Aren’t you? a tiny voice whispered at the back of his mind. Yeah, maybe they were. They’d been apart for years. And a lot had happened to them both in that time.

There was something else niggling at him. The way she kept seeming to calm herself. She’d never had a temper. Not that he’d seen anyway. She’d never snapped at him. Hell, he wasn’t sure they’d ever fought. They might have disagreed a few times, but they’d never had an actual argument. He’d never made her cry. He’d never laid awake at night regretting something he’d said. They’d never raised their voices.

Not until the end. They’d fought the night she’d broken up with him. She’d cried. He’d laid awake that night. He’d regretted more than a few things from that night.

But the idea of an angry Whitney was intriguing. If he could talk about bending her over her desk and licking cookie dough off her nipples, then she could certainly tell him if she thought he was being an asshole.

Not this “inappropriate” or “uncomfortable” stuff. Those words made him itchy. They weren’t right between them. But she could definitely be angry or frustrated.

“Are you actually uncomfortable around me?” he finally asked. He didn’t think it was true but he needed her to know it wasn’t true.

He couldn’t quite name the emotion that flickered across her face with that. It was surprise maybe, mixed with confusion. And maybe relief?

“Not exactly.”

“We still have chemistry.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“But you don’t want it. You’re afraid of it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

“You do want it?” He knew that wasn’t what she meant.

“I’m not afraid of it.”

Good. That was really fucking good. “You just want to ignore it.”

“Yes.”

“But I’m pushing you on it, making you feel it and face it.”

She shifted her weight again and her hand tightened on the sheet where she was holding it between her breasts. “Yes,” she finally said.

“And that doesn’t make you uncomfortable. It makes you mad.”

She met his eyes. “Yes,” she said after a moment.

“Then tell me that,” he said.

She just pressed her lips together.

“Don’t try to make it polite and business-like,” he said. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You’re my boss,” she said.

For fuck’s sake. “Not in this house, I’m not,” he said, letting his own exasperation show.

Her eyes widened. “You’re my boss no matter where we are.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “No. I’m not even really your boss at Hot Cakes and you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Of course you do. You know I’m not going to fire you. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t because I’m not a fucking idiot, the guys would never let me do it.”

Again emotion flickered over her face. It looked like she really wanted to believe him but didn’t quite.

“I don’t want to give you all any reason to think I’m not up to the job.”

“Your job is safe.” He was trying hard not to grit his teeth. She’d never been this obstinate before.

She’s not the same girl, that annoying voice whispered.

Yeah, yeah.

“Even if I don’t sleep with you?” she asked.

For just a second, the obstinate, contrary part of him reared its head and he wanted to tell her that she was absolutely required to be in his bed every single night. The job was that important to her? Then fine, he’d use that to his advantage.

But, of course, he didn’t say that. He would never say that.

“What happens outside of the office has nothing to do with your job,” he said.

Though that was maybe not entirely true either. Because the more he was around her, the more he wanted to be sure she stayed working for them so that he could see her every day.

“What about if something happens at the office?” she asked.

“If you do finally let me bend you over your desk and hike up one of those ugly skirts, then no, that will have nothing to do with your job,” he said, unable to hold back.

Her eyes narrowed at that. “I meant what if I tell you one of your ideas is terrible or tell you that you’re being an asshole in the office sometime?”

His brows rose. “Your job would still be safe,” he said. “In fact, if I do have a terrible idea or I’m acting like an asshole then you better tell me.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced but she didn’t say that she didn’t believe him either.

“Tell me that right now,” he challenged.

She chewed on her bottom lip.

He moved around the edge of the kitchen island, closer to her. “Whitney. Tell me right now what you’re feeling.”

“This is a terrible idea,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Okay.”

For a second she looked a little sad. Then she lifted her chin again. “And it’s an asshole thing to do to text me about cookie dough and nipples when I’m trying to go to sleep.”

He stopped moving but not truly outside of her personal space. He could reach out and touch her easily.

“So I should do it earlier in the evening going forward?” he asked.

She shook her head but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Not what I meant.”

“Tell me what you mean,” he said.

She swallowed. “Fine. I want you. I know that doesn’t surprise you and I know it’s just going to make your ego even bigger but, yes, I want you. Yes, there’s chemistry. But I want to do a great job at Hot Cakes too. Maybe more.” She didn’t seem entirely sure of that, however. “Even if it doesn’t affect my actual job, even if you wouldn’t fire me if we had a fight at home or whatever, it affects my performance because it distracts me and makes me jumpy and makes it hard to concentrate on work. I want to do a good job for me too, Cam. I haven’t had a chance to prove myself to others before, but at the same time I haven’t had a chance to prove myself to me either. Because I’ve never been able to really implement my ideas or projects, I don’t actually know if they’re good. I think they are. They seem to be. But…” She pressed her lips together. “Ollie thinks my ideas are good.”

“Of course he does,” Cam said.

“But Ollie also thought having a petting zoo at the cake tasting was a good idea,” she said.

Cam couldn’t help his grin. “Everyone loved the petting zoo.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, implementing ideas, actually doing the things I think up, is new to me. I have no idea if I’m actually good at any of this.”

“You are.”

“You have no idea if that’s true,” she said. “And you have to stop saying it until you do. Don’t placate me. Don’t compliment me because you want in my pants. Just let me do my job and do it the best I can and let’s see how it turns out.”

She had a point.

Dammit.

He figured she was good at it, but honestly, if she hadn’t had much to do with Hot Cakes other than having her name associated because of her family then… well, maybe she wasn’t good at it. He didn’t believe that, really, but she had a point about wanting to prove it. To them and to herself.