“That’s not a problem, is it?” Lior looks at his watch.
“No,” I say carefully. “No problem. Can I check this with Thatcher? I don’t want to spring a last-minute trip on him without warning.”
“Of course.”
On my way back, I gesture for Thatcher to follow me into the office.
He enters with his usual energy, closing the door behind him. “How did it go? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Sit down,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. “We need to talk.”
His expression shifts to concern as he takes the seat. “Is everything okay?”
“How do you feel about a trip to New York?”
Thatcher blinks. “New York?”
“Business trip. Next week. Lior wants me at the East Coast office, and you’d come as my assistant.” I watch his face carefully. “Three days, probably Wednesday through Friday.”
Something lights up in his eyes. “Next week, as in…next week?”
“Yes. Would this work with your conference in New York?”
He deflates a little. “I don’t actually have a ticket. I hadn’t decided.”
“Tell me more about it.”
“The Creative Artists Network & Visual Arts Society conference is the biggest conference for illustrators andwriters on the East Coast. Portfolio reviews, publisher meetings, networking…” He trails off, suddenly self-conscious. “I know it sounds silly?—”
“It doesn’t sound silly at all. It sounds like exactly what you should be doing.”
“Really?”
“Really. So the timing works?”
His smile could power half the city. “If I’m allowed to pick a flight to return on Sunday instead of Friday, the timing is perfect. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“So you’ll come?”
“To New York? With you?” His voice drops slightly, and I’m suddenly very aware of how alone we are in my office. “Yes. Definitely yes.”
Three days in New York with Thatcher, watching him pursue his dreams while I try to maintain professional boundaries and get back to boss-employee dynamics.
This is either going to be the best decision I’ve ever made, or it’s going to destroy us both.
“Good,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll let Lior know we’re confirmed.”
As Thatcher stands to leave, he pauses at the door. “Pierce?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. This means so much to me. I’ll go check Fiona’s files for guidance on booking travel and accommodation.”
After he leaves, I stare at the closed door, already counting the hours until next Wednesday. Three days in New York with the man I can’t stop wanting, all while my unhelpful brain tells me to make it five.
God help us both.
17
