“Thank you for listening,” I say.
“Goodnight, Pierce,” he says softly, my name carrying echoes of that bathroom, of starlit conversations, of possibilities I shouldn’t be considering.
“Goodnight…Thatcher.”
11
THATCHER
“He was there,Alli. Yes, at dinner. No, I’m not giving you details,” I say into my phone, balancing it between my ear and shoulder as I unlock my desk drawer. “Some things are private.”
“Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
“This is different.” I arrange my sticky notes and pens, sneaking a glance at Pierce’s office, where he’s already working with his usual focus, and lower my voice even more. “He shared some personal stuff. It wouldn’t be right to gossip about it.”
“Wow,” Alli says softly. “You really care about him, don’t you?”
“I have to go. Work to do.” I end the call before she can pry further, but her words linger as I settle into my morning routine.
The office feels different today, like the world shifted slightly on its axis during dinner last night. Now I know how Pierce’s laugh sounds when he’s truly relaxed, how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s fighting a smile, andsuddenly everything about our shared space feels even more charged.
I start creating my daily system of reminders. Budget meeting at two p.m. Review expense reports. Make sure Pierce takes a lunch break. Each note has a corresponding doodle that helps remind me of the reminder.
“Someone’s feeling artistic this morning.” Pierce’s voice beside my desk makes me jump and nearly knock over my pen holder.
He looks at my latest sticky-note creation, a reminder about file organization that may or may not feature a tiny Pierce in cartoon form, complete with his signature frown of concentration.
“I was just…” I start, but Pierce’s knowing smile stops my fumbling excuse.
“Getting creative?” he suggests, picking up one of my notes. “Is there a reason this deadline reminder includes what appears to be a very detailed drawing of the patio railing at Lior’s?”
Heat creeps up my neck as I snatch the note back. “It’s a purely professional architectural detail. For…spatial reference.”
“Of course.” His eyes dance with amusement.
I busy myself straightening already straight pens, very aware of Pierce’s presence and the delicious smell of his cologne. “Did you need something specific, or did you just come by to critique my organizational methods?”
“Actually,” he says, leaning against my desk with the kind of look in his eyes that makes me nervous, “I have a project for you.”
My hands go still on the pens. “What kind of project?”
“The annual office party is coming up,” he says, watchingmy reaction carefully. “The party is a gift from the office of the CFO.”
“Let me guess. You control the money, so you get to treat everyone?”
“Something like that.” He chuckles. “Fiona has been organizing it for years. I’ll be honest, this totally slipped my mind, and I feel it’s unfair to pass it on to you, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“You want me to plan a party?” My mind is already racing with ideas. I grab a fresh block of sticky notes, starting to jot down ideas. “When is it?”
“It’s usually the last Friday in July, but that’s flexible under the circumstances. You’ll have full creative control, within budget, of course. Just…try to keep the chaos contained to appropriate levels.”
“I never cause inappropriate chaos,” I protest. “Everything I do has purpose.”
“Like the hearts you’ve been drawing on every single piece of paperwork that lands on my desk?”
I feel my face heat again, but I don’t stop drawing. “Those serve a very important organizational function.”
“I’m sure they do.”
