Page 21 of For the Plot
He glances over, sliding a document across the desk between us. "Investor summit next week. We're finalizing keynote speakers. I need coordination between my team and the marketing firm."
"Consider it done."
"I'll forward the contact threads."
"Forward away."
Another pause. His eyes hold mine. "You seem calm."
"Fake it 'til you make it," I say lightly. "Or in my case, until you remember how to breathe in dress pants and four-inch heels after spending the last few weeks on my couch pantsless."
That earns me the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth as his eyes drop down slightly to take in my shoes. He doesn’t say anything right away, but there’s a shift in his gaze, like he’s imagining something he shouldn’t. His jaw flexes once. Then his voice dips, low enough that I almost miss it.
“Didn’t peg you for the type to wear those on your first day.”
Those. Not heels. Not stilettos.Those. His voice doesn’t sound critical. If anything, it sounds… curious. Maybe a little too appreciative. Or maybe I’m imagining that last part.
My stomach does a slow, unhelpful flip. I open my mouth to say something—flirty? Defensive? Self-deprecating? I have no idea. But before I can land on a response, he’s already turning back toward his office, pausing only to say, “I’ll be in here if you need anything.”
The door doesn’t fully close behind him.
I stare at it for a beat longer than necessary, heart pounding, brain screaming,what the hell was that?And then I shake it off, dragging my attention back to the screen in front of me.
We settle into a rhythm over the next hour. He answers emails while I triage his calendar, clean up scheduling conflicts, and reschedule two meetings that should never have been in-person. It's easy, weirdly so. The work is fast-paced, but I like it. It reminds me I'm not broken, that I still know how to do this, even if the stakes feel higher when the man sitting ten feet away is the reason my heart rate hasn't dropped below panic since I walked in.
By midmorning, I've rearranged his Thursday entirely and flagged two items his analyst team missed in the last market report.
Reece steps out of his office, and I look up, sipping my coffee. "I think I just saved your Thursday from implosion."
Reece glances at his screen. "You did."
"Well, in that case, I'd like to request hazard pay."
That almost-smile returns. "Talk to HR."
"I'll add it to my list of things to flirt my way into."
His brows lift just a hair.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
I duck my head quickly, pretending to focus on my keyboard, cheeks warming.
"Old habit," I say, playing it off. "Flirted my way into a second monitor once. Never looked back."
“What else have you managed to procure?”
I chew my bottom lip and cock my head as I think through the list. “Let’s see… started with getting my medium iced shaken espresso bumped up to a large by my favorite barista—without charge,” I add. “Oh! An amazingly comfortable desk chair, you know the ergonomic ones that have that lower leg support thing. One of the maintenance guys at my old office had a thing for me so he snagged it from one of the executive conference rooms.”
He rubs his hand deliberately along the edge of his jaw as he listens. “Sounds like you’re one hell of a negotiator. I might have to keep that in mind.”
“Hey, the next time you can’t wear down some horny old guy, bring me and I’ll take it from there.” His expression doesn’t change but mine does. My eyes practically bug out of my head as I feel the fiery flames of embarrassment lick their way up my neck.
“Oh God, that sounded so bad. I just meant?—”
He lifts a hand. “I understood.”
“Unfortunately,” I continue, hoping to breeze past that insane remark, “the only thing I couldn’t manage to negotiate was keeping my amazing, overpriced boutique gymmembership.” I let out a soft, disappointed sigh. It’s silly… ridiculous really, but it was the place I went to shut the world out and just breathe.
