I smiled and closed my eyes, trying not to think about hazel eyes and gentle hands, or the imagined feel of fingers brushing against my cheek. Trying not to wonder what it might feel like to be kissed the way Harle kissed Cassidy, like something precious and irreplaceable.
Just for tonight, I’d allow myself to be taken care of. Tomorrow was soon enough to remember all the reasons why Jack Sullivan was absolutely, completely off-limits.
MIA
The weekend of so called rest and recovery had done one hundred percent of fuck all. It was barely past 9am on Monday morning and already the work was piling up. I rubbed at my temples, willing the headache away, but of course it did no good at all. Nothing short of the strongest pain killers was going to save me today. Stifling a groan, I pulled open the top drawer of my desk, hoping I hadn’t run out of Advil.
Instead of the ibuprofen though, my eyes landed on the familiar stack of yellow post-it notes , sitting neatly atop my Paris travel brochure. I scooped them up, shuffling through the collection that had grown over the weeks. Two more from last week, and another this morning, waiting on my keyboard when I arrived.
Today’s had a different vibe to the others. One I wasn’t sure I liked. I read it again, the neat, slanted handwriting now as familiar as my own:Accept your limits, then surpass them.
A frown tugged at my brow as I stared at those words. Accept my limits? Was that some kind of joke? My entire fucking life was a study in limitations. My mom’s constant reminders of what I couldn’t do, couldn’t be, couldn’t have. My mirror thatreflected back curves where there should be angles. My job that squeezed me between glass ceilings and corporate bullshit.
Jesus, I was in a mood today. I tossed the stack back into the drawer with more force than necessary. The notes scattered slightly, no longer in their neat pile. I didn’t bother fixing them.
My head throbbed with renewed vengeance as I hunted around for the bottle of pain relievers. I could have cried with relief when I found it hidden behind my emergency chocolate stash. Dry-swallowing two tablets, I grimaced at the bitter taste that clung to the back of my throat.
I let out a sigh of resignation. Almost against my will, my eyes drifted across the office floor.
Jack. The thought of him made something flutter in my stomach that had no place in a professional environment. I’d spent the entire weekend trying not to think about him. About the intensity in his dark eyes. About that not quite smile that turned me to goo.
“Not today, Satan,” I muttered to myself, pulling the nearest stack of reports toward me. I had work to do, a team to manage, and absolutely zero time to indulge in schoolgirl fantasies about my boss.
But as I dove into the morning’s tasks, I couldn’t quite silence the voice in the back of my mind wondering who kept leaving those notes, or why today’s message felt so personal, so pointed. It was like someone could see straight through all my carefully constructed walls. My pulse spiked at the very idea of it and I had to drag in a deep breath to calm myself down.
I was halfway through the prep work for Rebecca’s report when my phone buzzed against the desk. My mother’s name flashed on the screen, sending a tiny jolt of dread through my system. What thefuckwas wrong with me today? I considered ignoring it, but experience had taught me that doing that only made her push harder.
With a sigh, I picked up the phone and opened her message.
Good news! Megan’s fiancé has a cousin who needs a date for the wedding. He’s not much to look at, but at least that’ll save you the embarrassment of going on your own. I’ve passed on your number, so expect a call.
The words landed like a slap.Not much to look at. Embarrassment. Going on your own.
I was close to thirty. It was insane that this could affect me so badly. But it did. My collar suddenly felt too tight. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears was deafening. The headache that had been simmering at my temples spread across my forehead like wildfire.
I glanced at my reflection in my dark computer screen. I saw the curve of my cheeks, the softness under my chin that no amount of contouring could completely disguise. Maybe if I found time for the gym this week. Maybe if I skipped a few lunches. Maybe if I was just a little less... me. Maybe then my mother would leave me the fuck alone.
My chest tightened as I tried to calculate how many workouts I could squeeze in between now and the wedding. How many meals I could “forget” to eat. How many hours of sleep I could sacrifice to fit it all in.
The air in my office felt suddenly thin, insufficient. My heartbeat quickened, a rapid tattoo against my ribs. I needed to get away, needed space, needed quiet.
Without conscious thought, I bolted out of my chair so quickly it spun behind me, and headed out of my office, past my team and down a narrow hallway. Thank god Emily wasn’t at her desk to stop me. Or to ask me what was wrong.
The pressure in my chest intensified with each step, my breathing becoming shallow and fast.
I pushed through a door marked “Server Room—Authorized Personnel Only,” seeking refuge in the first private space I couldfind. The door clicked shut behind me, plunging me into relative darkness broken only by the blinking red indicator lights on the tall racks of equipment.
My back hit the wall as my legs threatened to give out. My heart pounded so loudly in my ears that it drowned out the hum of the servers. My fingers tingled strangely, and no matter how deeply I tried to inhale, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.
I slid down to the floor, my knees pulled tight against my chest, as the room seemed to spin around me. This wasn’t happening. Not here. Not now.
Time became elastic, stretching and contracting with each labored breath. I couldn’t tell if I’d been sitting there for minutes or hours, trapped in the endless loop of trying to pull air into lungs that refused to cooperate. The red lights blinked steadily, unconcerned with my private meltdown.
Get a fucking grip.But my body wasn’t listening. The tingling in my fingers spread to my hands, my lips felt numb, and the tightness in my chest had transformed into a vise, squeezing without mercy.
I didn’t hear the door open. The gentle click as it closed again barely registered. It wasn’t until a shadow blocked the red light that I realized I was no longer alone.
I looked up into Jack Sullivan’s concerned face, illuminated in the eerie red glow of the server lights. His brows were drawn together, his mouth set in a tight line as he looked down at me.
