@theanswerisno:
Big no
@theanswerisno:
Now get back to building our city. We’re running out of daylight!
@pancakesareelite:
I love this game
@theanswerisno:
I’m aware
@pancakesareelite:
By the way, I like being called Pancakes, but if you want, you can also call me Lily.
“Watch where you’re—” I gasped the second I realized who those strong arms belonged to.
Mr. Carden released me as though I were a live wire. He jumped backward. “Uh…” he started, far more hesitant than he’d been with Mr. Anders earlier. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Underneath dark, long eyelashes, his gaze met mine for all of one microsecond before giving me a once-over. “Are… you okay?”
“Fine. Perfectly fine,” I squeaked out, clocking theIn My Eraburgundy lipstick stain on the bottom end of his shirt’s breast pocket. “You have, um…”
He looked downward, and his eyes widened.
I’d left plenty of lipstick stains before, but never in my life had I smooched my boss’s (firm) pecs unprovoked. Heat crept up my cheeks, and I was sure they were almost as red as my hair. “I’m so sorry.”
He blew out a small, quick breath and pulled at his collar. “Not your fault,” he said, his voice lower than it had been. “I was…” Heswallowed hard and searched the floor. “Distracted.” He bent down and grabbed his fallen phone before slipping it into a pants pocket.
“It’s okay. It coulda been worse. If I were taller or you were shorter, we would have…” I smacked my hands together, immediately regretting the decision.
But then one corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Was that the hint of a smile?
Before I could say or do anything else, the HR director popped her head out of the boardroom. “Come on, the next segment is starting, and it’s an important one.”
“Be there in a sec,” I said, and turned around, but Mr. Carden had already disappeared.
I hurried into the boardroom and pulled out my phone. I needed to panic-text someone who knew how filterless I could be. I scrolled down to Link’s name and hovered over it, wondering how much I could share. We had an unspoken rule about oversharing. It was a small industry.
And yet, every day I fought the urge to risk it all and tell himeverything.
Mr. Carden and I never spoke about the lipstick stain. We barely spoke at all.
As it turned out, Lincoln Carden was a man of few words and far too many projects. After two and a half days of working together, I’d surmised that he liked his coffee with cream and sugar, enjoyed a simple sandwich at lunch, got to the office before sunrise, and lived nearby, because yesterday and today, his soft, black curls were still wet and dripping onto his well-ironed white shirt.
Oh, and that his headset was noise-canceling, which I embarrassingly discovered after having a long, one-sided conversation withhim. When he’d eventually taken them off, I’d tried asking him about his life or his friends, but he kept his answers short and to the point, and they were almost always followed with a work instruction.
He may as well hold up a sign that said:BUSINESS ONLY.
“Mr. Carden?” I used the sweetest voice I could muster. Everything I did seemed to tick him off, and I wasn’t about to take any chances.
“Elizabeth,” he said without looking up. My name was always a sigh on his full lips. “What can I do for you?”
I lifted the Arch D sheet, and he sighed again. He looked at his smartwatch. “I’ve got five minutes.” He pointed at the large desk on the other end of the office.
