Page 23 of My Ex's Best Friend

I look around his office once again.

This place is suave, and maybe Jake is telling the truth when he says they’re not that big yet, but he has a huge backing. And not to mention the starting salary for the position, along with the added perks.

Only a fool would refuse the job. And I’m not one.

But what if it’s the guilt from what happened all those years? What if he’s overcompensating to make it up to me?

I mean, he did send me five Christmas gifts the year we fell apart. It broke my heart all over again, every single time. Didn’t even have the heart to open them.

I search his face to see if I can find it but see no signs of guilt or pity. Either he’s really good at hiding it, or I’m reading too much into it.

Everything happened five years ago. I’m certain he’s still not fixated on everything that happened like I am.

He puts his hand out to me.

I freeze at the sight of his corded muscles that are peeking through his folded shirt. Flashes of images of that night come back to me. His strong arms lifting me up to his hip to lead me over to his bed, his deft fingers finding their way inside…

He coughs slightly, bringing my attention back to the present.

I clear my throat.

“Let’s shake on it?”

realize What harm can a handshake do? I’ve made my decision, and I’m going to stick to it. And I’m also going to ignore the hell out of the small dimple that is luring me in.

As our hands meet, an unexpected jolt of electricity courses through me, a sensation that catches me off guard.

I quickly pull my hand away, hiding the subtle reaction beneath a veneer of professionalism, my expression blank to hide the turmoil I feel inside.

"Let's make this project a success." Jake’s eyes hold a determined gleam.

"Absolutely," I reply, but my mind is momentarily distracted by the lingering warmth from our brief touch.

Jake seems unfazed, his focus returning to the folder on his desk. It’s thick, at least a hundred pages. Maybe more.

“You’ll find all the preliminary information you need about the project there.” “I can’t wait to get started.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding before. This is a lot.”

“You don’t have to learn all of it right away,” he says. “Baby steps. I just want you to have a heads-up beforehand, so you don’t get overwhelmed later.”

“Thank you.”

He shrugs. “I can be a reasonable person to work with, I think. And you won’t be getting any preferential treatment.”

“Why would I even suggest that?” I frown.

The small smile on his face fades.

I feel a little jolt of dismay.

“Never mind,” he says. “It’s just—”

He shakes his head again. “Of course, I know things are not the same between us.”

The way he says it fills me with a kind of grief that I cannot name.

What does this feeling even mean?

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