Holt taps on Wade’s shoulder, and Wade gets to his feet.
“We just wanted to come by and say hello,” Holt says. “Welcome aboard, Shaye.”
“Thank you, Holt,” I say.
They walk to the door and, with a soft thud, it closes behind them. I stare at it for a long moment.
Four incredibly, ridiculously nice men. In one place. At the same time. Who knew that was even possible?
Oliver’s chuckle greets me as I turn back around in my chair. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s wearing a playful grin on his face.
“What?” I ask.
He looks at the door for a moment before shaking his head. His tongue rolls around his mouth as his hands drop back to his side. He sits up.
“Nothing,” he says. “Brothers.”
“They seem delightful.”
He snorts. “Yeah. Delightful.”
An alarm goes off on his phone. He picks it up, reads the screen, and shuts it off.
“I have a meeting downstairs—” he says.
“Marketing at eleven. Do you need anything for that?”
He smiles at me. And I really do like his smile.
“No, thank you. Grab a coffee from the kitchen—it’s on the same floor as HR—if you need one. Make sure you review the welcome packet Toni gave you,” he says.
I nod.
“Kelly will help familiarize you with the computer systems, and I think there is an intake form that you’ll need to complete this morning. Again, Kelly will help you with that,” he tells me.
“Easy enough.”
He fiddles with his tie. “Otherwise, I’ll be back upstairs in a few hours, and we can head up to legal. You’ll be communicating with them a lot, and I want to make the introductions.”
“Okay,” I say, following his lead and standing.
He comes around the corner of his desk and stops a few feet in front of me.
Our eyes lock, his irises shifting colors again—deepening—as he takes me in. If we were in another place—any other place—at another time—besides the office in which we both work—I’d raise on my tiptoes and kiss him.
At least, I think that’s what I would do. It’s been so long. But the version of me that lives in my head and plays out fictional romantic interludes believes that’s what would happen.
My mouth goes dry, and my lips are downright parched. But as the reel of the make-believe kiss we’d share finishes in my head, I scamper back to reality and the fact that he’s my boss. And no matter how kissable he is or what I wouldn’t give to lean in to this feeling—the one that feels pretty and desired—I don’t.
I can’t.
Because life is about priorities and having a roof over your head is a big one. So, too, is ensuring that you don’t give people the ability to screw up your life.
Kissing my boss would surely put me at risk for the first one. It would definitely be wading into the waters of the second.
“Let me know if you need anything from me today,” I say, my voice a little raspier than I would like.
His eyes darken, but all he does is nod.
I lift my chin and give him my best-practiced smile. Then I turn on my heel and escape into my office.
Eleven
Shaye
“So, how did it go? Tell me everything.”
I laugh at Lisbeth’s gusto. “What? No hello?”
She groans through the telephone. “Hi, Shaye. How are you? How’s the weather? How’s your mother—no, don’t answer that one.”
I laugh again. “Today went …” Well? Swimmingly? “Great.”
“Mm-hmm. If you think you’re getting off that easily, you do not know me, friend.”
Steam from my pasta carbonara rises in front of me, distracting me from Lisbeth’s demands.
“Shaye!”
“Sorry,” I say, pulling my face away from the plate. “I made dinner.”
She gasps.
“I know, I know. I just felt like celebrating.” The smile that has been painted on my face all evening stretches even farther across my cheeks. “It went so well, Lis.”
My friend cheers. The sound is so loud, so shrill, that I jerk the phone away from my ear.
“That makes me so happy!” She cheers again—more softly this time. “Tell me all about it. What did you decide to wear? More importantly, what did he wear? Did you have a bunch of one-on-one meetings with the door closed?”
I twirl pasta around my fork and try to gather my composure. The last thing I want is for this conversation to turn into something that today was not—namely, a love story waiting to happen.
“I wore black pants and that cream-colored blouse that I wore to dinner with you when your parents were in town,” I say.
“Great choice. Great choice.”
It’s a good thing Lisbeth can’t see me. Otherwise, she’d be hyping herself up over my grin that just turned stupid.
My fork spins around and around as my brain focuses on Oliver standing in my doorway today. The way the denim hugged his thighs. The bright white T-shirt that gave his gray blazer an air of approachability.