“That coffee machine's seen a lot of things,” I gesture, “but your death glare might finally do it in.”
She startles and turns. “Jesus, Mr. Titan.”
“Don.” I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “We’re alone. You can use my name.”
Her mouth parts, like she wants to argue, hazel eyes turning tosaucers.
“Don.” My name coming from her mouth is a breathy murmur, like she’s tasting something forbidden. “You startled me.”
“I noticed.” I push off the frame and stroll closer. “And I noticed you’ve been off today.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” I gesture at her grip on the mug. “You’re white-knuckling your caffeine like it’s going to solve your problems.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I said you’re not.” I lower my voice. “Talk to me, Emma.”
“It’s all good, I promise.” She hesitates, those long lashes fluttering against the top of her cheeks. She looks up when I don’t respond. “Really. It’s not about work. Or Friday. It’s just... personal.”
I let the silence linger, allowing her to fill it.
“I’m not sleeping,” she finally says. “I’m distracted. And I’m trying really, really hard not to think about things I shouldn’t be thinking about.”
“Like the way I kissed you?”
She goes still, fingers tightening around the mug. “That’s not helping.”
“Not trying to help. I’m trying to be honest.” I take one more step, invading her space just enough that she has to look up. “You’ve been in my head all weekend. You walk into a room and everything else becomes irrelevant. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.”
“Mr. Titan—”
I arch a brow.
“Don,” she corrects quickly.
“You think I don’t notice the way your lips part when you’re about to argue with me? That you smell like citrus and sunshine and hell on my self-control?” I lean in slightly. “I’m not blind, Emma. And I’m definitelynot immune.”
She shudders. Just a flicker. But I catch it.
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispers.
“Because pretending not to want you hasn’t worked. And because I’ve got a proposal.”
Her brow furrows.
“Come to Chicago with me.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts. “What?”
“There’s an investor presentation next week. I need someone who can handle pressure. Who understands the product better than anyone. Someone sharp, strategic…” I let the pause stretch. “Distractingly beautiful is optional, but you qualify there too.”
Her flush is immediate. “You’re insane.”
“Not yet. But you’re not helping.”
“Don, you know this is beyond reckless. And borderline inappropriate.”
