Page 30 of This is a Kissing Book

But that’s not my reality. In the real world, it’s like I just took off the fig leaves and feel exposed. I stand abruptly, needing to move, to distance myself from this conversation that went too deep too fast. “We should probably get back to work.”

“Right. The Fairfax files.” He nods in my direction and then breezes into his office, leaving me with his clean, minty scent and a case of distraction that carries through until lunch.

Later, on my way back from the lobby, I crowd toward the elevator as everyone hastens to be behind their desks by one o’clock and not a minute later. The last one was crammed tight, so I wait for the next one to ding.

From nearby, I hear a familiar baritone, coming closer. Linc ends a call on his phone before he notices I’m waiting for the elevator. I’m surprised he doesn’t flash his exec badge to hurry the thing along.

We both get in first as stragglers load inside, pushing us to the back, shoulder to shoulder. Well, more like shoulder to mid biceps. Until standing this close, I never realized how tall he is. Several inches over six feet.

He smells minty and soapy, likely having hit the gym during his lunch hour. I was hoping to slip out and visit the office girlies on the thirty-third floor, but no such luck, since I had to do my “banking” for the month.

It’s a finely-calibrated juggling act of shuffling money around accounts, staggering payments, and hoping the thugs my father crossed receive payment in full and on time.

In the mass of starched shirts and silky blouses, someone is telling a story about the man in the plaza with the talking bird and how he trained it to say, “I quit” whenever someone in a suit walks by.

I think back to my dare, when I challenged Linc to try to get rid of me. The crowd presses us closer together, and when I glance up, I find his gaze locked on me. Is he remembering the same thing?

If so, I really want to keep my job. No need for anyone to get excited.

His lips quirk. I try to offer my best “please keep me” smile. But then neither of us looks away.

The elevator feels smaller suddenly, the air thicker, and not because someone had a hot dog with raw onions for lunch.

My smile falters. His expression shifts—still amused, but something else edges in.

An expert at the staring game thanks to my brothers, I expect Linc to look away first, to break whatever this is, but he doesn’t.

I forget to breathe.

Something hot and dangerous crackles between us. There should be caution tape. A warning label at least. My pulse races in a way that’s definitely not HR approved.

14

JULES

The elevator dings, startling me. Turning forward, my nose is within two inches of a man’s armpit, forcing me to lift my head again. Linc is still there, looking down at me, close enough that I can see the chips of slate in his blue eyes. His gaze flits from my eyes to my nose to my mouth and back again because there’s nowhere else to look. My pulse slows, blipping like a sonar tracker.

As if seeking a target, we remain this way until we’re the only two people on the elevator.

We haven’t moved as passengers have disembarked.

We don’t create space between us when we could step back to our respective corners in the carriage like a boxing ring.

I cave under the pressure, break from the tension. With him looming over me, I tell myself I’ve miscalculated, and this is my boss reminding me of my place beneath him. It couldn’t possibly be anything else. Not when we clearly hate each other. Though no one who’s ever hated me looks at me with a burning smolder in his eyes. I fight the urge to unbutton the top button of my blouse and wave my hand like a fan for air circulation.

My voice barely above a whisper, I say, “For your information, just because we had a bonding moment earlier and you demonstrated that you’re not a robot under that suit, doesn’t change anything.”

Wearing a crooked smile, he straightens and faces the doors.

Doubling down, I add, “We’re not going to have a wild fling where we throw caution to the wind in a storage closet, then fall fast and hard on a sultry night while at a fancy resort during a business trip.”

“You seem to have given this some thought, and there I was, planning our getaway to Cabo.”

“Never. We’d be kicked off the island.” I steady myself by tuning into my pulse against the mechanical hum of the elevator.

“Shall we test the theory? There’s a work conference on the calendar. I bet you’d look great in a muumuu.”

I exhale sharply, about to snap at him for taking his friend’s sunbathing comment too far—but then the comment clicks. A muumuu? A muumuu! An oversized sack that conceals everything. Of course, that’s what he’d think I belong in.