“Those aren’tbunnyears, they’reyourears,” I say, blushing furiously.
“Are they really that big? Is that why I’m a great listener?”
“Shut up.”
Grinning, he hands the sketchbook back to me. His fingers brush mine as I take it, and that teensy bit of contact makes my face flush even hotter. What is wrong with me? I’ve literally made out with the guy already, and an accidentalhand touchis what’s making my knees weak now?
“I’ve got to get to my next class,” I croak.
Brandon taps his phone screen with a crooked grin. “See ya around, Kate.” He shoots a wink over his shoulder and pads back to the adjacent door.
I slump back into my chair, close my eyes, and wonder what in the world I’ve just done.
nine
PRESENT DAY
KATE
“What in the world were you thinking?” Amantha’s laugh is incredulous. “You really punched Brandon in the face?” She strolls beside me as we round the sparkling ramp of The Spiral.
She’s wearing a gray pantsuit that perfectly matches her pale eyes. It hugs the type of ample curves I could only dream about.
“I wassupposedto punch Brandon! We were sparring! I mean, I know I still lost the bet, but it felt amazing to get a few hits in. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get to punch him again during our lessons.”
“Diabolical.” Amantha laughs as she pushes open the employee entrance door. “You, my friend, are a menace.”
I sip my iced matcha latte, courtesy of my overtly-flirtatious favorite barista, Rohan, who had it ready and waiting for me again.
I sweep my long, straight hair over my shoulder as we walk. Today, I chose yet another all black ensemble—black bodysuit, black pencil skirt, and black heels. Why?
Because I’m in mourning.
Coming back to work after the holidays already sucks, but now I have to share that stupid tiny office with Brandon. Sure, I understand why Kendra is requiring us to use the space. Both of our desks are centered in the commons area of the curation wing, and itcangetpretty loud there. If making quieter cold calls to donors means we’ll still have jobs, I’ll have to take one for the team.
“Where’s Val this morning?” I ask Amantha, taking another sip.
“He’s coming in late. Anthony asked him to go to his ‘career day’ at school to talk about curation.” Amantha’s smile stretches from ear to ear at the mention of her eleven-year-old son. “I mean, he could’ve asked me, but I’m not even offended ‘cause it’s too darn cute.”
“That is pretty adorable.”
We turn the corner into the curation wing. Blythe rushes toward her office in a blur of frizzy blonde hair and an orange blazer, and I cough a laugh. Despite being almost fifty, she’s always moving at warp-speed.
I part ways with Amantha, checking with Blythe to see if there’s anything I need to help her with before I start contacting Kendra’s list of donors. There isn’t. I brush a finger across my mahogany desk stationed just outside Blythe’s office.
Hesitating, I grab a few office supplies and stuff them into my tote. I’m not sure what will be stocked in my—our—new office. My eyes rove Brandon’s vacant desk across the commons area. It seems untouched. I frown. It’s not like him to be late. Usually he shows up a few?—
An icy shiver works its way from my neck to my tailbone as recollection smacks me in the face. Of course he’s early. One would have to be anidiotto forget the deal we made over the nice office chair. An expletive bursts from my mouth as I hurtle down the hallway, my now heavy work tote bouncing with office supplies.
Sure enough, my cocky ex is leaning back in the nice chair, shining brown leather dress shoes propped on the desk. A bluetooth keyboard stretches across his tan chino pants, and his black long-sleeved button up is cuffed up each corded forearm. Those stupid inky rose petals climb his neck, visible from where his collar stays unbuttoned without a tie.
“Katie, you finally made it!” Brandon’s smile almost blinds me as he scoops his messy papers into a pile and pats a corner of the desk affectionately. “Here. I saved you a spot.”
I scowl, and his smile only grows bigger.
My attention falls onto a small basket of reprieve. It’s filled withmy favorite protein bars, the ones I told Amantha about last week. I’ll have to thank her later.
I snatch a protein bar from the basket as I stalk the two steps toward the crusty chair. My head falls to the side at the cylinder of anti-bacterial wipes set atop it.
