I press my forehead to his knuckles for one second, then lift my head again.
“But you’re still here,” I whisper. “You’re still here.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Nico
As the elevator climbs, I stare at my reflection in the brushed metal.
I adjust my cuffs out of habit and tell myself I’m restless because it’s a Monday, because there’s a lot of work to do.
But that’s not it.
It’s the first day Erica’s back.
While her father was in the hospital, I spent every night at Erica’s. We never even spoke about it or planned it. It’s just the way it was. Every evening, I went to her house, and we spent the night together. Every morning, I went off to work, and she went to the hospital.
Then her dad came home, and she took a few more days than originally planned to get him settled in with the new equipment set up in their living room, to meet the new nurse, to adjust to the new schedule.
I haven’t seen her since he was discharged.
And typically, that wouldn’t bother me.
A woman disappears for a few days, a few weeks—fine. The world keeps turning. I keep moving. I don’t itch. Like something under my skin that won’t let me forget it’s there.
In my head.
In my hands.
The elevator dings.
The doors slide open, and I step out into the entry area of Conti Operations. A small hall takes me to where my office sits back from the main flow. I like it this way. Less foot traffic. Less noise. Less curiosity.
I round the corner.
And there she is.
Erica is at her desk outside my door, shoulders squared, posture straight, hair down and smooth like she took her time with it this morning. She’s in a fitted blouse that makes it clear she’s back in work mode, but it doesn’t hide what it can’t hide. Long legs tucked under the desk. A throat I’ve kissed. A mouth I’ve had to stop myself from thinking about all week.
She looks up as I approach and holds my gaze.
No flinch. No looking away. No hiding behind her monitor.
Something in my chest eases. I feel myself softening in a way that’s never happened to me before her. Relief, maybe. Or satisfaction. Or the simple fact that she’s here, alive, upright, and not breaking.
The part of the building that holds my office is quiet and isolated enough that people don’t just drift over here unless they have a reason to be here. And that’s by design.
Looking at Erica now, I’m grateful for it. I don’t care if anyone in this building knows I’ve been in her bed.
What are they going to do, report me to HR?
But she cares. It’s actually adorable.
Me? I just don’t care for the curiosity. The glances. The whispers. My private life is no one’s business, and I prefer to keep it that way.
I stop at her desk the way I always do, like this is just another day.
It is not.
