"What I need is a miracle. Or a time machine." Her gaze flicked back to the smoothie again, the condensation on the cup shimmering.
"When's the last time you ate?" he asked.
She squinted, clearly grappling with the vague memory of what might have counted as her last meal.
"Here." He slid the smoothie toward her, its plastic bottom carving a charming little space through all the paperwork. "You need it more than I do."
Their fingers brushed. Just for a second. Just enough to fire off a spark right into her brain's short-circuit center. Please, oh please, let her face not be broadcasting that little zap to him.
"Blueberry kale, but it tastes better than it sounds," he said, like that was enough to sell any human on drinking juiced garden clippings.
"I don't think that would actually be hard." Her nose scrunched like it had a mind of its own.
He nudged the cup closer. Barely half an inch, but it felt a lot like pressure. "C'mon, try it. I can get something else, but you're gonna want to deal with that blood sugar crash before you yell at inanimate objects."
"I'm fine."
A hard blink from him.
The translation? Girl, no, you're not.
Truth be told, she was hungry enough that her stapler was starting to look like a snack. Blueberry kale shouldn't have sounded good, but in that moment? Even something labeled "Organic Sod Grass Delight" would've gotten a second glance.
"Fine," she muttered, giving the straw a grumpy but willing tug. Cold, sweet-tart goodness rolled across her taste buds. Shockingly tolerable. "Thanks."
Silence filled the space while she continued sipping—the quiet disturbed only by the distant hum of office chatter. He didn't say a word, probably because he knew better. She didn't, either, mostly because she was busy trying not to inhale the whole thing in one gulp.
"Tess's mandated glitter for the cake got almond cross-contamination," she said, finally. "I freaking hate almonds."
The venom in the last part might've been too much, especially since almonds weren't the enemy. But still. Screw almonds.
Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling like it might cave in. When she looked down again, she expected Zach to be laughing at her, but his expression held something else.
Understanding? Maybe even admiration?
That couldn't be right.
"Can I see the binder?" he said, gently, but already reaching for it.
Their hands collided as they both moved for it at the same time. Piper pulled back quickly, the brief contact leaving her fingertips tingling in a way that was entirely too distracting, the warmth of his skin lingering on hers.
He waited a beat, letting her make the call. Could he have it or not?
Much as she wanted to snatch it back and hiss, "mine", the patience in Zach's expression lessened her resolve.
"You color-coded by urgency and vendor? That's impressive."
"Don't mock the tabs," she warned, eyes narrowing slightly.
"I'm not. I'm genuinely afraid of them."
She hated that having him there helped. Even worse, she kind of liked that he noticed she had a system.
"The DJ company just bailed on us for some influencer named—" she checked her email, the aggressive clicking of her mouse punctuating her frustration—"Kimberly Splitz."
"Ah, yes. Famous for her eyebrow tutorials and dating a C-list reality star." Zach's dimple appeared.
"I have no idea who she is."
