I shouldn’t take it personally.He’s always polite, but there’s no one in the office he’s friendly with.Then again, there’s no one in the office who warrants friendliness.Sterling’s silence is kinder to me than their competitiveness and insults, hidden as jokes.
My bag shifts on my shoulder, and I grip the handle like a lifeline.“Monica’s making me include one particular brand in my skin care recommendations that’s been proven to cause breakouts.I’m under strict instructions that it can’t look like an ad—which, of course, it is.”
His long lashes brush his cheeks as he blinks, but there’s no change in his expression.
“But now I’m going to use your trick to hint at the allergy complaints.”
“Be careful with that,” he says, surprising me.“It’s a fine line to walk, and the brand will have final approval over copy.”
“Oh, right,” I stumble.“Maybe you could take a look over it later today?Make sure I’m not about to risk my career for a subpar moisturizer.”I chuckle—a nervous habit I’ve had for as long as I can remember.
His nostrils flare, and I’m drawn to the way his taut chest rises under his black button-up with each breath.
Seconds pass in silence, the floor counter ticking up slowly.Five, six, seven.I’m starting to think he’ll never answer, letting the question linger in the air between us, awkward and limp, while I watch the muscles under his jaw tic.
Finally, the quiet gets to me.“I’m sure you’re busy though, so?—”
“I’ll look over it.”
The blue in his eyes is unnaturally bright under the fluorescents and piercing in its unyielding stare.
I’m too stunned to speak, but that doesn’t stop a flush from rising to my cheeks.
“Wow, um, yes—I mean, thanks.”
Shit.No wonder he offered to help.He probably thinks I can’t string two sentences together.He’ll take one look at my draft and storm into Monica’s office, demanding she fire me.
Is it too late to take it back?
“Obviously, it won’t be up to your level,” I add.“But any advice you can give me is appreciated.”The pad of my thumb hurts from where I’m rubbing it nervously against the strap of my bag.
It means so much to be here, atThe Observer, with him.How many people get the chance to meet their idol?And I get to work next to mine.Or on the same floor at least.
One day, it’ll be my desk beside his.My byline on the front page.
My articles inspiring others.
“You know,” I start—and if not now, when?—“you’re the reason I wanted to become a journalist.Ever since the series you did on selective biotech research, I knew I had to work here.Follow in your footsteps.Not that I’m …”
Oh God, he looks like this is physically hurting him to listen to.
“Anyway, Monica says no every time I submit in-depth pieces, so maybe it’s a good thing I’m only writing about antiaging creams.”
In truth, she threatens to fire me, but telling Sterling that feels like whining.
“Are you always in the habit of diminishing your skills?”he asks, shutting me the hell up.
“Um,” I say, then stop—because honestly?Yes.
Sterling, of course, doesn’t miss a beat.“I’ve read your work, Mia,” he says, stalling my brain in its tracks, then sending it into overdrive.
Wait.He has?Voluntarily?I have so many questions.
“Stop doubting yourself.”
The command settles on my skin, then slips under, electrifying every inch of my nervous system, as though he has it on speed dial.
Yes, my body says, jumping at the chance to follow his lead.Please, more.
