He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening. “I need to take this.”
I nearly collapsed with relief, already pushing to my feet. “Of course. I should get back to work anyway.”
He nodded, reaching for the phone. “We’ll continue our conversation about the implementation plan this evening.”
“Right. The implementation plan. Sure thing.” I practically fled, not daring to look back as I escaped into the hallway.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat as I hurried back to my office. What the hell had I been thinking, blurting out that nonsense about escorts to Jack Sullivan? It was like my brain had completely disconnected from my mouth.
At least the phone call had saved me from whatever reaction he might have had. With any luck, by this evening he would have forgotten all about it, and we could go back to discussing sales data like normal people who didn’t cross inappropriate personal boundaries with their bosses.
Somehow, though, I doubted I’d be that lucky.
JACK
Istared at the spreadsheet, the numbers swimming before my eyes as I tried to focus on anything except the woman sitting across from me. The conference room felt smaller tonight, the air between us charged with an electricity I couldn’t explain away as simply professional tension.
The soft click of Mia’s keyboard provided a steady rhythm in the quiet room. Every so often, she’d pause to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear or take a sip from her coffee mug. Each small movement drew my attention like a magnet, forcing me to drag my gaze back to my screen with increasing difficulty. Then she did that thing that sent my pulse racing. Gathering her hair in both hands, she pulled it over her shoulder, smoothing it down absently as she read something on her screen.
It had been exactly thirty-nine hours since I’d held her in my arms. Not that I was counting. Thirty-nine hours since I’d felt her body relax against mine, since I’d breathed in the vanilla scent of her, since I’d momentarily forgotten every ethical line I’d ever drawn.
And six hours since she’d casually mentioned hiring an escort for her sister’s wedding. The thought made something hot and possessive curl in my gut. Which was ridiculous. Completelyfucking ridiculous. What Mia did in her personal life was none of my damn business.
I glanced up, catching her gray eyes focused on me. She quickly looked away, a flush coloring her cheeks as she returned to her work. The subtle pink made my chest tighten.
Was she really okay? The panic attack had been severe, and despite her assurances, I wasn’t convinced she was as fine as she claimed. The memory of her trembling in my arms, vulnerable and exposed, made me want to protect her from whatever or whoever had made her feel that way. I couldn’t shake the image of finding her huddled on the floor of the server room, knees pulled tight to her chest, her breathing shallow and rapid. The look in her eyes had gutted me completely, those usually bright gray eyes wide with panic and glassy with unshed tears. Her entire body had been shaking, fingers tingling as she gasped for air that wouldn’t come. Even now, the memory of her voice, high and tight with fear as she’d insisted she was fine, made my heart twist painfully.
I cleared my throat, trying to shake off thoughts that had no place in a professional relationship. Before I could focus back on my work, Mia looked up from her laptop.
“How come holding my neck like that worked? To calm me down, I mean.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question that was so in line with my own thoughts. “There’s a pressure point there that helps regulate the nervous system.” I kept my voice dry, informative, as if giving a lecture rather than discussing an intensely personal moment we’d shared. “Pressing on it alleviates symptoms of a panic attack by activating the vagus nerve.”
Mia tilted her head, her eyes wide. “You sure seem to know a lot about anxiety.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I hesitated, weighing whether to deflect or tell the truth. “I have some experience with it.”
She watched me carefully, her lips parting slightly before she asked, “For yourself, or someone else?”
“Myself.” The word felt heavier than it should have.
“As in, you get anxiety?” Her voice held no judgment, just genuine curiosity.
I nodded curtly, uncomfortable with how exposed I suddenly felt. This wasn’t something I discussed with anyone, ever.
“How do you manage it?” she pressed, her eyes never leaving my face.
“Working out.” I shifted in my chair, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “Physical exertion helps a lot.”
A small smile tugged at her lips, a hint of her usual sparkle returning. “Wow, you must get anxious a LOT!”
I could tell she was trying to lighten the moment, to turn it into a joke about my physique, but I couldn’t bring myself to play along. The truth wasn’t something I could laugh away.
“Yes,” I said simply.
