Page 27 of This is a Kissing Book

I brush my thumb over my bottom lip only so I don’t burst into laughter. “No detention for you today, Miss Lindley.”

I’d had her full attention and she quickly looks away as if ready to get back to work, but this is just getting interesting. I study her face, looking for cracks in that pretty facade. “So what would it take to change your mind about me?”

She arches an eyebrow. “So you’re saying that I’m wrong?”

I shrug nonchalantly because why would I care what she thinks of me? Why do I?

Lifting her chin, she says, “Show me you care about something other than profit margins and naps.”

“Sounds like a dare.”

“Do you choose to accept this mission?”

It cannot be helped, I laugh again. How can she be so funny and insolent at the same time?

“Your turn. What’s your impression of me?” The words seem to tumble out before she can catch them as her face immediately shifts—eyes widening slightly before she presses her lips together, like she’s trying to swallow the question back down. Instead, she takes a sip of coffee. Her cheeks flush pink and she suddenly finds something fascinating about the papers on her desk, shuffling them unnecessarily.

Rocking back on my heels, I fold my arms in front of my chest, trying to think as my father would. He’d say Juliana is idealistic and impractical—someone who prioritizes the story behind the art over factual details and makes decisions based on emotion rather than business sense.

“I mean—” She clears her throat, smile wavering in a way that suggests damage control. “Not that it matters what you think, obviously.”

But the vulnerability leaked through for just a split second, and we both know I caught it.

“You really want to know?” I ask, softer now.

She lifts her chin and pulls up the drawbridge—I imagine there are crocodiles in the moat surrounding her castle. “Forget I asked.”

“Too late.” I drop my hands down on her desk and lean forward, capturing her gray eyes. But the harsh, corporate exec script falls away. Instead, the truth escapes. “You’re passionate about things on your heart. Whip-smart in a way that makes me feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up. And you have an ability to see beauty in old paintings that makes me wonder what else I’ve been missing.”

She goes still.

“But you also drive me absolutely insane because you act like I’m some kind of corporate villain.” To be fair, that’s the role I’ve been playing.

“Not a villain exactly.” She speaks quietly, still not meeting my eyes. “More like …”

“What?”

Finally, she looks up. “Exactly what I expect from the thirty-ninth floor.” The disappointment in her voice hits harder than any insult could have. “Oh, and I helped you out in the lobby because my father left me with a pile of debt rather than a successful empire. Maybe try caring a little. You have no idea how much you’ve been blessed.”

My breath skids and my throat tightens because she must carry around an acorn of grief, too. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She nods somberly. “Yours too.”

“It was a long time ago.” I look away because even after all this time, I still miss my mom.

“What was her name?” Juliana’s tone is gentle instead of the sharp, adversarial one used in our back-and-forth banter.

My defensive posture melts and I smile like I would at a friend.

And just like that, something shifts between us.

13

JULES

My boss has a faraway look in his eyes. When he doesn’t answer my question, I repeat it. Someone once told me that people die twice. The first, when they pass from this earth, and the second is when their name is finally lost to history. I have no intention of being immortalized in any way, but I think it’s important to remember our dead. If we don’t, we could get too close to forgetting that we’re still alive.

“What was your mother’s name?”