When he hands me the steaming mug, our fingers brush. It’s nothing, barely a second, but my chest tightens anyway.
He doesn’t pull his hand away immediately, doesn’t look away either. His attention fixes on me with an intensity that makes the steam curling from the mug feel hotter.
“You’re going to let it cool down if you keep staring at it,” he says.
“You’re the one staring,” I retort.
“I just want to know if you like it,” he urges, motioning for me to hurry.
As I lift the mug to my lips, his eyes stay locked on mine.
I watched him make the damn thing. There’s nothing in the cup but espresso and milk, but the way he’s watching makes my nerves hum. I consider asking why this matters to him. I decide against it.
“Well, you’re right. That is delicious,” I say, wiping a thin line of foam from my lips and setting the mug on the counter. “Next time, less milk.”
He smiles a real, genuine smile. “Noted. I’m glad you liked it.”
I give him a sly smile. “Thanks for a great first time.”
A chuckle slips through his lips. “Keep saying things like that, and I might think you actually like me.”
I shift my eyes away from his, looking down at the granite countertop. Damn it, I need to keep my 12-year-old sense of humor in check. I have no business flirting with him. This is a job. I’m an employee.
The smile fades from his face, and my thoughts are interrupted by his voice, low and serious once again. “You should get ready. We’re going shopping.”
“Shopping?” I repeat.
“Yeah. This gala isn’t exactly a jeans and t-shirt event.”
“Okay, then,” I mutter as I stand to head back to my room. “Thanks again for the coffee.”
He stays silent, giving me a half-smile as I head down the hall.
Chapter 16
LOCKE
Every afternoon this week has ended the same way.
Me and Arden in my office. Her on the couch with a book in her hands that I’m not sure she’s actually reading. Me at the desk, tablet in hand, skimming headlines and drafting press releases while a record spins low in the background.
I suppose it should feel routine by now, but it doesn’t.
I’ve learned her tells. The way she pretends not to listen. The way her attention hones when something matters. The fact that she never asks questions she hasn’t already thought through.
The record spins out, the crackle fading into silence.
I try not to look at her. If I do, I’ll read too much into how comfortable she seems. The way she settles in like this is a choice, even though I didn’t give her one.
“So,” she says, sitting up to face me. “What’s this gala all about?”
There it is.
I keep my eyes on the tablet, unsure how much truth I want to give her right now. She doesn’t need to knoweverything, just enough to do the job.
“It’s a fundraiser.”
“For what, exactly?”
