Page 19

Move your leg, idiot. Just shift an inch, pretend it’s nothing.

I can’t. If I nudge left, I’ll end up plastered against Sam, and that’s a whole other violation there. If I lean right, I’m back in her space, and—Christ—my body’s already threatening mutiny just from the brush of her knee.

So I sit frozen, pulse jackhammering, praying no one around this table notices that the new account lead is seconds from short-circuiting over a fucking leg.

She doesn’t even glance down. Doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t acknowledge.

Does she even know her leg’s pressed against mine? Or is she sitting there oblivious while I’m over here losing the ability to breathe?

Simon’s palms slap together, snapping me out of my haze. “Excellent. That’s where we’ll leave it for today. We’ll circulate the notes by end of week and touch base Monday to confirm the rollout schedule.”

Chairs move, the scrape of metal legs against marble grating through my already frayed nerves. Pens click shut, papers shuffle, voices dip back into polite chatter.

Sable’s leg shifts, sliding away like it was never there. No look, no flicker of awareness—nothing. She definitely didn’t notice.

I drag in a jagged breath, snapping the folder shut with a hand that won’t stop trembling. I tuck it under my arm, knuckles still twitching, and force myself to stand and act like a functioning adult.

Round the table, Noah. Shake hands. It isn’t over yet.

So I do—grip after grip, polite smiles. Simon claps me hard on the shoulder. “Strong first showing, Noah.”

I manage a nod and a thanks, and keep moving.

By the time I circle around, Sable’s already sliding her tablet into her bag, that polished smile still plastered on as she thanks one of the Cos guys.

And I’m just—what? Hanging back? Loitering like some awkward pervert in a suit?

What am I even going to say?

Hey. Do you know your leg touched mine? Did you mean for that to happen? Was it nothing? Was it an accident? Do you know I’ve been half-hard ever since? That I can still feel the heat of your skin brushing mine? Do you have any idea there’s a damp patch in my boxers because you touched my damn leg?

Jesus. Get it together.

Finally, he peels away and she pushes her chair in, ready to move.

“Uh—thanks,” I blurt. “For the live sentiment thing. You—uh—you made it smooth.”

Her brow lifts as she meets my eyes. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Right, yeah, I know, I just—” Christ. Spit it out. “I meant it was… the way you put it… it was good.”

Her mouth quirks like she’s holding back something, and she tilts her head. “You did well, too. Not bad for a first meeting.”

Oh. Fuck.

My chest caves in at those words. You did well. Like I’m some rookie desperate for a sticker chart. My jaw locks, pulse roaring—because there it is, that low thrill winding through my spine at her praise. I hate how much I like it. I don’t hate how much I like it.

I want to drop to my knees, and ask her to say it again, even though it was only light praise for actually doing my job, but instead, I force a tight nod.

Say something back. Thank her. Make a joke. Anything.

She shifts, sliding the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder, and for a breath it looks like she might actually say something else. My throat works uselessly, braced for whatever it is⁠—

“Hey, Sable.” Sam’s head pops around the conference room door. “We’re heading down to Miller’s for lunch. You coming?”

“Yeah,” she says, glancing over to him. “Be there in a sec.”

Sam’s gaze flicks to me. “You’re welcome to join, Noah. Everyone’s going.”