And I have a bad feeling about it.
“The timeline for the heritage exhibition needs to be moved up,” I say, spreading the latest mockups across our shared workspace.“If we want media coverage, we need to launch before the Monaco Yacht Show steals all the attention.”
Eve doesn’t look up from her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard with sharp, precise movements.“Don’t shed everywhere while you’re leaning over my desk.”
I pause, straightening up.“What?”
“Your hair.”She lifts her head to look at me, her dark eyes flashing with irritation.“It’s getting all over my workspace.Some of us actually care about maintaining a professional environment.”The movement draws my attention to her earrings—ridiculously large feathered hoops that sway with every turn of her head.They’re completely inappropriate for the office.All blue and green feathers, like some kind of exotic bird took up residence in her ears.
I run a hand through my hair automatically.“I’m not shedding?—”
“Right there.”She points to my keyboard with the tip of her pen, her red-lacquered nails catching the light.“And there.And on my mouse pad.”
I follow her gaze and freeze.There are several blonde strands scattered across my desk—the same color and length as mine.When did that happen?
“Huh.”I brush them away quickly.“Weird.”
“Weird is one word for it.”Eve’s voice is bone-dry.“Disgusting is another.Are you stressed about something?I hear that causes hair loss.”
“I’m not losing my hair,” I snap, more defensive than the situation warrants.
“If you say so.”She turns back to her screen with a dismissive shrug that makes those ridiculous feathers dance.I can’t help myself.I reach out and flick one of the earrings, watching it spin.
“Don’t touch my jewelry,” she snaps, jerking away from me.
“They’re distracting.And completely inappropriate for a professional office.”
“My earrings are none of your business.”She touches the feathered hoop protectively.“Just keep your follicle situation away from my side of the desk.”
I settle back into my chair, trying to focus on the campaign timeline, but my eyes keep drifting between the strands I just swept away and those absurd earrings.That’s definitely my hair, but why would it be falling out?I’m thirty-two, not sixty.
“The heritage angle is solid,” Eve says, pulling my attention back to work.“But your event concept is still too modern.These people don’t want to be immersed in some virtual experience.”
“And your suggestion?”
“Interactive elements.Let them feel the craftsmanship.”She leans forward, and those damn feathers brush against her neck.“Hands-on demonstrations of traditional yacht-building techniques.”
Despite my annoyance about the hair comment, I have to admit it’s a good idea.“That could work.Maybe partner with some of the original craftsmen?”
“Exactly.”For a moment, her expression softens into something approaching approval before she catches herself.“Though I’m sure you’ll find some way to overcomplicate it.”
“And I’m sure you’ll find some way to turn it into a lecture about maritime history that puts everyone to sleep.”
“Better than your approach of throwing money at everything until it sparkles.”
We’re leaning closer as we argue, the space between us alive with simmering currents.I reach out and flick her earring again, unable to resist the way it spins and glistens in the light.
“Stop that,” she hisses, but her cheeks flush slightly.
“Then stop wearing bird costumes to work.”
“Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”
“You know what your problem is?”I murmur, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her dark eyes.
“No.But I know what yours is,” she shoots back.
I ignore her.“You act like caring about something means taking all the fun out of it.Everything has to be serious and perfect with you.”
