“Miss Poe, look at me,” I say gently.
She doesn’t lift her head. She’s paralyzed, face buried in her hands and at her wit’s end.
“I—I’ll just resign. G-go clear my things now.” Her broken voice trembles. She hears me shifting, beginning to stand when she says, “I need a minute. Please.”
For a few heady seconds, I’m quiet.
“Look at me,” I try again.
Fuck. I’ve slipped into the voice I haven’t used since a combat zone, when using it meant saving lives.
She raises her tear-streaked face slowly, meets my eyes, and darts her head down again.
Shit.
I broke her. I made her cry. I left her pride a smoking wreck on the floor.
Lincoln Burns, you absolute jagoff, I think with my lip curling.
“Miss Poe—Dakota—I didn’t mean to put you on the spot today. I certainly didn’t intend to reduce you to tears,” I say, trying like hell to soften my voice.
“I-I’m s-s-sorry.”
Wonderful. All my request did was turn her occasional sniffle into a sobbing fit.
“Dakota—”
If she hears me, she doesn’t respond.
Do something, you buffalo. Move your ass.
I get up, walk around my desk, and kneel down beside her. I place a hand on her arm and pray she doesn’t flinch.
“Listen—I’m not that upset. I’m confident you wouldn’t throw around your—your work—maliciously. Assuming this was an honest mistake, you’re forgiven,” I say, moving my fingers over hers.
Such soft skin, but I can’t dwell on that now.
It’s almost worse that she’s so fragile, so battered, so shredded apart.
Is this really all thanks to my dumbassery? Or was it just the final thread unraveling this smart, gorgeous young woman?
She won’t even look at me.
Still, I don’t give up. I fucking can’t.
I clear my throat and get on with it.
“If you must know, I won’t accept your resignation. You still have over sixty days, last I checked. I’m sorry for my fit. You do brilliant work. Hell, most days you work harder, longer, and better than half the senior people here.” I pause. “You’ve become a crucial asset in such a short time. I can’t give you up without a fight.”
I’m trying. I really am.
Apparently, not well when she sobs harder.
“I can’t work here anymore, M-Mr. Burns. You’ll think—”
“I don’t think anything,” I rush out.
“Yes, you do. You think—”
I stop her by rubbing my hand up and down her arm in slow circles.
Goddamn, if we weren’t having this melancholy heart-to-heart, my blood would be molten. Even now, I can smell her, and it unscrews my brain in the very worst ways.
“Woman, the only thing I think is that you’re damned talented. Even that little diddy I lost my shit over—it was creative and well-written. I can see why personal writing gives you rather unique copywriting skills.”
“But—” She sobs. “But you were right. It was totally inappropriate. Out of line. And now you just...you know. You saw what I wrote about—”
“Miss Poe,” I clip, silencing her.
I force back a smile that’s beyond inappropriate and immediately regret it when I notice Dakota’s whole face is red. She’s stiff and sobbing, spiraling into a full-blown panic.
Nothing funny about that.
Not even seeing her go to pieces over me finding out I’m in her most private thoughts in ways I never imagined should make me grin.
“Miss Poe, I know what you wrote. Technically, yes, it is inappropriate since we’re both colleagues here. However, I also say it doesn’t matter,” I growl, pushing my fingers through hers. I don’t know if that’ll make this worse and I’m past caring. It’s what feels right. “Who hasn’t stepped in shit from time to time? We spend a lot of time together, and frankly, there’s no one else I’d rather argue with.”
She looks up at me, moving one hand off her face and wiping her eyes with her other hand.
“Fighting? About cinnamon rolls?”
My lips quirk up into a cautious smile.
“Especially about cinnamon rolls. Honestly, your fevered words might be the most interesting thing anyone’s ever written about me. Considering the way the press stalks me from time to time, that’s saying something.” I look at her gently, pausing as she gets her breath back. “I’m well aware I’ve had you working yourself raw for weeks now. I’m impressed you still manage to squeeze in literary pursuits with the workload I’ve piled on your shoulders. You’re a talented woman, no matter what you’re writing. You’re a fountain of words—epic and embarrassing words—and the sooner you learn to laugh off this incident, the quicker you can get back out there and make it rain for everyone at Haughty But Nice.”
With my free hand, I cross my fingers. I’m hoping like hell the pep talk works.
“Laugh?” she repeats numbly.
I nod.
“I don’t get it. If you weren’t mad, why did you pull me in here?” She doesn’t say anything else, but the accusation is clear. Rat bastard, you knew this would be mortifying.