Amanda Berry - L A Cinderella

After they ate, Natalie stood and cleared the table. Her slight body moved efficiently. She didn’t overemphasize any moves, like some actresses. Her blouse was loose on her frame, but her skirt tightened at the waist, and the cut was tight to the legs. As she bent over the table, he couldn’t help appreciating her backside.

It was going to be a very long night.

She straightened, and he noticed her ever-present blush. Would she ever not blush around him? Did he really want her to stop?

“I’ll be right back,” she said, as she walked out the door with the bags.

Chase took in the amount of paper. They had hours of work ahead of them. Natalie slipped back in and returned to her seat.

“If you want, you can go through that one while I go through this one,” she said. Her eyes didn’t meet his, and he could tell that she was struggling. She wasn’t used to giving orders.

“Sounds good.” Pulling the stack closer, he looked for the same signature on the front page. As the smell of brown sauce and egg rolls dissipated, the scent of strawberries and other sweet smells started to permeate his nose.

He glanced over at Natalie’s bent head when he was about halfway through. Precariously balanced, her glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose. His fingers itched to push them back and brush the gentle curve of her cheek. Her finger pushed the lenses back into place.

He brought the paper in front of him back into focus. As the pile of cash payments grew, Chase’s temper rose along with it.

Martin Morrison had come highly recommended. Chase couldn’t imagine the slight man committing fraud against the company, but as the evidence kept mounting up, he couldn’t deny it. The handwriting on all of them resembled Martin’s. But without seeing them together, Chase would have never seen the similarities. Martin was in charge of accounting and therefore the checks.

He doubted Robert would have noticed the handwriting, but how had Robert missed so many expenses paid out to extras? He paused on the expense report for Dana Bradley. It was a cash payment of almost a thousand dollars, but all the expenses were below the fifty-dollar receipt limit they’d established to keep the files smaller.

Robert’s signature was on it, just like the others. Too much like the others. Chase grabbed the last one and put the sheets together. They were exactly the same signature, no variations.

Not only was Martin stealing from the company, but he was forging Robert’s signature, too. This explained why Night Blooming had lost so much money, and it made Chase skeptical of the other productions that hadn’t been losses, but hadn’t been as profitable as he’d expected.

Apparently, Martin had gotten greedy.

“Can I see one of your expense reports?” Maybe hers would have Robert’s real signature and not forgeries.

Natalie pushed her glasses back up her nose as she handed him the one she was looking at. He compared Robert’s signatures, and again they were exactly the same.

“Mr. Morrison gave me a list of extras when he gave me the files.”

“Do you have that in here?”

She retrieved a larger document than he’d expected. When Robert and Chase had originally discussed the crowd scenes, they’d decided to use computer rendering for the people. But when other costs increased they decided it would be more economical and more realistic to use extras.

Extras who weren’t supposed to turn in expense reports. “Are all these extra expense reports?”

Her gaze analyzed each pile for a moment. “All except those three.”

“Okay, let’s focus on the extras only. Keep a running total.”

“Okay.” She actually seemed excited by the idea of adding what had to be hundreds of numbers. Her eyes brightened, and she flipped on the adding machine.

Only a slight bit of pink tinged her usually red cheeks. That quiet feeling spread through his chest looking at her. The intelligence sparkling in her eyes drew him. If his life were a little simpler, he’d think nothing of coaxing this woman into his arms.

He shook his head and went back to work. The light tapping of keys followed by the ticking of the numbers printing lulled him as he kept adding to her pile.

“I think that’s it.” He leaned back. The piles had shifted from one side of the room to the other. Her rhythmic typing continued. Her finger trailed down the page. She typed in the number, then lifted the sheet and added it to the other pile.

“That’s the last one.” She pressed the equal sign and then pulled the tape out of the machine.

“What’s the damage?” He leaned forward.

She studied the number and then handed him the paper.

“Five hundred thousand dollars? This can’t be right.”

She looked back at the piles. “I can add it up again to double-check.” She pulled the stack she’d just added back over.

