Page 27 of For the Plot
“Only if you have something to hide.”
My eyes cut back to hers. “Don’t we all?”
She leans forward just slightly, fork abandoned, elbows resting on the table. “I think some of us are just better at pretending we don’t.”
I study her for a long moment. Her face is open, but there’s a challenge in her posture, a dare I’m not sure I should entertain.
“You don’t seem like someone who pretends well.”
“Oh, I do,” she says, voice dropping half an octave. “But if you tell that to any of my exes, I’ll deny it,” she says with a wink.
“Are you always this brash or do you just like to push the boundaries?”
I hide behind my glass of water after I ask, taking my time as I take several large swallows. It does nothing to quell the smoldering fire that’s beginning to simmer just below the surface of my restraint.
She tilts her head in that coy little way I’ve seen her do before, like she knows exactly what to say to get beneath my skin. I can see instantly why Archer found her appealing, why any man would and most likely does. She’s witty and funny with just enough irreverence in her humor to test the limit.
“Am I?” she questions back, “pushing the boundaries?”
I don’t hide my chuckle as I avert my gaze from hers. The temptation to flip this table and pull her into my lap so strong I’m finding it hard to remain focused.
“I pretend I don’t notice how you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention,” she finally says, breaking the silence that has settled between us and pulling my gaze right back to hers. Her lips part slightly and I can just see the tip of her tongue hiding behind her teeth. “I pretend I don’t like it.”
My blood thickens. She watches me like she’s waiting for a crack to appear—waiting to see if I’ll shut her down or meet her in the fire she just started.
“And do you?” I ask quietly. “Like it?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and I feel the pull of it in places I have no business feeling. “Would it make a difference if I said yes?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because yes, it would. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t let it.
The silence stretches again—but now it pulses between us. Like it’s no longer hiding anything. Like it’s baring everything we won’t say.
She finally leans back in her chair, dragging her fingers along the rim of her glass. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not here to blow up your quiet life, Mr. Blackwood.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, even though I am. Even though she already has.
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Liar.” She sees something in me, and she’s not afraid of it. And that makes me very uneasy.
“I like it here,” she says finally. “The view, the pace. The expectation. It’s… controlled. But in a way that feels clear. I haven’t felt clear in a long time.”
I could tell her I understand. That I’ve lived inside the blur and clawed my way out with routines and white walls andsystems so tight they’ve nearly strangled me. But that would mean revealing too much, and I’m already far too close to territory I swore I’d avoid.
Instead, I offer a simple nod. “I’m glad you’re settling in.”
“I am.”
Her voice is quieter now, the edge pulled back just enough to expose something gentler underneath. Something I want to reach for, which is exactly why I lean away.
We finish lunch quickly after that. She thanks me, polite and professional again, and returns to her desk without waiting for me to say anything more.
I watch her go.
Then I stare down at the empty space across from me and wonder how long it’s been since someone sat there and made it feel like a table for two instead of just another place to work.
I return to my desk, open my laptop, and force my focus back to the day’s agenda.
But her words echo.
