“I’m not saying you did.” She raised her hands, then smirked. “I’m just saying I wouldn’t blame you if you rode that thing into—”
Knock. Knock.
We froze.
“Come in,” I called.
Jennifer stepped inside with a stack of papers balanced against her hip. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, her attention flicking to Candace, who scrambled for her bag, “the two of you.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
“I want to go over a couple points for the Falkirk meeting.”
My fork slipped, clattering into the bowl. “Yeah. Sure.”
Candace mouthedLaterand hurried out.
Jennifer set the files down, and when I looked up, she was watching me with that still, razor-edged awareness she never bothered to hide. “Start from the bottom or the top?” she asked.
“The top,” I groaned, just as my phone buzzed. Damien.
I grabbed it too fast. Jennifer’s eyebrows twitched.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Damien: Sorry about the meeting invite. I didn’t know or I would’ve warned you.
Relief flooded through me, smoothing out the frustration that had been needling at me since the calendar invite landed.
Me: Really?
Damien: Yes. Nathan sent it without looping me in.
My mouth opened, eyes widening. Scheduling a CEO meeting without the CEO’s input wasn’t bold. It was hostile.
Me: Thanks for letting me know.
Then—
Me: And I’ll bring the $2 to dinner tonight.
Damien: Looking forward to it.
The warmth unfurled, steady and difficult to ignore.
When I looked up, Jennifer was still watching me, her attention too precise to be casual.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I blurted.
“Emma.” She crossed her arms. “I told you about the pregnancy scare in Aruba. You owe me.”
“Fine.” I exhaled. “I’ve started seeing this guy—”
“No! Tell me.”
I laughed. “He’s really kind and caring. Smart. Sweet. A tiny bit protective.”
