Page 35 of For the Plot
I don’t let myself look at him while I clean up the remains of our lunch. Mostly because I’m still recovering from the way he defended me. The way his voice dipped when he said what Archer did wasn’t excused. It wasn’t a grand gesture. But it felt like one.
I’m shoving napkins into the take-out bag when Reece finally speaks. “So you and Leo seem to be getting along.”
I blink. The comment’s casual on the surface, but something about it makes me glance up. His expression is still cool, composed, but the timing? The way he’s not quite looking at me when he says it?
Oh.
I arrange my features into something neutral. “Leo’s nice.”
“Nice,” he repeats, like the word tastes off.
I fight a smile. “Yeah. He’s like… a puppy. Very enthusiastic. Likes to organize things alphabetically. Not really my type.”
That earns me a sharp, curious glance. “And what is your type?” he asks.
That stops me. My heart skips and then steadies into a careful rhythm. I’m tempted to say all sorts of really stupid things but instead, I shrug and keep it lighthearted. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
He hums low in his throat. Not quite satisfied, but he doesn’t press.
I gather the containers, stacking them into the paper bag. “Anyway, Leo’s been helpful. Showed me around. Gave me the inside scoop on who hoards the office snacks and which coffee pot doesn’t suck.”
“He talks a lot,” Reece says.
“Some people might call that friendly.”
“Some people should get back to work.”
I grin. “And some people sound an awful lot like a boss who doesn't like his employees talking to each other.”
He doesn’t respond. But I swear I catch the ghost of a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. I step toward the door, take-out bag in hand. “Thanks for letting me hijack your lunch break.”
“Anytime.”
I pause with my hand on the door. “Just to clarify, when you say ‘anytime,’ is that specific to Thai food, or can I branch out? Because I make a mean mac and cheese, and I’m not above bribery.”
“You’re planning on making me lunch now?”
“I’m full of surprises.”
He studies me. Slow and quiet and thorough. Like he’s cataloging the things he’s not supposed to notice. Then, almost too soft to catch, he replies, “Yeah. You are.”
The words make something flutter low in my stomach. I open the door before I can ruin it by saying something completely inappropriate. But as I step out, I glance back over my shoulder and offer him a sweet wave.
“See you later, boss.”
His eyes are still on me. But this time, they don’t feel unreadable. They feel like a warning. Or an invitation. Maybe both.
I’m two steps into the hallway when his voice stops me.
“Skye.”
I turn, pulse skipping at the sound of my name in that low, authoritative tone. Like he’s testing how much weight it can carry in the space between us.
“Yes?”
He doesn’t move from where he’s standing, but his gaze holds mine. “There’s a meeting in Boston next week,” he says, voice even. “I’ll need you to join me.”
Just like that, the air shifts.