Without this amount, Night Blooming would have been around the initial projections. They would need to have everything together if they were going to accuse Martin.

His gaze went back to Natalie. Watching her work was better than hanging out at clubs by a long run, but when she started to trail her finger down the page, he covered her hand with his. Startled eyes met his. A faint tinge of blue had appeared under her eyes. Most of her brown hair floated around her face, framing it.

“You can rerun the numbers tomorrow,” he said, gently. When her gaze flitted to his hand on hers, he reluctantly pulled it away. Standing, he reached his hand down to her.

She glanced up at him before sliding her hand into his. His body came alive, but he resisted every temptation to pull her into his arms. The gentle curve of her mouth was almost too much. As soon as she stood in front of him, he released her hand.

“Let’s get these back to your desk.” Grabbing a pile, he headed out the door, away from her sweet scent. He thought he caught the sound of a sigh as he left the room.

Grabbing a stack, Natalie followed, too confused and tired to argue. Not that she would have. She passed Chase in the hall on the way to her desk. Her hand still tingled as if he still touched her. She rubbed it on her skirt when she was in the conference room.

She bent and picked up more reports. When she stood, her glasses slid down her nose. Tipping her head back, she tried to wiggle them back.

“Here, let me help.”

Before she could protest, he gripped the sides of her glasses and adjusted them on the bridge of her nose. Her breath caught in her throat. She held the papers as a makeshift shield to keep her treacherous emotions at bay. He was just helping her. That was all.

As if he couldn’t resist, his fingers trailed down the sides of her face. Her pulse jumped, and desire pooled in her core. Papers on the floor behind her blocked her automatic urge to retreat. Surely, he hadn’t meant anything by it. Certainly he hadn’t meant to make her feel desire.

He dropped his hands and took the load from her without a word. She released it, thinking he’d take it and she’d grab the next. Her breath passed out over her lips.

He set the papers on the table and turned back to her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She’d seen the look on his face dozens of times. Her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest.

That was the look he’d given the heroine right before he kissed her. A look that had invaded her dreams where she played the part of Elizabeth in If Only. This was where the music would crescendo.

But this wasn’t a movie. Chase wasn’t playing a character, and neither was she. He stepped closer until a mere breath separated them. Obviously giving her the chance to stop him.

She should stop him. She wasn’t what he wanted. She couldn’t be what he needed. She didn’t want to be famous. But with that look in his eyes and those eyes on her, she didn’t think she could bear to stop him.

The back of his hand caressed her cheek. Her head leaned into the warmth as his hand left a trail of fire in its wake. His gaze held hers captivated, as his hand slipped to the back of her neck.

One last chance to say something. Her pulse raced through her veins. She licked her lips. One last chance to stop this. One chance, one taste, that’s all she needed.

He closed the distance until a breath separated their mouths. Her hands came up and grabbed the front of his shirt. His mouth touched hers, a whisper of a kiss.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she jerked on his shirt. His lips pressed against hers, gently touching, tasting. They were soft and full. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it.

Her mind swam in a sensual fog. Chase Booker was kissing her. Natalie Collins. His tongue met hers and her knees buckled. It wasn’t just the Chase Booker kissing her, but this man. The one who opened doors for her, walked her to the car, made her feel pretty even with her glasses on.

But he shouldn’t be kissing her. He was her boss. His mouth slid to her cheek and sent a searing bolt between her thighs. She pulled in air, desperately trying to surface. She needed space. She needed to think. Pulling back, she rested her forehead against his.

His jagged breathing matched hers. His thumb rubbed the side of her neck, sending an echoing ache through her. Lifting his head, he smoothed her hair back from her face.

She opened her eyes. His were filled with desire, need and frustration. Her body responded to his, wanting to invite him in.

“I should walk you to your car.” His tone was cool. His hands dropped, and he turned.

Ice water splashed through her, cooling her overheated body. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Was he trying something for a new role? Had she just been convenient? Or something different?