Susan sits across from me in the conference room, tapping her pen against her teeth as I skim through her proposal.
“So?” she drawls, leaning forward, her arms pressing deliberately against the table. The move is calculated, an unsubtle attempt at distraction. “What do you think?”
I flick my eyes over the document once more before shrugging. “Looks fine.”
It could use some work, but I’m not interested in spending any more time on this—or with her—than absolutely necessary.
“You don’t think we should target other avenues?” She tilts her head, studying me too closely.
I shake my head. “Nope. Social media is their focus, so let’s stick with that.”
Susan twirls the pen between her fingers, then shifts gears. “How have you been?”
And there it is. My cue to leave.
“Good.” I push back from the table and stand, ready to put space between us.
Susan’s smile stretches, slow and syrupy. “Got any plans tonight?”
None that involve her.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping it vague as I step toward the door.
“You should be there,” she calls after me as my hand wraps around the black steel knob. “For the presentation tomorrow.”
I glance back at her, forcing a tight smile. “You’ll do fine.”
Then I’m out.
I walk briskly down the hallway, resisting the urge to roll my shoulders like I’m shaking off an unwanted weight. Twenty minutes in that conference room with Susan felt like an hour.
The idea of starting my own firm is looking better by the day.
As I push open my office door, I stop short.
Jules is standing by the window, gazing out at the parking lot below, her fingers lightly grazing the windowsill. The afternoon light catches in her curls, making them look like something I should reach out and touch.
My heart skitters. I blink, half expecting her to vanish if I move too fast.
“Jules?”
She turns, her hazelnut eyes locking onto mine, her expression unsure. A curl slips forward, brushing her cheek, and my fingers twitch with the need to push it back.
“Hi,” she says, shifting on her feet. “I, um, should have called first.”
I push the door closed behind me and take a step closer, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from doing something stupid. Like touching her.
“You don’t have to call,” I say, shaking my head. “I always enjoy seeing you.”
Her lips press together, and for a second, I think she’s fighting a smile. Instead, she holds out a brown paper bag and a to-go cup.
“Thought you might need lunch. And coffee.”
I take them, my fingers brushing hers. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She shrugs. “It’s chicken salad on sourdough. I know it’s your favorite.”
I want to kiss her so badly right now that my chest aches with it. Instead, I move to my desk, setting the bag down before lowering into my chair. I motion for her to sit, needing some kind of buffer between us.
