“Not funny,” she hisses, trying to keep her tone level even though her whole body is thrumming with panic. “You don’t understand. If Richard thinks I’m slacking off?—”
“But you’renotslacking off,” he says.
“It doesn’t matter!” she cries. She sees spots in her vision. What had she eaten today before the canapés? Everything feels too hot. Too real.
“You’re about five seconds from a full meltdown, Smalls.”
She whirls on him just as they reach the edge of the ballroom, heart in her throat. “Do not call me that right now.”
She makes a strangled noise and spins back around, nearly clipping a server with a tray of mini tarts. “I have worked so hard to pull this off. If he sends feedback to Hollis that I was unprofessional, if he gets even a whisper of an excuse?—”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
She turns again, about to snap back, but the look on Tall’s face makes her pause. He’s calm. Infuriatingly calm. Hands in his pockets, jaw steady, eyes fixed on her like he’s not letting her spin out any further.
He steps in a little closer, voice low. “Come with me.”
“Tall—”
“Come. With. Me.”
Her mouth opens, ready to argue, but his tone leaves no room for debate. She doesn’t realize her feet are moving until he’s nudging her through a side doorway with ridiculous gentleness.
They slip into the ballroom’s coat check area. It’s empty and quiet, lined with racks of coats and the faint scent of wood polish and winter air.
Naomi stops walking and whirls on him again, breath shallow. “You can’t drag me away from my own event like I’m your?—”
“You weren’t breathing,” he says simply.
“I was fine.”
“You weren’t.”
His eyes are steady. Calm. It throws her even more. Everything in her is trembling—her fingers, her breath, her thoughts—and he’s standing there like a granite wall. Like he can absorb the panic buzzing under her skin.
He takes a small step closer. Her back bumps into a coat rack, and her heart skids sideways.
“Stop being nice to me,” she says tightly. “It’s weirding me out.”
He cocks his head. “It won’t last long with that attitude.”
“God, you infuriate me,” she snaps.
“Likewise.”
And then—he moves.
One second she's mid-sputter, and the next, his hands are at her waist, hauling her against him, his lips crashing into hers.
His kiss steals sound. Breath. Thought.
For a full second she stands there, arms dangling at her sides, lips captured in a kiss she can't process.
“What are you—” she gasps against his mouth.
