I fight the smile on my lips and continue to stare forward. I need to get a hold of this ridiculousness before it overtakes me.
“I have to say,” she says as she comes around into full view, “I thought your package would be bigger.”
“Is that so?” I ask, trying not to break.
A ruby red dress skims the curves of her body, a shiny necklace tucked in her cleavage. None of that is as spectacular as her smile.
This is the exact fucking reason I’ve avoided being around her today. My cock is hardening, my tongue nearly panting as I watch her body move in that damn dress. How did I ever think this could work? I’m a fool.
“It’s a printer cartridge,” she says. “I’ll put it in the media room.” We watch each other, the force between us stirring once again. I swear you can almost see it. “I just . . . You aren’t upset with me, are you?”
“No.” I force a swallow. “Of course not.”
“Good.”
She runs her hands down the front of her dress the same way I do my hair when I’m flustered. Her lip is in between her teeth, her eyes on the floor.
I lift her chin with the tip of my finger. My chest tightens from the moment I touch her and I know it’s a mistake, but I do it anyway. “Mallory?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure I could be upset with you for anything,” I say much more gravelly than I intend.
Her head tilts to the side, her cheek pressing against the sleeve of my jacket. Our eyes connect and it’s like we’re transported to another time and place, one where there are no rules, no fears, no histories or responsibilities.
“For the record,” she says, looking at me with her big, whiskey-colored eyes, “I could be upset with you.”
I half-laugh as my hand cups her jaw, my thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek. My mouth drops open just a touch to let actual air in. “I’m sure you could.”
“I might be upset with you right now,” she whispers.
“Why is that?”
“Because you didn’t kiss me yesterday.”
I hold her gaze for a long moment, in a way to apologize, before dropping my hand away from her face. “I think that would only complicate things. Don’t you?”
The words taste acrid as they fall out of my mouth, and the look she gives me feels even worse as it hits me in the chest. It’s not resentful, not broken—for which I’m grateful. It’s steely, a cage locking over her feelings.
“You’re right. I do,” she says, pasting on a smile and taking a step back. “I’m glad one of us has some sense,” she winks and trots out of my office. I follow her, shutting the door with a snap.
“It’s the right thing,” I remind myself, heading back to my desk. “This is the best thing for both of us.”
Mallory
“HELLO?” I ASK, WITH A little more bite than I intend.
“Mallory?”
“Yes?” I pull out a handful of random items from my junk drawer and put them on the counter. “This is Mallory.”
“This is Keenan Jacobs. Camilla Landry gave me your number.”
I lean against the counter and sigh. “Yes, Cam said she was going to. How are you?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Shitty day at work, but otherwise . . .”