“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice small. “The sunflowers, the way he looked at me in the moment, it felt like there was deeper meaning to it all. But maybe I’m seeing what I want to see because I’m in love with him.”
“Or maybe you’re so scared of being vulnerable that you’re looking for reasons to doubt what could be real,” Lucy said gently. “That’s more your style.”
“Style is one word for it,” she said, staring down at her barely touched lunch.
“Promise me something,” Lucy said, waiting until she looked up. “Don’t make any rash decisions. Don’t run away if things get scary. You tend to bail when emotions get too real.”
She wanted to argue but couldn’t. Lucy knew her too well. “I promise to try.”
“Good enough for now.”
The rest of lunch passed with Lucy steering the conversation to safer topics.
After lunch, she was hyperaware of every glance, every movement from his office. She caught him watching her through the glass more than once. Each time their eyes met, electricity sparked between them—a connection that felt both new and inevitable.
She checked her watch: two-thirty. Only thirty minutes until Andrew Beauchamp and his team would arrive. This investment deal was crucial for him.
He emerged from his office, stopping at her desk with a folder in hand. “Here is the final presentation for Beauchamp. “Can you check that the conference room is prepared? Make sure the refreshments are set up?”
“Already done,” she said, accepting the folder. Their fingers brushed, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. “The room is ready. Everything is set.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Everything needs to go well.”
He hesitated, as if there was more he wanted to say. “Devney,” he began, voice dropping lower.
Her heart stuttered. “Yes?”
The elevator chimed. Julia from Accounting stepped into view, eyes narrowing with interest.
“Let me know when they arrive,” he said, turning back toward his office.
“Of course.” She ignored the disappointment she felt.
Julia approached her desk, a folder clutched in her arms, questions plain on her face. “You two seem close.”
She kept her expression impassive. “I’m his assistant. It’s part of the job.”
“Right. The job that kept you both out sick on Monday?”
“I caught whatever he had. Occupational hazard.”
“Must be, considering how much time you two spend together.” Julia’s gaze sharpened, her tone shifting with it, cool and composed, like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to say it. “People are talking, you know.”
She gave the woman a cool look. “Did you need something, Julia?”
“Dropping off the expense reports,” she said, placing the folder on Devney’s desk. She leaned closer, voice lowering. “For what it’s worth, I think you two make a lovely couple. Though usually office romances don’t involve the CEO.”
“It’s not what you think,” Devney said, heart racing.
“The sunflowers suggest otherwise,” Julia said, glancing meaningfully at the bright blooms. “Not to mention the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching.”
With that parting shot, Julia sashayed back toward her desk, leaving Devney staring after her.
What exactly were they? Were they dating? Having a fling?
She realized she had no idea what to call what was happening between them. And that terrified her almost as much as her feelings for him.
At five minutes to three, the elevator doors opened. Andrew Beauchamp stepped out, flanked by his assistant and two associates.
