Imperfect Match (Elixir Bachelor Billionaires #1)

“Are you sure about your private pictures being online?” I tug on Charles’ sleeves when Dad is out of earshot.

“Those aren’t private. But if you ever decide to share anything about what we do in the bedroom, now that’s a different story.” His sexy and relaxed smile makes all the butterflies go crazy in my belly.

“If I knew sex was what you needed to lighten up your cranky mood, I’d have—”

“What would you have done, Daisy?” he asks in a low, husky voice.

I can’t believe it. My asshole boss, who would probably rather kill baby dolphins than learn how to make someone happy, has managed to figure out in a matter of hours how his low voice makes my heart skip a beat.

But I haven’t spent years working under him in vain. I take a calming breath and purse my lips.

His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, and his nostrils flare.

Taste your own medicine, Hawthorne.

“I’d have gifted you a special kind of massager.” I wiggle my brows before motioning toward his body part a little south of his belt.

But when Charles throws his head back and laughs, I feel like I haven’t just won an argument but everything. Something hits me in the chest like Cupid’s arrow as I trace the column of his neck, moving up to his curled lips, and then to his eyes, which crinkle with laugh lines.

A feeling of possessiveness burns inside me, whispering softly that I’m somehow responsible for protecting his happiness.

If earlier, as his assistant, I wanted him to scowl less, now I want him to laugh more.

If earlier I missed his snarky comments when he was out for a meeting, now I just miss him.

If earlier I hated him when he was breathing down my neck, now I love having him around me.

I just love…

Crap. Crap. Crappity Crap.

Steve parks outside the Hawthorne mansion, and before we can step out of the car, Chloe rushes to the porch.

Watching her dressed casually in red pants and a white top for a change, I feel less self-conscious about my own clothes. If I knew we were going to come straight from my dad’s place to the Hawthorne mansion, I would have picked something more formal.

“Hey, Charlie. I thought we might not see you this holiday season.”

“And why would you think that?” Her brother raises an eyebrow in a way I’ve started to find sexy.

Oh, to hell with it. There’s absolutely nothing I don’t find sexy about Charles these days.

“Maybe because you’re always stuck to your new bride like extra strong superglue, playing her bodyguard.” She grins before throwing her arms around him.

Their relationship has always been a surprise to me. For someone who avoids any show of affection as if it’ll give him some communicable disease, Charles is completely different around his sister. It’s like she knows a secret button that can flip her brother’s mood from that of a person attending a funeral to that of a Swiftie at a Taylor Swift concert.

“But it seems you were able to pull yourself away from the task of threatening reporters, landing straight into Daisy’s dad’s kitchen to flip pancakes and looking so cute while doing so.” Chloe winks at me before pulling me into a tight hug.

“How do you know about the pancakes?” I ask as she squeezes the hell out of me.

“Charlie is all over social media.” She grins. “Did you know, until this morning, my brother hated cooking?”

“I never said that,” Charles replies causally, picking some invisible lint off the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Oh really? Then it must have been your long-lost twin who hid in the laundry room whenever I baked cookies for a bake sale and everyone pitched in except you.” She pokes her tongue out.

“Weren’t you like six then? Your brain was no bigger than an egg, so of course your memories are messed up.”

“Please don’t let him anywhere near your kids.” Chloe mock groans. Completely oblivious to how her brother’s jaw clenches upon her words, she grabs our hands and leads us inside. “Now come on. Grandma wouldn’t let me open the presents until everyone was here.”