glimmer of wicked satisfaction dancing in his stormy eyes.
"Interesting perspective." Wolfie nods slowly as he tents his fingers. "Especially considering there was no follow-up article."
Spencer recoils, and David's brows scrunch together behind his thick black frames. I even flinch a little myself.
What the hell?
"I beg your pardon?" My boss says what we're all thinking, the furrows in his brow deepening.
Wolfie shrugs. "Oh, nothing. It's just that there was no follow-up article or any mention of staff layoffs or an increased CEO salary. That's all."
Jaw? Meet floor.
A wide-eyed Spencer fumbles over some lame excuse about how he could have sworn there was a second article. He even doubles back and insists he must have read it in a different newspaper, since he reads more than one.
But based on the stern look in David's eyes, I'd say he's buying it about as much as I am. Which is to say, not at all.
How's your foot taste, Spencer? Because it looks like you stuck it right in your mouth.
Once he's thoroughly embarrassed himself, Spencer stammers out some line about using this morning to do "more valuable networking," which I might be insulted by if I weren't so excited to see him and David leave.
"You totally saved me," I say in a low voice, meeting Wolfie's eyes.
"That was nothing." He waves me off.
But it wasn't nothing to me. Him being here has truly been a huge help.
We finish our breakfast, and Wolfie clears our plates while I pull up today's itinerary on my phone.
Looks like I'm in for a long day of team-bonding activities, followed by an all-hands meeting in the resort's conference room. It's employees only, meaning Wolfie will be spending most of the day on his own.
Somehow, I think he won't be too disappointed to hear he's off duty as my fake boyfriend for the day.
I, on the other hand, will miss having him by my side. If I didn't already owe him for coming with me this weekend, I definitely do after that Spencer stunt. I have no idea how I'll repay him for this.
Although I'm sure my dirty imagination could come up with more than a few adequate ways.
• • •
It's nine o'clock by the time I finally make it back to our hotel room, a full twelve hours after I left Wolfie on his own, which I think officially makes me the worst host of all time. If I knew he'd be stuck on his own to do absolutely nothing all day, I never would have let him come with me this weekend. Guilty is an understatement for how I'm feeling right now.
"I'm so, so sorry." The words tumble off my lips the second I step through the door.
Wolfie arches a brow at me from his spot on the bed, where he's sipping a couple of fingers of what I can only assume is more Jameson.
He's in the same dark-wash jeans as this morning, but his black jacket is draped over the chair in the corner, and the fitted gray tee he has on is hugging his biceps in a way that's both delicious and dangerous. Delicious because his arms are oh my God, so nice, and dangerous because I immediately envision him scooping me up in them, laying me down on the bed next to him, and doing all the dirty things to me that I've dreamed of dozens of times.
"Sorry for what?" He swirls the drink in his glass and takes a hefty sip, downing half its contents.
"For leaving you alone literally all freaking day." I kick off my shoes and join him on the edge of the bed, careful to leave a safe distance between us. "I had no idea that all-hands meeting would run so late."
"I don't mind, Penelope." His gaze locks with mine, and one look into those stormy eyes has me feeling all kinds of things I shouldn't.
"Are you sure?"
He nods, running one hand along the scruff on his jaw. "I like being on my own. And I got a hike in. Good to get out in nature for a bit." He offers his glass to me, tipping his chin toward it. "Want a drink?"
"I'm the one who should be offering you a drink after that stunt you pulled with Spencer earlier."
There's that laugh again, that gritty chuckle that I'd play on repeat if I could.
"Yeah, I got his ass good." Wolfie lifts his glass as if to toast himself, then downs what's left of the liquor in it.
I wonder if he's had a few already tonight. I also wonder if his judgment is as impaired as mine is, despite the fact that I'm totally sober.
"How did you know about the merger?" I shift a little closer to him until our knees are pressed together. "There's no way you read the business section this morning."
"I didn't," he says. "But that asshole talked about it so much before you sat down, I might as well have written the damn article. God, he was being a real prick."
I snicker. "He's always being a prick."
"Then he deserved having his ass handed to him. It'll be a cold day in hell when this loser gets promoted over you."
"You might want to double-check the forecast for hell. Because that is a serious possibility."
Wolfie shakes his head, his lips forming their signature frown. "No way. That dipshit couldn't even shoot a clay pigeon."
My eyes roll on instinct. "I don't know if you know this, but you don't actually do much skeet shooting on a day-to-day basis as a senior consultant."
"You know what I mean. He doesn't deserve to get that promotion simply because of his family connections. You, on the other hand, deserve the world."
A fluttery feeling beats against my rib cage. "Do you mean that?"
"Of course I do," Wolfie replies gruffly. "I don't say shit I don't mean."
My nerves gather into a tight knot at the base of my throat, but I manage to gulp them down.
Say it, Penelope. You've been thinking about it all day. What do you have to lose?
"Um, there is one thing that I really want."
He lifts one dark brow in my direction. "Yeah? What's that?"
My gaze drops to his large hands, and I suck in all the air I can manage, willing my heart rate to slow to a normal pace. I'm venturing into uncharted territory here, but the timing feels right.
I've got the impulse. Why not act on it?
"Remember what you said yesterday about keeping your hands to yourself?"
He nods slowly, caution written all over his tightly drawn face. "Yes?"
"Well, um. What if you didn't?"
It's silent for way too long, and I chew nervously on my lip, doing my best to maintain eye contact. But, God, those dark, wild eyes are almost too much to bear.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes," he says slowly. "But I'm not sure that I heard you correctly."
He sets down his empty glass and folds his arms over his chest, which only makes the fabric of his shirt stretch tighter across his biceps.
Good God, does he know how absolutely irresistible he is?
"What are you saying, Penelope?"
What am I saying? Have I completely lost my mind? I've imagined this so many times, even spelled it out word for word in my journal. But now that I'm straight-up asking for it, I don't even know how to put it in words.
My fingernails dig into my palms as I summon every last bit of courage I have. Just say it, Penelope. Tell him what you want.
"I'm saying . . . I want you, Wolfie. Just for tonight."