“It’s not like I was given much choice in the matter.”
Noah sighs. “You were given exactly as much choice as you needed. Sometimes you need a push, Pierce. Sometimes you need someone to…shake things up a little.”
I watch Thatcher return to his desk, immediately pullingout more sticky notes—where does he keep finding them?—and adding them to files.
“Well, thank you for giving him a chance,” Noah says softly. “It means a lot to me. To us.”
He ends the call, leaving me alone with thoughts I can’t control and a view I can’t stop watching.
My email notification chimes, dragging my attention back to my computer screen. HR’s message sits at the top of my inbox, with the subject line:New Employee Onboarding - T. E. Charles III. The attached forms await my signature, official documentation of a professional relationship that was compromised before it even started.
I suppose I’d better get this out of the way.
I open the company’s messaging app and type out a quick message to Thatcher:Please come to my office when you have a moment.
Through the glass walls, I watch as he jerks his head up at the notification sound, looking around in confusion for its source. A small smile tugs at my lips as he checks his phone first, then his desk drawers, before finally noticing the blinking icon on his computer screen.
“Please come to my office when you have a moment,” he reads aloud, his voice carrying faintly through the glass. “Does he realize I’m literally right outside his door? He could have just…called out?”
I pretend to be absorbed in my paperwork as he straightens his tie and smooths his wild curls, which seems a futile effort, before entering my office.
“Please, sit down,” I say, pointing to the chair he vacated not that long ago.
He settles into the chair, his attempt at a straight posture lasting approximately three seconds before he starts fidgetingwith his tie. “I wanted to check how you’re adjusting to the position.”
“It’s going great! I mean, aside from the coffee incident. And the name thing. And the…” He trails off, a blush creeping up his neck. “I’m actually doing better than it sounds.”
I find myself fighting an inappropriate smile. “I’m sorry you’ve been thrown in the deep end now that Fiona is gone.”
“Oh, I think I’m getting the hang of it.” He gestures toward his desk, where the rainbow of sticky notes creates an organizational system that I’m sure only he would understand. “I’m working on color-coding everything based on priority and emotional resonance.”
“Emotional…resonance?”
“Yeah! Like, red is for urgent things because it gets the heart pumping, you know?” His hands move as he talks, drawing patterns in the air. “And blue is calming, so that’s for financial reports. And purple is for things that make you smile—or they should, anyway.”
His curls have escaped whatever product he used to tame them this morning, falling across his forehead, and his eyes are so much lighter than I remember.
“About this morning,” he says suddenly, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I really am sorry about the coffee. I wanted to make a good first impression, and instead I…” He gestures vaguely at my still-stained shirt cuff.
“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. Nothing about this situation is fine. “Though perhaps we should discuss your coffee delivery strategy moving forward. To avoid future incidents.”
His face brightens immediately. “Yes! How do you like your coffee? I mean, I know the order as Fiona told me, but was it okay? Do you prefer a different coffee shop or maybe from the staff room? I’m sure the coffee maker up here isbetter than what they have on the lower floors.” He stops himself. “Um, I mean…it’s…they’re good coffee makers, but they’re not really up to standard for anyone who’s a coffee aficionado, and I think you might be one. A coffee aficionado, I mean.”
I shouldn’t find his intensity charming. I shouldn’t notice how he leans forward slightly, pen poised over a fresh sticky-note pad—pink, with tiny stars already decorating the corners. I definitely shouldn’t remember how that same intensity felt when focused on other tasks.
“My coffee was fine, and you’re right about the coffee makers. They’re good if you like black coffee, but I find it too bitter. I prefer my coffee from the shop across the road, and I like supporting independent businesses. Fiona had a company credit card. Yours should arrive within a day or two.”
His pen moves across the paper with surprising speed. “Got it. Do you have a favorite barista?”
“I’m not that particular about my coffee.”
He looks up at me through his lashes, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I wouldn’t say that. You do have a very specific coffee preference, Mr. Dellcourt.”
“Pierce,” I say before I can stop myself. “You can… You can call me Pierce. When it’s just us.”
The words hang between us, and I wonder if I should retract them. His pen stills on the paper, leaving a small ink bloom.
“And what should I call you?” I ask, desperate to move past my slip. “Your file lists several options. I mean, you have a lot of names.”
