Page 37 of Worth the Wait

"I've been reviewing your work on the Westfield contract," Miguel begins, tapping a stack of papers. "Impressive individually. Even more impressive together."

Relief floods through me. He's not splitting us up.

"Thank you," Tarryn says, her professional mask firmly in place. "We've been working to integrate our approaches."

Miguel nods, leaning back in his chair. "That's precisely what I want to formalize. I'm restructuring your approach to the project."

He slides a document across the desk. "I want each of you to develop your own framework for specific sections—not competing presentations but complementary approaches showing different strengths."

I scan the document, noting how he's divided the contract elements between us based on our individual strengths. It's actually brilliant—Tarryn handling the granular liability language, me tackling the negotiation strategy.

"This makes sense," I say, genuinely impressed.

"Of course it does,” Miguel replies dryly. "But there's one more element."

He gestures to Christine, who straightens almost imperceptibly.

"Christine will coordinate your efforts, ensuring cohesion between your sections and providing senior oversight."

The relief I felt moments ago evaporates. Christine's smile doesn't reach her eyes as she nods in acknowledgment.

"I'm happy to guide this process," she says smoothly. "I see tremendous potential in your… partnership."

The emphasis she places on the last word makes its double meaning unmistakable. Beside me, Tarryn stiffens slightly.

"We welcome your input," she says, her tone perfectly professional despite the tension I can feel radiating from her.

Miguel stands, signaling the meeting's end. "I want preliminary frameworks by Friday. Work together but showcase your individual strengths. The client needs to see why Blake Financial assigns complementary skill sets to complex projects."

As we leave Miguel's office, Christine falls into step beside us. "I've reserved Conference Room C for your continued work sessions," she says. "I'll drop by to check on your progress, make sure we are staying on schedule."

Her tone makes it clear she'll be checking on more than just our work. I fight back the urge to tell her to back off, to stop inserting herself into whatever is developing between Tarryn and me.

"That won't be necessary," Tarryn replies coolly. "We'll keep you updated via email."

Christine's smile turns predatory. "Oh, but it will be.” She smiles that sickly-sweet grin that isn’t fooling anyone. “As Miguel outlined in our meeting, I prefer a much more hands-on approach to mentorship. See you at four." She walks away, heels clicking a precise rhythm on the marble floor.

Once she's out of earshot, I turn to Tarryn. "She's going to be a problem."

"She already is," Tarryn mutters, then glances up at me, her professional demeanor slipping for just a moment. "We should get to work."

It's nearlyten p.m. when I look up from the acquisition strategy section I've been drafting. The conference room feels both too small and impossibly vast—just Tarryn and me, surrounded by stacks of papers and empty coffee cups, the rest of the office long since dark and quiet.

We've been working in relative silence for hours, our earlier awkwardness gradually giving way to focused productivity. But I'm acutely aware of her presence across the table—the way she absently twists a strand of hair when concentrating, how she bites her lower lip when puzzling through complex language.

And I've noticed something else: she watches me when she thinks I'm not looking.

Her glances are quick, stolen moments when she believes my attention is elsewhere. But I feel each one like a physical touch—heat spreading across my skin, my body responding to her interest in ways that make focusing on contract language increasingly difficult.

Now, as I stretch out the kink in my neck, I catch her gaze lingering on the column of my throat, then dropping to where my shirt stretches across my chest. When she realizes I've noticed, a delicate blush spreads across her cheeks.

"See something interesting?" I ask, keeping my tone light despite the sudden thickness in my throat.

"Just thinking we should probably call it a night," she deflects, shuffling papers unnecessarily. "It's getting late."

"One more section," I counter, reaching for the subsidiary disclosure agreement just as she does the same.

Our fingers collide, then linger. The contact sends electricity arcing between us. I should pull away. She should pull away. Neither of us does.

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