“Okay,” he says, his voice slightly breathless. “Yes. That sounds…nice.”
Noise outside the door makes us both freeze, reality intruding on our secret bubble. Thatcher steps back quickly, his hands moving to straighten his tie with trembling fingers. I smooth my own clothing with careful movements, trying to restore a professional polish that feels increasingly inadequate.
“Tonight,” I say quietly as he moves toward the door. “Eight o’clock.”
His smile, quick and genuine and just for me, makes my chest tighten with an emotion I’m not ready to name. “Eight o’clock,” he confirms, then adds with familiar mischief, “Though I have to say, after seeing you in those sweatpants and that tight Harvard hoodie, I’m not sure anything else will measure up. Maybe you should reconsider the dress code for our professional dinner meeting.”
I watch as he returns to his desk, immediately turning to his plant and talking to Anthony about going to New York before asking him if he’s ever been outside the city.
After opening the blinds again, I finally return to my chair, and I discover the sticky notes Thatcher left for me, as well as those I’ve used myself, have been scattered across my desk and the floor. But as I gather the paper, I find myself smiling at the thought of dinner plans, hotel arrangements,and all the ways Thatcher makes my usually gray and boring world feel more alive.
Refocusing on work is easy, and I end up losing myself in numbers and endless emails, not to mention the fake report I still need to write. A soft knock makes me look up, expecting Thatcher’s familiar chaos. Instead, Lior stands in my doorway with an expression that makes my stomach clench with unexpected anxiety.
“Got a minute?” he asks, though he’s already settling into one of my visitor chairs with familiar grace. “Noah and I are planning our anniversary trip next month, which means you’ll be running things while I’m gone.”
“Of course. How long are you away for?”
“Two weeks in Italy,” Lior says, watching my expression carefully. “I know it’s not ideal timing with everything that’s been happening, but Noah is able to get away from work and has been planning this for a while now. The question is, are you okay to handle things? I’m sure the James situation will be way behind us, but this kind of situation always leaves a trail of rumors behind, and I won’t be here to dispel them.”
The concern in his voice makes guilt twist in my stomach. He’s offering me his complete trust while I’m hiding yet another thing from him. “I’ll manage. You know I’ll cover for you anytime,” I say carefully, though the words taste bitter on my tongue.
Lior leans back in the chair, wearing a smile I know all too well, which makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. “You seem different lately,” he observes casually, though nothing about Lior is ever truly casual. “More relaxed. Almost happy, even.”
Heat rises in my face. “Just pleased with recent market performance,” I deflect, but the excuse sounds weak even to my ears. “Despite the current situation, the quarterly projectionsare quite promising, which makes for happy board members.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lior’s tone carries such obvious disbelief that I have to resist the urge to loosen my tie. “Nothing to do with personal developments then? You’re not seeing anyone?” The way he says it, it’s like he already knows the answer.
My pen slips from my grip as the information on my computer screen suddenly looks really interesting. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“No?” Lior scratches his short beard, and for the first time ever, I half-wish I wasn’t working for my ex.
“Come on, Pierce. Are you not going to give me something? Who’s the guy that’s turning your permanent frown upside down?”
“You’re spending too much time with your husband.”
“Still not enough, in my opinion, but that’s not the topic of this conversation.”
Before I can formulate another weak deflection, the door bursts open without warning. Thatcher freezes in the entrance, lunch bags hanging from his hand as he registers Lior’s presence. His expression shifts from enthusiastic to deer-in-headlights so quickly it would be comical under different circumstances.
“Mr. Van Stern…um, Lior,” he says. “I didn’t realize you had a meeting. I was just bringing Pierce…I mean, Mr. Dellcourt…that is…”
“Lunch?” Lior suggests helpfully, his smile carrying layers of meaning that make my stomach clench. “How thoughtful of you, Thatcher. Pierce does work too hard sometimes. It’s good he has someone looking after him, making sure he takes proper breaks.”
Thatcher’s face flames as he sets the bags on my desk with careful movements that betray his nervousness.
“Just doing my job,” he says quickly. “Proper assistant duties include ensuring executives maintain appropriate nutrition and work-life balance.”
“Of course,” Lior agrees smoothly. “Very professional of you. Though perhaps next time a knock might be wise? Some meetings require privacy for…discussing business matters.”
The suggestion in his tone makes Thatcher’s blush deepen further, but something determined settles across his features. “Noted, sir,” he says firmly. “Though I should mention that Mr. Dellcourt’s blood sugar tends to drop around this time, which affects his decision-making capabilities regarding financial planning.”
Lior’s laugh, genuine and surprised, breaks some of the tension crackling between us. “Duly noted,” he says, standing. “We can discuss this matter later, Pierce. When you’re properly fortified for financial decisions.”
After he leaves, Thatcher collapses into the recently vacated chair with a groan that carries equal parts relief and embarrassment. “That was…” he starts, then dissolves into slightly hysterical laughter that I can’t help joining.
“Awkward?” I suggest, reaching for the lunch bags. “Mortifying? A complete disaster?”
“All of the above?” Thatcher’s smile returns as he watches me examine our lunch options. “Though worth it for your favorite sandwich. The one from that place you pretend not to like because it’s too casual for your refined corporate image.”
