“Maya.” I placed a hand on her wrist. “Relax.Fineis just a word. The timeline is perfect.”
She froze. Her eyes dropped to my hand before traveling to my face, and I realized a beat too late that I’d fucked up.
The invisible bubble around us shrank. My skin stretched too thin and too tight, like it wasn’t an adequate shield for the sudden blaze of panic inside of me. My pulse thudded hard enough for her to feel it through my fingers, and I would’ve yanked my hand away if doing so wouldn’t have made things worse.
Instead, I lingered, even though I’d sworn I wouldn’t, and the light contact rekindled emotions that were best forgotten.
Her skin was softer than I remembered, and a pit opened in my stomach before I slowly withdrew, careful to keep my expression neutral.
“If it’s not Killian, who are you meeting?” I asked casually. I glanced around the room, trying to calm the irritating patter of my heart. “Some other poor sap your mom convinced to go on a date with you?”
Maya unfroze. She retracted her hand from the table, keeping it well out of my reach, and busied herself with packing up. I had the distinct feeling that she was avoiding looking at me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m meeting Vivian. She’s helping me plan my birthday party.” Her birthday was in two and a half months.
“So youarehaving a party.”
“Of course.”
“I haven’t received my invitation yet.” I placed a hand over my chest. My heart rate was starting to return to normal, thank fucking God. “I’m hurt.”
“Maybe you’re not invited,” she said, the picture of innocence. “Maybe I decided our competition isn’t worth having to share myfavorite day of the year with you anymore.”
“Your birthday wouldn’t have much meaning without me, Sal.”
We’d been inviting each other to our birthday celebrations our entire lives. It was the perfect chance for us to one-up each other, and I looked forward to seeing her different themes—and planning ways to beat her—every year.
Maya snorted. “You think way too highly of yourself.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But tell me I’m wrong.”
“You—”
“Mr. Laurent. Ms. Singh.” I didn’t realize the librarian had left her station until she popped up next to us with a disapproving frown. “Please. Keep your voices down. Other people are trying to work.”
Those “other people” were chatting at the same volume as us, but neither Maya nor I argued. We apologized, our gazes locked as the librarian huffed and left.
Without taking her eyes off me, Maya scribbled something on a Post-it note and slapped it on the table.
My mouth curled when I read it.
You’re wrong.
“You’re a bad liar, sweetheart,” I said, my voice soft enough for only her to hear.
Maya’s jaw tightened. The air pulsed between us, and I saw the indecision warring inside her—should she take my bait and respond, or should she walk away and let me have the last word?
I got my answer a minute later, when she hitched her bag onto her shoulder and brushed past me with a terse “See you next week. Don’t be late.”
I didn’t watch her leave, but a hint of her perfume trailedbehind her. It smelled like a mix of amber and florals.
My smile faded, and I waited until the scent fully evaporated before I folded her note into neat thirds and slipped it into my pocket.
I stood, my gaze lingering on her empty seat for an extra beat before I, too, left.
Eight months, three weeks. That was the amount of time we had left in our partnership.
It wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but I had the unsettling feeling that it was just enough to drive me insane.
CHAPTER 7
