“Okay, Mr. Rochester.” She wiggles her brows at me.
“Is that the name of the guy in the book, or do you have some kind of memory problem?” I ask her.
She laughs softly. “The guy. I think you’ll like him. He’s… very repressed.”
“Who isn’t?” I shrug, then walk over to the door that leads into the backroom. The same one I walked through at book club and made Sadie jump.
Not wanting to repeat that particular incident, I rap my knuckles against the door. Romy goes back to her phone, scrolling through what looks like a gallery of her own TikToks.
“Come in,” Sadie shouts, her soft voice echoing through the door.
And as I push at the handle, the memory of that book rushes into my mind. Her annotations, the almost breathless sound of them.
The way she was certainly as turned on as I was reading it.
A smile pulls at my lips.
SADIE
As soon as the door opens I know it’s Zach. Little prickles run up the back of my neck, making my skin tingle and my hair feel static. I swallow hard, closing the laptop and look at him. He’s standing in the doorway, his eyes trained on my face.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” I murmur to him, my voice making it clear it’s not a pleasure at all.
Without me even inviting him, he steps inside, closing the door behind him. Then he leans against the wall, looking at me.
God, I can feel myself flushing already. I have no idea why he has this effect on me. All I know is that I hate it.
Even if it makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in years.
“What can I do for you?” I ask him. “I’m busy.”
He walks forward, in that confident way only rich, good-looking men can. Or smug men. Same thing, I guess.
“I thought we could talk about the art trail,” he says. “You didn’t reply to my message. And we need to plan the art placement before Autumn whips my ass.”
I force my voice into the same even tone I use with customers who want discounts. “I told you I’ve got everything handled. You can consider yourself officially un-involved.” It’s what I need. This man far, far away. So I can sleep again without dreaming of stupid hunters and violet eyes.
But he doesn’t get the hint. Instead, he keeps walking until he’s close enough that I can smell his aftershave, clean and sharp with something darker underneath. His smile is lazy. “I don’t back out of things halfway through. Not if I value my life. My sister will kill me.”
“She’ll be fine if I tell her I’ve already started drafting up a plan.” I pick up the list I just printed out. “I have twenty pieces being donated. And I’ve already started listing where they should go, taking in the artist’s suggestions about lighting and location.”
He takes the page from me, his eyes flicking over it.
“Maya Laurent. She rarely lends her art to anybody. That’s impressive.” His tone is unreadable, which is irritating.
I cross my arms. “Thank you. So as you can see, there’s no need for you to do anything.” I’m very aware of his presence in my small office. He looms too big, takes up too much physical and head space. My breath catches at how close he is.
His nearness sends my pulse into a wild dance.
“I’m sure I can help somewhere,” he says, like he’s doing me a favor. “I could double check the lighting. Or make sure the pieces will be delivered on time. Just say the word.”
I swallow hard, because he’s even closer now. Enough for me to feel tiny next to him. I take the paper back.
And he smiles.
“Are you that bored?” I ask him. “Because there’s a great pool table at the Salty Dog. You could always amuse yourself over there.”
“You really want me off this committee, don’t you?” he murmurs. “Why do you think that is?”
