Damage Control by Elisa Adams Page A

her ghostly pale. She stilled her hand, her fork halfway to her mouth. “I can’t. I have to work. There’s talk that Mark Putnam is retiring and there’ll be a partnership up for grabs.”
    Under the table, he clenched his hands into fists. Her statement pissed him off for two reasons. If she thought she was going to push him out of her life, the stubborn woman had another think coming. He wasn’t going away anytime soon. And the idea of her going for that partnership worried him. Jealousy wasn’t the issue. He had no interest in it for himself, but he didn’t want to see Andrea work herself into an early grave like her father had. A heart attack in his forties. Not a pleasant thought.
    With the way Andrea was going, she’d be headed down that road soon. Her stress level was always so high, and thanks to those damned lists she made to organize her time, she had every moment of every day scheduled. Not that Brian was a slacker. He could—and did—work his ass off with the best of them. He just understood how important it was to leave the job at the office. Andrea had yet to figure that out, and he had a feeling she never would, unless someone showed her what she’d been missing.
    â€œA couple hours of your time. That’s all I ask.”
    â€œNo, really. I can’t. Thanks, though. I’ll definitely take a rain check.”
    She wouldn’t. They both knew it. Already she was trying to distance herself from him, like she had on Saturday morning. He’d walked away then, fuming at her sudden dismissal. Here she was, sending him packing again like he was the hired help and she’d grown tired of him.
    What she didn’t know was this time, he didn’t plan to let her.
    He wasn’t sure yet, but maybe she was the one. Only time would tell—but not if Andrea wouldn’t even give them a chance. He loved her as a friend. Could he love her as something more? He intended to find out, even if it took seducing her body first, and then her mind.
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    The chime of the doorbell, three times in rapid succession, yanked Andrea from her train of thought. She mumbled a curse and set her laptop aside. There were only two people who would bug her when she had a boatload of work to do. Brian and the bride from hell. At this point, she couldn’t figure out which one she wanted to see less.
    When she opened the door to find Brian standing there with a pizza box in his hand, she started to tell him to go away, but then she got a whiff of the pizza and changed her mind. Her stomach growled, giving her away. Pizza was one of the few indulgences she allowed herself, and damn him, he knew it.
    She raised her eyebrows. “Extra pepperoni?”
    â€œIs there any other way to eat a pizza?” His smile made something deep inside her flutter. She pressed her hand to her stomach to quell her reaction.
    Despite her misgivings—and despite knowing she should grab the pizza and slam the door in the jerk’s face—she stepped back and let him into the apartment. She was so weak. She hadn’t told him to stay away because she had work to do, though in truth, she did. She’d asked him not to come over because she didn’t trust herself around him anymore. It killed her to admit it, but tonight, when she was exhausted and stressed, all he would have to do was crook one finger and she’d probably embarrass herself by falling at his feet.
    It didn’t help that he had the nerve to show up looking damned sexy, dressed in a tight white T-shirt and a pair of well-worn black jeans. The stubble on his face and mussed hair suggested he’d just climbed out of bed, but she knew better. He’d probably been to the gym, and the hair was messy from towel drying it after his shower. Whatever the reason for it, the effect worked. As soon as he turned his back, she licked her lips.
    Brian walked into the kitchen, set the box down, and