“Oh, my,” she whispers. Hushed, innocent, and damn her for curling her fingers against her chin before bursting into a sunny smile. “I know Matilda wouldn’t have hired me if she didn’t trust my credentials, but it’s different seeing hard numbers. Seeing the proof.”
Forget the numbers.
I’m the hardest thing here, and I fucking hate it.
I hate that her insight—her magic touch—works on me in the worst ways.
“Your magazine is in good hands,” I say, shifting my weight as I try to kill my hard-on.
Curdled coffee. Moldy banana peels. Opinions on TikTok.
A hundred disgusting horrors flash through my head and none of them work.
“You think so?” she asks softly—before she catches herself.
Too late.
It’s not hard to see when she remembers who she’s talking to. The bastard tyrant she despises, a vulture in a vest who’s leering at her like he wants to chain her up in his nest—or whatever the hell vultures do for a mate.
She gives me an odd look with a thin, strained smile.
“Callie?”
“So much for thinking I was walking into an ambush.”
“Ambush?” I arch a brow.
“I thought...” She ducks her head as she stops, toying with a strand of hair. It’s loose today, tumbling in blue streaks of fire around her face and brushing her shoulders. “I thought you’d just grill me about the Easterly interview. Or yell about Vance Haydn. Or at least say something sinister.”
I can’t help a short bark of laughter.
“Sinister?”
“Oh, come on. You know you give off a YA villain vibe. You cultivate it.”
“Like hell, I do not—” I pause, raking a hand through my hair. “Have it your way. Could you at least upgrade me to teen sitcom villain?”
She grins, her soft mouth taunting me with its yellow curl more than ever.
“What’s wrong with being a book bad guy?”
“They tend not to have noses for starters.” I touch my hand to my face, affirming that my nose is still firmly in place. “They’re usually not very attractive, either.”
She looks away from me sharply, clearing her throat.
“Nice try. I’m not feeding your ego,” she throws back.
Damn, I’m tempted to tease her.
I rein myself in, shaking my head.
“I meant to keep this professional, Miss Landry. We’re focused on your career and nothing else.”
Her gaze flickers, rolling and distant before landing on me again. Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything.
I think she enjoys leaving me hanging on that mouth, waiting—more focused on the silence than imagining how I could have her on her knees in another life, sucking that life from me.
What the hell would that bomb of a mouth feel like working its way up my—
“...thank you.” Finally, she breaks my filthy fantasies with a low murmur. It’s almost reluctant, and she exhales deeply. “Good to know I made the right decision coming here, I guess. I haven’t been settling in very well. In Chicago, honestly. With not being sure if I belong here, and with...family things.”
Her shoulders stiffen. She’s bracing.
She expects me to pry, pouring salt and venom into that stinging open wound, flaying her open for details.
I let it go.
I won’t make the same mistake twice.
“You belong wherever you want to be,” I tell her firmly. “If you want to belong at Just Vibing, then be proud that you’re already there like a screaming rocket. You have a promising future, Callie. Keep doing what you’re doing and kick the hell out of anything that gets in the way.”
Ironic words, considering how my little spy job cost her some sanity.
Her eyes widen.
She looks at me for a long, vulnerable moment before lowering her eyes and standing, smoothing her hands over her dress with a cool smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Thank you. If that’s all, I should probably get back to keeping on...”
“Of course.” I disconnect my tablet and tuck it under my arm, following her to the door. “I won’t demand reports, but I will check in on your progress.”
She stops at the door, her hand resting on the paneled wood as she glances over her shoulder. “It’s your company and you’re the big boss, Mr. Osprey.”
“Roland,” I growl.
I’ve never wanted to shred formalities so bad in my life.
“Roland,” she echoes softly.
“It’s your magazine.” I move closer, looking down at her—so petite, so slim, yet this breakable woman has an iron core, doesn’t she? “I meant what I said, Callie. My grubby paws are off it unless you need them. You’re at the helm, though if you find yourself sinking, don’t be afraid to ask for help. Everyone needs a lifeline once in a while, and it’s not a stain on your leadership.”
“Wouldn’t it be, though?” she asks. Her hand drops toward the door handle, then stops, perched just over it. She’s still giving me that strange, guarded look over her shoulder as she sighs. “Also, about Easterly...”
I tilt my head, leaning against the wall next to her. She’s blocking the door so there’s no way I’m getting out of here until she moves. I can’t say I mind right now.