Will they notice if I slide to the edge of the crate? This conversation isn’t for me, as funny as it is, and I don’t want to eavesdrop when I shouldn’t. I’m also well aware of how important it is to Lincoln when his friend has a good day.
It takes me all of one minute to see Lincoln doesn’t have any new important emails.
I slide the phone back into my purse, taking tiny sips of the coffee. It’s definitely too much for my taste. I try not to gag.
It’s bitter without cream, but the smoky undertone is interesting. I’ll have to tell Eliza.
I drink half of it one baby sip at a time and feel like that’s an accomplishment, considering it’s black and strong enough to wake up an elephant.
“...you’re just too chickenshit to admit the obvious. Ask her on a real date and stop worrying about your little rules and that great big redwood jammed up your ass,” Wyatt says as I look up.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing at that one.
Yeah, right.
Lincoln Burns might grind every gear I have, but he’s one of the richest, hottest, and most eligible men in the entire city. Heck, probably the whole country when you consider the billionaire dating pool.
He’s not going to date a girl like me who fights him at every turn and hails from flyover country. He’s also not the dating type, even if that’s something I seem to attract in men.
Even Jay Foyt needed a year to figure out he wanted me enough to ask me out. There’s no way I’m the kind of girl Burns dates. Never mind the whole he’s-my-flipping-boss factor and therefore off-limits.
“I’m her boss,” he snarls at Wyatt like he’s just read my mind. “Besides the ethics breach, there’s a thick fucking HR policy put in place by my mother, no less, against—”
“Dude, whatever,” Wyatt says slowly, flipping him the finger.
Yikes. That’s one way to put it.
He’d probably do a better job getting Wyatt off his back if he just admitted I’m so far out of his league I couldn’t buy tickets.
Wyatt looks at him again, an expression of brotherly annoyance on his weathered face.
“Man, an alligator-filled moat wrapped in barbed wire and guarded by pissed off HR hawks couldn’t keep me from a chance at the good life. This is a golden opportunity—a chance, at least—to have a life outside the office with a beautiful woman. I don’t get you, Linc.”
My pulse quickens as I wait for a response, but Lincoln just shrugs.
Torture.
Maybe if I remind them I’m here, I can shut down the awkwardness and avoid a brawl over my non-dating life with my boss.
“This is interesting coffee, Wyatt. My friend Eliza could learn from you.”
Lincoln looks up quickly and jerks away from Wyatt like they weren’t just discussing me. He won’t meet my eyes for a long second, but when he finally does, my heart stops.
Lincoln’s eyes are as pitch-black as the smoked coffee swirling in my cup and infinitely stronger.
His look is fraught. Questioning. Conflicted.
A stare that splits me in two and strips me naked.
I may bury myself in words until I’m crushed, but after Jay—because of Jay—I never believed in hot-eyed looks that could stop time.
Now, I wonder.
I wonder about a lot of things I should be chasing out of my head.
Ideally, before Lincoln damn Burns pulverizes what’s left of my heart.
14
Each Separate Dying Ember (Lincoln)
“Eliza, huh?” Wyatt asks, pulling Nevermore from what looks like a trance.
Not just her.
It’s the kick in the ass I need to rip my eyes off the mellow, curious thing next to me. I’ve been staring, and not politely. The only thing hungrier than my eyes tonight is my blood, which seethes like it has an active current every time I stare at Dakota Poe too long.
Even at night, she’s like the goddamned sun.
This indecipherable, overwhelming sight that burns so small yet still has this undeniable power over my entire world.
When the fuck did that happen?
When did I start gnashing my teeth with denial? If I’d never date her—if I can’t damn well date her—I shouldn’t be growling it like a man holding in secrets while he’s being waterboarded.
Wyatt’s practically a brother and always will be. Though after the shit he’s been suggesting tonight, I’m sorry I didn’t write out a full-blown love declaration for Meadow to find with his signature forged at the bottom.
“Eliza is my friend,” Dakota says vacantly, turning the coffee cup in her hands and staring into it. “My downstairs neighbor, really, but we get along great. She’s obsessed with inventing new coffee flavors, and she’s always experimenting.”
“They any good? The coffee itself, I mean,” Wyatt says, wagging a finger. “Here’s my rule: if it’s no good black, then it’s no damn good at all. Don’t think you can cover up a shitty weak brew with an assful of sugar and half a teat of cream.”