Page 65 of Worth the Wait

He moves closer, not touching me but near enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "You've been avoiding me this morning. Something to do with Christine coming out of your office earlier?"

The observation, accurate as always, makes me stiffen. "I've been busy."

"Tarryn." Just my name, spoken in that particular way that makes it impossible to maintain my defenses. I turn reluctantly,finding myself trapped between his body and the copy machine, the small space suddenly feeling impossibly intimate.

His blue eyes search mine, concern evident in the slight furrow between his brows. "What did she say to you?"

"Nothing I didn't already know," I reply, my voice catching slightly as I become acutely aware of our proximity. "That office relationships are career suicide, especially for women."

"She's just trying to manipulate you. Using your career ambitions to control you. Besides, we both know she’s an unethical bitch who threatened blackmail."

"That doesn't make her wrong," I counter, my back pressing against the edge of the copy machine as I try to maintain some distance between us. It's futile. My body betrays me, leaning toward him even as my mind screams caution.

"She's wrong about us," Jackson says, his voice dropping to that register that sends heat curling through my belly. "What's between us isn't something that diminishes you, Tarryn. It makes us both stronger."

My breath catches as his hand rises to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek in a touch so gentle it makes my heart ache. The professional boundaries I've fought to maintain crumble under the weight of his gaze, his proximity, the undeniable pull between us that's only grown stronger with each attempt to deny it.

"Jackson," I whisper, his name both warning and invitation. "We can't…"

But my body contradicts my words, swaying toward him like a flower seeking sunlight. His eyes darken as they drop to my lips, his intention clear as he leans closer, closing the infinitesimal space between us.

"We can," he murmurs, his breath warm against my mouth. "We already are."

The moment stretches between us. My hands rise of their own accord to rest against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my palm, a perfect match to my own racing pulse. Just one more inch and our lips would meet, dissolving months of careful distance in a single moment of surrender.

The door swings open with deliberate slowness.

"Oh!" Christine's voice, pitched with false surprise, shatters the moment. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."

Jackson steps back instantly, but the knowing curve of Christine's smile makes it clear she's seen enough. Her gaze flicks between us, cataloging Jackson's darkened eyes, my flushed cheeks, the charged atmosphere that no amount of professional distance can disguise.

"Just finishing up some copies for tomorrow's presentation," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathless as I gather the papers with trembling fingers.

"How… dedicated," Christine replies, her smile sharpening. "Though I'm surprised it takes two senior attorneys to operate a copy machine."

Jackson's jaw tightens, but his voice remains steady. "I was just asking Tarryn about some revisions to the liability section."

"I'm sure you were." Christine's gaze settles on me, triumph gleaming in her eyes. "The partners' meeting has been moved up to three o'clock, Tarryn. Miguel specifically requested your presence."

My stomach drops. "I'll be there."

She lingers a moment longer, savoring her victory before turning to leave. "Oh, and Jackson? Miguel would like to see you in his office. Immediately.”

I wait until Jackson heads to Miguel’s office, giving myself precisely three minutes to gather my courage before following Christine to her office. When I enter, surprise briefly disrupts her calculated composure.

"Did you need something, Tarryn?" she asks, setting her portfolio on her desk.

I close her door, the soft click somehow sounding final. "Before you do whatever you're planning, I want to understand why you're so determined to destroy us."

The directness of my approach catches her off guard. For a moment, her mask slips, revealing something raw beneath the polished surface—pain, perhaps, or rage so ancient it's calcified into something harder.

"Destroy you?"She laughs, though the sound holds no humor. "I’m trying to stop you from destroying yourself." She moves to her window, staring out at the Chicago skyline as if seeing something beyond the gleaming towers. "This is about watching another promising career sacrificed on the altar of office romance."

When she turns back to me, her expression has transformed. The cool calculation is gone, replaced by something more honest, more wounded. "You have no idea what it's like, do you? To lose everything you've worked for because you made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong person at the wrong time."

"David Richards," I say quietly.

Her eyes widen fractionally, the only indication of her surprise. "You've done your homework."

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