Page 41 of Worth the Wait

The elevator doors close with a soft hiss, sealing me in a mirrored cage that forces me to confront my own reflection.

I press my fingertips against my mouth, the ghost of his kiss still lingering there like a brand. My body instantly reacts to the memory—heat blooming across my skin, my pulse quickening. I can still feel the pressure of his body against mine, solid and demanding, the way his hand tangled in my hair, angling my face up to his. The confident sweep of his tongue, the slightscrape of stubble against my chin, the low sound he made deep in his throat when I pulled him closer.

"Stop," I whisper to my reflection, the single syllable sounding broken in the confined space.

By the time I reach my office, I've rehearsed at least a dozen different ways to maintain professional distance when I inevitably see him. Cool nods, brief acknowledgments, perhaps a clipped "Let's focus on the presentation" if he tries to bring up what happened. But as I settle at my desk, sorting through the Westfield materials with mechanical precision, I know my defenses are paper-thin. One look, one word in that deep voice of his, and I might just shatter completely.

My phone chimes with a calendar alert. The Westfield presentation starts in two hours. Two hours to pull myself together, to rebuild the walls that Jackson Hayes has somehow managed to dismantle with nothing more than his hands, his mouth, and those damn blue eyes that see too much.

I straighten my blazer, squaring my shoulders like I'm preparing for battle.

Because I am.

"The multi-jurisdictional approachallows for flexibility while maintaining core compliance standards across all international subsidiaries," I explain, my voice steady as I guide the Westfield executives through the complex framework we've developed.

Howard Westfield himself leans forward, his interest evident in the way his eyes narrow on the projection screen. "And this addresses the regulatory concerns in Singapore?"

"Absolutely," Jackson smoothly interjects, stepping forward to highlight a specific clause. "Ms. Wells has created a structurethat anticipates regulatory shifts rather than merely responding to them. If you look at Section 4, you'll see…"

His voice washes over me, rich and confident, as he builds seamlessly on my introduction. Despite everything—the kiss, the tension, the way my body still hums when he stands too close—our professional chemistry remains flawless. We move around each other in a perfectly choreographed dance, finishing each other's thoughts, strengthening each other's points with an almost supernatural synchronicity.

I feel a fierce pride watching him expand on the framework I developed, the way he takes my detailed analysis and translates it into strategic vision the clients can immediately grasp.

"The integration of compliance protocols with expansion timelines is particularly elegant," Christine remarks from her position at the far end of the table. Her smile is professional, her tone helpful, but I don't miss the way she subtly positions herself. "As I suggested during our preliminary discussions, balancing immediate implementation with long-term flexibility creates the ideal approach."

My jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Christine had done no such thing—the integration strategy was entirely Jackson's idea, built on my compliance structure. But her interjection is masterful, inserting herself into our work product while appearing collegial.

Jackson catches my eye briefly, a flash of recognition passing between us. He knows what she's doing too.

"Christine's overview of regulatory precedents was certainly helpful background," he acknowledges smoothly, giving her just enough credit to appear gracious while subtly putting her in her place.

Howard Westfield seems oblivious to the subtext swirling beneath the professional veneer. He nods approvingly at the screen where our framework is displayed in meticulous detail."Impressive work, all of you. This is precisely the kind of thorough, forward-thinking approach Westfield needs during this expansion."

His praise warms me, a temporary reprieve to the complicated emotions roiling beneath my carefully maintained facade. This is what matters—the work, the professional accomplishment, not the way Jackson's cologne makes my head spin or how his proximity sends electricity crackling across my skin.

"Before we conclude," Howard continues, consulting his notes, "I want to inform you all that we've scheduled a mandatory retreat for the project team next weekend at Lake Geneva. All key personnel will need to attend."

My stomach drops, the implications hitting me immediately. A weekend retreat? With Jackson? After what happened in the conference room?

"The setting provides a more relaxed environment for creative problem-solving," Howard explains, oblivious to my internal panic. "We've found it extremely productive for complex projects like this one."

"That sounds excellent," Christine says, stepping forward before either Jackson or I can respond. "As senior counsel, I'd be happy to attend as the firm's primary representative. My experience with similar client engagements should prove valuable."

The calculated move is transparent—Christine positioning herself between us while creating an opportunity to observe our interactions away from the office.

"We expect the entire team," Howard clarifies, glancing between Jackson and me. "Our company has reserved a block of rooms at the resort. My assistant will send the details this afternoon."

As the meeting concludes and the Westfield team files out, I catch Jackson watching me across the conference room. His expression is unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sends heat spiraling through me. A weekend retreat—shared meals, evening gatherings, the constant proximity with nowhere to escape. The professional opportunity is significant, but the personal complication is overwhelming.

I gather my materials quickly, needing to escape before he can corner me alone. But as I slip into the hallway, I feel his presence behind me, inevitable as gravity.

"The secondary liability provisions need tightening,"Miguel notes, tapping his pen against the revised framework. "Particularly for the Asian markets where regulatory standards are evolving rapidly."

I nod, making a note on my legal pad while trying desperately to ignore the heat of Jackson's thigh pressed against mine beneath the conference table. The follow-up meeting has been pure torture—Jackson deliberately taking the seat beside me, our legs brushing with each slight movement. The conference room suddenly feels airless, too small to contain the electric current humming between us.

"I can revise those sections by tomorrow," I offer, struggling to keep my voice professional. "The core structure is sound, but we can add more specific protections for emerging markets."

I shift slightly, attempting to create distance between us without being obvious. Jackson immediately counters, his knee pressing more firmly against mine. The contact, innocent to any observer, sends a jolt of awareness straight to my core. My skin prickles with heat, my breath catching almost imperceptibly.

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