“Really? Did you cook for them? Did you nearly kiss them? Did you tell them that they were worth something?”
Her voice broke and she brought up her shoe again as protection.
“Sophie,” he said softly.
“Don’t. No pity. Not from you.”
“Put your damn shoe down.”
“No.” She waved it at him. “I have to put this toner in and then I’m going home and eating nothing but carbs and butter.”
Sophie told herself she was glad when he turned away. This was her copy room, and it wasn’t big enough for the both of them.
But instead of leaving, he pulled the toner box away and tore it open before she could respond.
“I’ll do it,” she said, trying to grab for it.
He batted her away as though she were a fly and, turning to the massive machine, opened a couple of hidden doors, slid a couple of panels, and in the span of a couple of minutes had replaced the toner and was putting the old one in the bag to be recycled.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, not quite willing to say thank you, but grateful all the same. She was pretty sure she’d be still trying to open the box.
The red light on the printer flicked to green, and the machine began methodically spitting out neat piles of hole-punched paper. They stood side by
side in silence as they watched it work. Their hands were less than an inch apart. All she had to do was extend her pinky finger, and…
The machine slowed to a stop, and Sophie made a grab for the papers and her shoes.
“Thanks again for the help,” she said, backing out of the room.
“You’re done now, right? You can go home?”
“Almost. I just need to put them in the report binders and get them into the conference room.”
“I’ll help,” he said, following her to her desk.
“Would you stop? I can do this!”
“I know, but it’s my project you’re working on. I’ve given you too much to do. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not too much,” she muttered as she awkwardly tried to open the binder with her maimed hand. “It’s just this damn splint. It slows me down.”
“All the more reason for me to apologize. You wouldn’t have the splint if I hadn’t forced you to help cook,” Gray said quietly. He gently pulled the binder from her hands. “I’ll do this part. You just hand me the paper.”
She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but he was being so damn decent, and telling him off felt needlessly petty. She hated when he was nice. Which, she had to admit, was more often than she gave him credit for.
Once again, the task went twice as fast with his assistance, and by the time she laid the last binder at the head of the conference room table, it was only seven thirty, not midnight, like she’d feared.
She moved toward the door only to find Gray standing there watching her. She quickly turned to the window rather than face him, her pulse humming with…something.
It wasn’t anger. Her temper from earlier had mellowed, and she was no longer itching to start a fight.
She was wanting something much more dangerous than a fight.
“I’ve never seen the view from up here at night,” she said. There. That was a safe topic. Very platonic.
Except Sophie hadn’t bothered to turn on the conference room’s light, preferring to work by the city lights outside. She regretted that decision now. The darkness was decidedly romantic.
He shoved his hands into his suit pocket and came to stand beside her as they stared out at the Seattle skyline. It was a clear night, and the city felt both peaceful and alive. “This is one of my favorite times in the office,” he said. “I do my best thinking up here after everyone’s gone.”