“Glyma,” she said.
“Quin,” Glyma peeped, using as little air as possible.
Quin’s brows quirked, but she didn’t comment on the strange sound. “I have everything set up in the conference room, if you’re ready?”
Glyma smiled and nodded.
“Can I get you anything?” Marci stood from her desk chair, and pointed vaguely down the hall where—Glyma assumed—the kitchen was. “Coffee or tea? I can go to the cafe down the street if you’re hungry.”
Glyma shook her head.
“Are you sure?” Marci pressed, and Quin’s red eyes flashed.
“I’ll call if we need anything,” she said stiffly, and Marci sat down, looking disappointed. To Glyma, Quin said, “There’s water in the conference room, but if you need anything else—”
“Water’s fine,” Glyma wheezed.
Quin narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but she simply gestured for Glyma to head down the opposite hall as her office. “First door on your right.”
The conference room was bright from the unshuttered windows, and the oblong table was covered in several different piles of paperwork. At Glyma’s panicked look, Quin sent her a reassuring smile.
“I know it looks like a lot, but we will go over it all thoroughly, one by one if we have to.”
Well, shit, Glyma couldn’t hold her breath that long.
“Please, have a seat.”
Glyma took the first chair on the left. Quin sat in the one at the head of the table. Gesturing to the pitcher of water and glasses, she asked, “Would you like some water?”
With a shake of her head, Glyma folded her hands on the table, smile still in place. Quin was frowning now.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm.”
Unconvinced, Quin mirrored her posture, hands twining on the table as she squared her shoulders, like she was fortifying herself. “If this is about the gala, let me apologize again.”
Oh no, this wasn’t what Glyma wanted. She shook her head, but Quin cleared her throat, and soldiered on.
“I wish I could blame it on the champagne, but—”
“No,” Glyma blurted, making Quin jump, “if anyone needs to apologize, it’s me. I practically molested you. In my mind, I did. We did a lot of deplorable things on that balcony. All of them consensual, I promise.” Quin made a choked sound, and Glyma winced. “Crap, that’s not helping, is it? I told myself I wouldn’t make this weird; it’s why I’m holding my breath.”
Like she was having trouble following, Quin leaned forward, brows furrowing deeper. “Pardon?”
“You smell really good,” Glyma admitted on a bit of a whine, “and I wanted to avoid making things worse, so I decided to hold my breath as long as possible so I wouldn’t smell you and get any ideas. But now I’ve talked too much, and I’m out of air.”
She gasped in a breath, splaying her hands when her senses flooded with smoke and char and burning cherry wood. “Yup, you still smell amazing. I love that for me.”
“Oh,” Quin said, blinking through her surprise.
“Sorry, I’ve made you uncomfortable again, haven’t I?”
“No, I…” Scratching the back of her neck, she pointed at the thermostat with a sheepish expression. “I turned the air conditioning colder by ten degrees in hopes you would get chilly, and I could offer you a cardigan.” She waved at the blackcardigan folded over the seat across from Glyma. “I was afraid you’d wear another one of those lovely sundresses, and I’d get distracted by your bare shoulders.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh gods, I’m a man!”
