Page 44 of For the Plot
I squint at him. “Seriously?”
He nods. “Client gift. I haven’t touched them.”
I move toward the coffee machine and start pouring a cup, trying to act casual while simultaneously praying he walks back to his office because I’m far too tense to be trapped in this small kitchen with him.
Then his voice—dry, amused, and far too close behind me—cuts through the quiet.
“Hopefully the pastries can help you process your daddy issues.”
My hand freezes mid-pour.Oh my God.
My entire body goes still. Heat flashes across my face so fast I’m surprised the coffee doesn’t boil over in my hand.
“You—” I start, still facing the machine. “You heard that?”
A pause. Then the soft scrape of his voice again, closer now. “Hard not to, Miss Rhodes. You said it like you wanted someone to hear.”
I turn slowly, mug in hand, cheeks burning, heart threatening to beat straight out of my chest. He’s leaning against the counter across from me now, calm as ever, his expression unreadable, except for the glint of something wicked in his eyes.
Smug bastard.
He lifts his coffee cup to his lips, like this is all perfectly normal.
“It was a joke,” I say quickly.
“Was it?” he asks, letting the question linger in the air between us.
“I wasn’t— It wasn’t aboutyou,” I sputter. “It was a joke. A… generalized…theoreticalthing.”
He pushes away from the counter, then reaches past me, pours himself more coffee, and takes a sip like this is any other Wednesday and I didn’t just say the world’s most humiliating phrase loud enough to echo through the hallway.
He turns toward me, still holding his mug. “Hmm. That’s too bad.”
I blink. “Too bad?”
His eyes are steady. Dark. Focused completely on mine.
“Because it would explain a few things.”
My stomach plummets. I grip the edge of the counter like I might float off the planet otherwise. “Like what, exactly?”
He doesn’t answer. Just takes a slow, measured step toward me. Then another. By the time he’s close enough to touch, I can barely breathe.
“Like the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
I inhale sharply.
“Like the way you bite your lip when I call you Miss Rhodes.”
My breath stutters. “That’s not?—”
“Like the way you talk to Leo.”
My eyes narrow. “What does Leo have to do with anything?”
He shrugs. Too casual. But there’s heat flickering behind his control now, sparking in that too-still body. “You’re easy around him. Comfortable. You laugh with him.”
“Yeah, because he’s… harmless.” His jaw tics. “Oh my God,” I whisper, realization blooming. “You’re jealous.”
