Page 24 of This is a Kissing Book

I’m probably more useful at home. Where I have a couch. Can put on the ceiling fan. Wear athletic shorts, no shoes, and close my eyes.

I exit my office into the reception area, where Juliana studies something on her computer screen. Her long, shiny hair cascades over her shoulders. She tilts her head as if considering a chess move and then bites her lip before clicking her mouse to move the cursor.

Deceptively innocent. I swallow thickly.

As if sensing me watching like a creep, she snaps those sugar eyes of hers my way. I’ve noticed her watching me … also like a creep. She thinks I’m attractive even if she claims to despise me. Takes one to know one.

Gaze straying to me as if she’s deciding between two painfully boring options, she returns to her work.

Voice sleepier than it should be, I say, “I’ve decided there are two kinds of people in this world. People who take naps and those who consume vast amounts of coffee in order to get through the day.”

Her eyes flit to the thermos on her desk and then at me as if I just confessed that I’m an alien from outer space. “Is that a problem?”

If it wasn’t clear, she’s the latter. I’m the former—a napper.

I want to tell her it’s not an indictment of her character. I was just making an observation. Talking to her the same way I would to anyone when I realize that I let my Mr. Executive mask slip. Since setting foot in this building, I’ve played the role of hard-nosed administrative manager and now I’ve revealed my human side.

My lips quirk with a smile.

Her expression darkens. “Well, Mr. Sullivan, thank you for illuminating me with your theories.”

We got off on the wrong foot. I admit that. I’m afraid it’s too late to change course. At least with the way she’s staring daggers at me. Hockey stick in hand, I’d double down. Here, I’m on thin ice.

Her cute kitten looks make me want to soften, to scratch her belly. But I know better. She has claws hidden under those painted nails.

“Don’t let me distract you. Have those reports done by the end of the day, Hoolia.”

“Going to find somewhere more comfortable to nap?” she mutters, apparently having abandoned her attempt to correct me when I use the wrong version of her name. “And for the fifty-seventh time, it’s Juliana.” She makes a note on a Post-it, gets up, and sticks it on my chest.

My hand traps hers before she can pull it away.

She stifles a gasp as she looks up and peels her hand away while I remove the note.

It says Juliana.

It’s like she’s marking me.

She glares at me with fire in her eyes.

Or not.

With a snort, I head toward the elevator. As I ride down, having left my assistant with the run of the office, I imagine her propping her feet up on my desk like Bīriņš did when he made an unannounced visit. Actually, she’ll probably booby-trap it. I’ll have to check for whoopee cushions and thumbtacks in the morning.

It’s probably not good for us to be together in the same small space. We’re like fire and ice.

After almost twenty minutes in midday traffic, by the time I get back to my condo and loosen my tie, I realize Juliana has occupied my mind the entire time.

My jaw aches from clenching it because after I talk to her, I feel like I’ve just chowed down on a dump truck full of gravel painted to look like a bowl of ice cream.

She somehow brings out the worst in me and I kind of hate myself for it. My muscles tingle with restless energy. So much for a nap. I change into running clothes to burn off whatever it is she does to me.

For the rest of the week, I remain in the office all day like a good little worker drone. On Friday, the summer sun gleams off the tower, promising heat as I park underground.

Just outside the office door on the thirty-ninth floor, an older woman with a floral shirt stops me in the hall. Peering up at me through thick glasses, she says, “Linc? I thought that was you. My, you’ve grown up.”

Unfortunately, I don’t recognize her, but I assume she’s been here since I was a kid and would tag along with Mom.

I offer a standard reply. “Like a plant, if you give kids water, they tend to grow.”