I need to open my laptop. I need to check Benjamin’s vendor-access summaries and Ainsley’s payroll notes and the twelve calendar invites that will not answer themselves.
I do not need to sit here thinking about whether Mario chose this himself.
Did he?
Did he walk into some impossibly expensive lingerie boutique, look at rows of lace and silk, and choose this exact shade of blue? Did he send someone? Did he describe what he wanted? Did he picture me wearing it?
My stomach flips.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I put the lid back on the box.
Then take it off again and just stare.
I touch the strap.
Then my phone buzzes, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I put the lid firmly on the box, then I slide it into the bottom drawer of the desk. The drawer that locks.
Out of sight.
Not out of mind. Not even close.
My phone buzzes again.
It’s Ainsley texting, asking when a good time to meet to discuss the second phase of our plan.
I stare at the message for a second.
Right. Work.
The thing I am here to do.
Not sit in my office with my pulse racing because I can’t stop picturing Mario’s eyes taking me in while I wear his gift.
I take a breath and type back.
How about tomorrow morning? Does 8:00 work for you?
I glance toward the locked drawer again.
I place both hands on the keyboard and take one steadying breath. Then another.
I am professional.
I am composed.
I am here to do a job.
And I am absolutely not thinking about the box in my drawer.
I last four minutes.
