“Deal. But if I get tackled by a wealthy woman in pearls, I’m blaming you.”
He laughs again, and Naomi leans her hip against the counter, trying not to stress-glare at the printer as it inches along.
This is fine. Everything’s under control. She’s got backup cards, and an updated spreadsheet on her phone. She is the picture of poise.
Until her scalp prickles.
She feels it before she sees it. Like a shift in air pressure. Like someone just changed the station in her head.
She turns, almost against her will.
Tall is walking across the lobby toward her, and her body forgets how to function.
No hoodie. No beanie. No sour grimace. His blond hair is brushed back in an artfully careless way that probably took effort, and the soft scruff along his jaw is just shy of neat. A hint of dark ink peeks out above his collar like an annoyingly hot secret.
And the tux. God help her. The tux fits him as if it were tailored for a magazine cover. Sharp lines. Broad shoulders. Crisp white shirt at the collar, dark jacket tapering just right over that unfair torso that still haunts her dreams.
The man is not built for subtlety. Not with that height, that presence, that thing he does where he looks like he’s barely tolerating the human race.
People in the lobby glance his way—admiring, curious—but he’s oblivious.
Tall spots her near the reception desk and veers her way, and Naomi panics for a moment—actually panics—because she has nothing prepared. No quip. No roast. Not even a sarcastic eye-roll.
As he nears, she straightens, smoothing her dress unnecessarily. Her voice, when it comes, sounds higher than normal.
“You…” Her hand flutters in his general direction. “Look irritatingly decent.”
Perfect. Just hand her a microphone so she can announce how flustered she is in surround sound.
He slows in front of her, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly like he wasn’t expecting that.
Naomi feels his gaze lick over her, unhurried and deliberate. It starts at her glittering snowflake mask, then trails down the sleek black dress that skims her curves and pools around her ankles like spilled ink. She feels the exact moment he gets stuck—at the crisscross straps framing her chest, where bare skin peeks through the lattice of fabric, treading that razor-thin edge between professional and sexy.
When his eyes finally return to her face, he clears his throat. “You too.”
Before her brain can regroup with a quip, Eli reappears behind the desk with a small stack of newly printed place cards.
“Remember—crab cakes,” he says, winking as he hands them over.
Naomi nods solemnly. “Crustaceans pulverized into tiny mayo-slathered discs. You got it.”
Eli snorts and heads into the back room.
Which is when Carter strolls in, his burgundy velvet tux jacket gleaming under the lights.
He lets out a low whistle. “Well, damn. Look at you two. Tall and Small.”
Tall doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, we’re a buddy cop show. You die first.”
Carter barks a laugh, clearly delighted that curmudgeon Tall has come out to play. “There he is!”
Naomi forces herself to tear her eyes off Tall long enough to flash Carter a smile. “Hey Carter. Thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Carter grins, then looks between them with the expression of someone who’s been trusted with a juicy secret. “Did I interrupt a moment? You two look like you have a weird dynamic going on.”
“There’s no dynamic,” Naomi says quickly.
“We look like coworkers,” Tall says flatly.
