Page 75 of My Office Rival

She had a way of making the world feel brighter, and I couldn’t stop picturing her as mine.But she’s not yours. And soon you’ll be back to real life.The thought of it stopped me short. What would happenwhen we went back to the city? Would we go right back to being barely acquaintances?I can’t lose her.The thought of her as nothing but a face on my video calls.Fuck. No, I couldn’t bear that.

The house came into view, bizarre turrets and huge porch appearing first, then the warm windows and the wild yard. Cynthia moved through the kitchen. Just that little peek made me want more. I raced up the steps, hoping she was still downstairs, desperate for her.

I burst through the door and her eyes flew wide. She froze, mug of tea in her hand. Her hair was pulled up in a bun, highlighting her high cheekbones, that soft mouth, those thick lashes. My heart thudded.

“Hi.” She gave me a small smile. “Are you being chased by a serial killer or something?”

I think I’m falling in love with you.I reeled.

“Uh, nope, just cold.”

“Okay.” She cocked her head. “Should I help you with dinner later?”

My hands shook with the need to crush her to me. Right. I had promised to cook for her. Like a boyfriend. And I had thought this was nothing? Fuck, I was an idiot.

“That would be great. Maybe I can show you a thing or two.” I sounded casual, right? Maybe not. She gave me another confused look, but nodded and headed upstairs. I sank onto the floor, head in my hands. How much time did I have with her? A few days? A week? When this deal blew up, we would be headed back to New York.And everything will change.I needed to make every moment count.

46

CYNTHIA

Something possessed me to try to look nice for our dinner. Maybe it was the kiss. That insane, all-consuming, heart-in-his-eyes kiss. Or maybe the way he murmured words against my skin after holding me like I was precious. Or the way he’d planned a whole day of activities just for me.

My closet consisted mostly of suits for this trip, but I dug up a bright blue wrap dress and pulled it on. I shook my hair around my shoulders and applied a light dusting of highlighter on my cheekbones. I left my feet bare, since we were at home, and made my way into the kitchen. Jason was already there, in a crisp white button down, the sleeves rolled over his defined forearms. He was staring into the depths of the fridge with a frown on his face. I let my eyes trail over his lean form, that lovely tousled weekend hair, down his strong back, to that ass that had flexed with each thrust, those long legs. He really was the hottest man I’d ever seen.

“I have on good authority that if you close and open it again, the contents will change,” I said, and he started.

The flash of need on his face made me inhale sharply.

“You look really nice,” he said, voice rough. “Now I need to makesomething worthy of your outfit.” He actually sounded worried, and my heart squeezed.

“I’m easy, Jason. Don’t worry. I can be low key.” I sat down at the counter and poured myself a glass of the wine he had opened.

He snorted a laugh. “You are not low key. You know what you want and you go for it.” He sounded admiring, not critical.

I made a sound of agreement, watching him grab ingredients with the confidence of a seasoned chef. Each flex of those arms, each considering tilt of his head, made me sigh. I sipped the crisp white he had purchased at the market and let myself imagine briefly that we were together, and this was just another Sunday night. A date night at home, with his wife, whose favorite foods he knew how to cook by heart. He would have selected the produce at the Union Square Farmers’ Market, turning each onion over in those capable hands, selecting the wine with equal care, knowing exactly what she’d want. My heart ached. He’d be so fucking good at that. So good as someone’s husband. He was utterly competent and a good listener. He tucked information away to use later. And he, like me, seemed to enjoy a quiet routine.

Is that what you want?I’d never let myself consider it before.

A brief sigh escaped, and he tilted his head toward me. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, as he sharpened the lone chef’s knife.

“Just thinking about you.” I smiled. “And how you always stock enough food to feed an army.”And how I’m falling for you.

“And how fucked up I am?” He scoffed and set the knife down.

No. I would not stand for this. I circled the counter and grabbed his hand. Warm, rough skin slid against my own. “Don’t say that,” I said fiercely. “You’re not fucked up. You’re amazing. You’ve done the impossible and you make it look easy.” His throat worked, and he looked away. “Don’t you look away from me, Jason Elliott.” My voice rose. “Iwillsupport you, whether you like it or not. And I won’t hear any more of that nonsense. Now show me how to cook whatever the hell this is.” I dropped his hand and gestured at the vegetables he’d bought.

He grinned. “Well, since you put it so politely…grab a knife. And no talking back.”

Warmth kindled inside me. He believed me. And I felt like I could fly.

“And, Cynthia?” He squeezed my hand again. “Thank you.”

We duginto our winter vegetable pasta not thirty minutes later, and I closed my eyes in pleasure.

“I’m going to take that face to mean you like it,” he teased. He was watching me eat and his eyes on me felt like a physical caress.

“I love it. You’re a really good cook.” I sighed with happiness and took another bite. “Should we talk about tomorrow?”

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