Mimi looks intrigued. “Oh?”
“He met Liam at the charity ball, and right away thought he was more interested in the networking opportunities my job provided than in me. He was spot on. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. It’s embarrassing.”
“But isn’t it sweet that Ryan was looking out for you?” Mimi says, nudging my arm. “I think he really likes you, Harper. And clearly he’s a good judge of character.”
We take our time strolling back to the office. It’s nice to make the most of this warm weather and neither of us is in any rush to get back to our desks.
But when we return, Ryan is there. As soon as I lay eyes on him, I’m flooded with nerves, my stomach turning to mush as I try to walk as normally as possible. It doesn’t help that Mimi is watching me like a hawk and will no doubt listen in on any interaction we have.
“Morning,” I say brightly as I sit down.
“Morning,” he replies, giving me a polite smile before returning his attention to his screen.
It’s an unsatisfactory exchange, but I suppose wearein the office. The trouble is, Ryan is very good at masking his feelings. I can’t decipher if his “morning” was layered with undertones of resentment that I’d abandoned him after that kiss, or whether there was a hint of hope that I might be back on the market.
Or maybe he was just saying “morning” without any kindof meaning behind it at all and, in fact, he is fully focused on whatever article he’s editing.
We can hardly talk about things here. Should I have replied and suggested an exact date and time for our chat? Or should I ask him for a casual drink after work? Am I supposed to wait forhimto askmefor a chat? Who makes the first move here?
I suddenly feel very hot and flustered.
Determined to remain professional, I start thinking about how to begin the Max Sjöberg article. I always like my features to launch with something punchy—a surprising, out-there quote from the subject, or a little-known fact about them that might catch the reader’s attention. I lean down to grab my bag and start rummaging about for my notebook.
“Damn it,” I whisper when it’s nowhere to be found. I start looking around my desk, in case it’s hiding under a stack of papers, sending a pot of pens flying onto the floor. I feel tears pricking my eyes. What is wrong with me?
Before I can start picking them up, Ryan has swiveled his chair round and leaned over to help, dropping the pens back into their pot, one by one.
“Thank you,” I say, offering him a nervous smile.
“What have you lost?” he asks.
“My notebook. I know it’s here somewhere. I remember seeing it this morning, so it’s in the office. I got it out when I was going through a feature earlier and then… I don’t know, I must have put it down somewhere.”
“Give me a second,” Ryan says, pushing himself up off the chair and walking off.
A minute later, he returns, holding up my notebook triumphantly. My jaw drops.
“Where did you—?”
“It was by the kettle in the kitchen,” he explains, looking amused as he passes it over to me and sits back down. “You leftit there last week, too, remember? You study it sometimes while you’re walking about.”
I stare at him in amazement. “I’m impressed by your sleuthing skills.”
“It was a lucky guess,” he insists, turning back to his work.
Thanking him again, I catch Mimi giving me a pointed look and trying to mouth something at me, but I can’t work it out. Eventually she gives up and starts typing quickly on her keyboard. An email from her pops up in my inbox.
He knows you so well,it reads.
Deleting it, I roll my eyes at her and focus on reviewing my notes on Max Sjöberg, but it takes every effort not to smile because I’d been thinking exactly the same thing.
All morning, I pretend to be engrossed in my work when in fact I’m stealthily watching Ryan, mesmerized by the way his fingers swiftly and effortlessly dart around the keyboard as he types, remembering the warmth of his strong hands around my waist, and noticing how when he’s reading intently, he rests his right elbow on his desk and presses the knuckle of his forefinger into his lips, his forehead creased in deep concentration. It’s an unbelievably sexy pose, magnified by the fact that he has no idea justhowsexy he looks when he’s doing it.
I’m secretly studying his bottom lip when I hear someone calling my name, causing me to jump.
“Harper, it’s so rubbish about Artistry! Have you spoken to their agent yet?” Gabby moans.
“Sorry, I’ve been… uh… busy,” I stammer, trying to bring myself back down to earth. “What are you talking about?”
