Page 75 of All's Well that Friends Well

I snort at this. “Like you don’t know.” With a quick look over my shoulder, I ease the door shut so we can have some privacy.

“Hmm.” Juliet’s eyes narrow too. “Are you going to say something I don’t like?”

“Yes,” I say, leaning back against the closed door, my arms folded.

She turns her gaze back to her tapping nails. “Then pass,” she says airily.

I swallow the bark of laughter trying to rise in my throat. “This is not optional,” I say, keeping the words stern.

Her shoulders slump as her expression fades from detached to disappointed. “Boo,” she says, a little pucker forming between her brows. “Fine.”

The deep breath I take doesn’t seem to do much, but I speak anyway. “We’re both adults. So we can acknowledge that we kissed.”

At the wordkissed, her eyes brighten, her gaze swinging up to meet mine. She nods eagerly. “We did,” she says, her lips curling into a smile. “You should kiss me again.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can,” she counters, leaning closer. “You really can! Kiss me however you want.”

I sigh. “We can’t always have what we want, Juliet. I can’t have the perfect job. I can’t have the nicest car. And I can’t—” My voice breaks as my heart pounds. “I can’t have my young, beautiful employee. Icertainlycan’t kiss her—the way I want or otherwise.”

“So there’s a specific way you want to kiss me?” she says quickly, and I rub my temples.

“Of course there is,” I say. “But?—”

“What about just one more time?”

“Zero more times,” I say firmly. “We will kiss zero more times.”

Her lower lip juts out as she looks up at me with a pout.

“Put that away,” I say, eyeing that lip, “and listen up.”

“You’re very bossy this morning,” she says, and she puts her hands on her hips.

“Yes, well, I’m the boss,” I say.

She shakes her head and steps closer. “A relationship should be founded on equal?—”

“What?” I cut her off, momentarily startled. I shift, still resting against the door, but I can feel the tension entering my body. “No relationship. We just discussed this. There’s no relationship.”

She hums and takes another step closer—and I can’t escape, because my back is already to the door, but I straighten up. Her voice is skeptical as she says, “Are you sure?”

“I—yes.” I clear my throat and try to sound more certain. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Boo,” she says again.

“And stop—” I shake my head. “Stop distracting me.Going forward”—I rally my speech, the points I need to make, and then go on—“Going forward, you will be my PR assistant. You will help me within the bounds of your work duties. We will not kiss again. We will not touch inappropriately.”

“Mmm,” she says slowly as her lips twist in concentration, her brows furrowed as she thinks. She nods slowly. “Got it.” She pauses and then tilts her head. “Could you define that for me?”

“I—what?”

“Touching inappropriately,” she says, her voice bright now. “What does it mean? What’s inappropriate? Like am I allowed to touch your hand?”

“I—no.” I answer on autopilot, because I wasn’t expecting this line of questioning.

“Well, what if our fingers touch while I’m passing you a piece of paper?” she says reasonably, her head still tilted. “Is that allowed?”

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