I think I’m having a heart attack. Finally, my feet get the message to move my body and I close the ten feet between me and Barrett. Around me, the conversation about Barrett’s performance kicks into high gear.

“Where’s your boom box?” Lana, Lauren’s cousin, asks. “Wouldn’t that be so nineties if he had a boom box?”

“Are you taking requests?” Lauren’s aunt, Clara, chimes in, her mouth practically salivating.

“Chloe, I think he needs a music hook up,” another co-worker of Lauren’s shouts excitedly.

“Um, can I talk to you for a minute?” I blurt out, before grabbing Barrett’s arm and pulling him toward the kitchen. My only goal right now is to get Barrett away from the women and to not have him tell them I’m technically trespassing.

He could call the cops. Have me thrown out or worse, arrested. In this dress and heels, I’d be mistaken for a hooker. My vivid imagination is working overtime thinking of all the worst-case scenarios.

I’m thankful Barrett follows me easily. That he doesn’t protest a relocation and demand he humiliate me in front of everyone.

I’ve never touched Barrett before. There’s been no reason to. Our interactions are few and brief, but laced with enough hostility to know that he’s more foe than friend. That being said, I didn’t expect the warmth of his body. I expected his body to mirror that of his icy stare. Cold and rigid. That there must also be cold blood running through his veins, either that or wires to connect to his hard drive. It’s nice to feel the heat of his skin and muscle through the fabric of his suit. I immediately drop his arm and reach for the pantry door.

Once he’s inside, I close the door behind us. In the small space, I can smell his cologne. It’s highly distracting. Has he always smelled like that? Intoxicating and decadent? His scent makes me wish we were in this pantry for another reason. Oh, no, did I just think about kissing Barrett? The vodka must be lowering my defenses. I need to focus.

Barrett has taken a firm stance on the opposite side of the pantry. One hand in his pocket, the other propped on a shelf next to JoAnna’s array of herb and supplement bottles.

I cross my arms over my chest, and swear for a nano second Barrett’s eyes drop below my face. My eyes drop to find my breasts pushed up higher on my chest, giving Barrett a full view of my cleavage. There’s no way Barrett is staring at my chest. That would require feeling something and he’s dead inside, but I drop my arms anyway.

“Okay, listen,” I say, now fidgeting with my hands. “This is not what it looks like.”

“What does it look like, Chloe?” Barrett asks casually.