“Don’t put ideas in my head,” I warn. “And don’t flirt with me, Remington. We’re at work and I’m your employee.”
“Just reminding you that two can play that game,” she says, a self-satisfied smile on her face as she pulls her hand away.
But I catch it before she can place it back on the keyboard, letting a couple of my fingers fall into the spaces between hers, my thick knuckles alternating with her narrow ones.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay tomorrow?”
Her expression goes soft, and I love seeing her soft with me. “I’ll be all right.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“You know I can’t do that, Emmett.”
“Call me anyway.”
She takes a deep inhale, slowly releasing the exhale. “The press is going to ask you all sorts of questions about Harrison’s trade. You’ll probably have your hands full tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind. After that little elevator ride, I think we both know by now I like having my hands full.”
Her mouth pops open, eyes shining with mischief. “Okay. We really have to stop.”
“But Ireallydon’t want to.”
Before she can try to tell me to keep things professional or throw out a line of her own, a knock raps on the doorway behind me.
Her playful expression swiftly morphs to panic, and I feel it mirrored on my own face when I realize our hands are still slightly intertwined on the desk between us. Whoever it is, they’re standing directly behind me, and I’m just praying that my back is fully covering anything they might see.
“So, yeah. The lineup looks good to me,” Reese says, tapping the paper under our hands.
“Great.” I lift the lineup card, making a too obvious show of it in hopes of proving that we were focusing on it and not each other.
Reese’s eyes slowly move to the doorway over my shoulder. “Scott,” she says. “What can I do for you?”
Fucking hell.Of all people.
“So much for that new receptionist,” I mutter under my breath.
She ignores me.
“Can I have a word with you?” Scott asks. “In private.”
“Of course.” Reese shifts her attention to me, a professional, stoic expression back on her face. “Thank you for meeting. Best of luck tonight, Emmett.”
Message received.
I need to go, but the last thing I want is to leave her alone with Scott. Not that I have a choice. Whatever that conversation entails, it’s most likely far above my pay grade.
Standing, I slip the lineup card back into the folder I brought with me and push the chair in. “Scott,” I say, passing him on my way out the door.
“Monty.”
Just past the threshold, I turn back to check on her, but before I can make eye contact, Scott closes the door on me.
Because he can.
Because he can be alone with her.
Because no one is talking about Reese sneaking out ofScott’shotel room.
