Page 30 of For the Plot
With Lauren, there was a sweetness to our courtship. It was light and full of hope. With Skye… it’s chaos. Lust wrapped in guilt, tied with ribbons of shame andneed.
And I know,I fucking knowthat if I give in, really give in, I won’t be able to pull back. Because it’s not just about sex. It never was.
It’s about the way she makes me feel. The way I forget I’m forty-nine and broken and carrying the weight of every goddamn mistake I’ve ever made. Around her, I feel alive again. Reckless. Like maybe I still have a second chance at something more.
But I can’t have her. I can’t want her.
She’s Archer’s ex. She’smy assistant. She’s twenty-two years younger and deserves a man who doesn’t watch her walk down the hallway with his fists clenched and his jaw grinding like he’s seconds from pinning her against the wall.
I close my eyes and let her name echo in the silence.
“Skye…”
The sound is a benediction and a curse.
And I know, even as I try to shove the guilt down deeper, that this is just the beginning.
Because the part of me that touched myself thinking of her? That animal. That part is no longer interested in pretending I don’t want her.
Chapter 7
Skye
I’m halfway through placing the online order when I hesitate. This is either a friendly gesture… or a wildly inappropriate workplace overstep.
But screw it. He fed me. It’s only fair I return the favor. And besides, if I overthink this, I’ll end up eating a sad desk salad with the interns and pretending I don’t notice that half the office stares at Reece like he’s aMarvelcharacter who wandered into the wrong genre.
The delivery arrives exactly four minutes before noon. I pause outside his office, heart thudding against my ribs. His door’s closed, but the blinds aren’t drawn, so I can see him inside—jacket off, sleeves rolled up, one hand pressed to his temple as he studies something on his screen. He looks… tense. Frustrated. Gorgeous.
I knock once and he glances up, his brows lifting when he sees me. I hold up the bag like a prize. “Figured I’d return the favor.”
He doesn’t speak right away, which sends my anxiety cartwheeling. “You ordered lunch?”
“Thai. Unless you’re one of those people who thinks cilantro tastes like soap. In which case, I will judge you but I will also eat yours.”
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close enough to keep me breathing. “Come in.”
I step inside, trying to look casual instead of desperate for validation. I set the bag on the corner of his desk and pull out the two containers.
“I wasn’t sure what your meat preference is,” I say. “So, chicken pad see ew, medium spice, and spring rolls because I like carbs that crunch.” He watches me with that unreadable gaze that somehow makes me feel both scrutinized and seen.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I say, handing him a set of chopsticks. “But I wanted to. And I figured you could use a break before you spontaneously combust from glaring at your inbox.”
That earns me a real reaction, a heavy exhale while shaking his head. “You figured correctly.”
I drop into the chair across from his desk, cracking open my container like I do this all the time. “Besides, I didn’t want to eat with the interns again. They keep asking me if I’m married, and I’m too fragile for that kind of trauma right now.”
He smirks. “You’re twenty-seven.”
“Exactly. Practically geriatric in dating years.”
He picks up a spring roll but doesn’t eat it. He just looks at it like he’s not sure how we got here.
“You’re impossible to predict,” he says.
“I’m not trying to be unpredictable. I’m trying to be… not weird.”
