Page 31 of This is a Kissing Book

The elevator dings for the thirty-ninth floor. Linc presses the button to hold the doors closed and turns back to me.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“I just want to know—why not, Julia? Why not us?” His voice drops low, his breath grazing my ear and sending a dangerous ripple through me.

“Because it’s against the rules.”

Leaning closer, he says, “I bet you’ve broken rules before.” He arches an eyebrow, suggesting I’m not as innocent as I look.

I keep my best poker face, refusing to reveal he’s “warm” if we were playing the hot and cold game. But then it hits me. This man isn’t used to women resisting him. Oh, I get it now. He’s used to women swooning. Falling at his feet. He’s not used to hearing no.

I wouldn’t touch him if he were the last man in the building. “If you must know, I think that you’re emotionally muted.”

“Explain.” He leans closer.

“You operate on a low frequency, like a vintage gramophone—everything comes out flat and distorted. Like you’re one genuine feeling away from anaphylactic shock.”

He glances at the floor and then up at me. “Just because I don’t wear oversized sunglasses and put a bunch of weeds on my desk⁠—”

“Wildflowers,” I whisper-hiss, tilting my chin up. “They’re whimsical.”

“They’re giving me hay fever.”

“Then go home.” My smile is sugar-sweet and razor-sharp. “And don’t come back.”

His answering smile is pure nocturnal predator. “Not. A. Chance. Julieta.”

The elevator doors slide open. I don’t waver. We don’t budge, locked in our stare-down again. “I have three brothers. You have no idea how long I can go,” I grit out.

“To the end.” He growls.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I lose track of my pulse. It’s likely dangerously high. Is that a health risk at this elevation—up here on the thirty-ninth floor?

Flushed and eyes narrowed defiantly, I slowly back out of the elevator. We never came into contact, having maintained at least a sliver of space between us, but it’s like I can feel Linc’s hands all over my body.

The doors slide shut, sealing him inside since he has a board meeting on the top floor. I remain, staring at my reflection in the polished steel, wondering how my grumpy boss became someone who could knock me completely off balance with just a look. A long smoldering look, but still.

That evening, I’m trying to focus on the Fairfax files authentication project when Screechy and Grumbly start arguing. Tonight, it’s about the thermostat. They may as well be in the room with me.

“Sixty-eight degrees is freezing!” Screechy’s voice carries through the walls. “I’m not paying for you to live in an icebox!”

“And I’m not paying to live in a sauna!” Grumbly shoots back. “Some of us don’t want to melt into the furniture!”

I sigh and stare up at the ceiling. Time for another diplomatic intervention.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve negotiated a compromise (seventy-four during the day, sixty-eight at night), mediated a separate dispute about lighting, and troubleshot their Wi-Fi.

I tell myself that even though things with Oly are different now that she’s married, I’m, okay. The office girlies are still a few floors down at work and I have the reliable companionship of Screechy and Grumbly.

See? I’m not alone. But maybe, in the depths of the night, I am a bit lonely. Things can look a little stark in the city when I can’t even see the stars in the sky.

This is my life. Always fixing other people’s problems while my own pile up on my desk.

Speaking of which … I pull out my phone and open the company app. I need access to the Fairfax archives if I’m going to make any progress on this authentication, but that requires approval from a certain boss with executive privileges. I message him.

Me: I need authorization to access the Fairfax archives for the Fairfax authentication. Can you approve it?

I hit send before I can overthink it and correct my grammar, add punctuation, and use the word please. It’s almost ten, but Linc is probably still up, getting ready to go to a party or club. He can give me access remotely. Easy peasy.