7. Skye
Skye
I ’m halfway through placing the online order when I hesitate. This is either a friendly gesture… or a wildly inappropriate workplace overstep.
But screw it. He fed me. It’s only fair I return the favor. And besides, if I overthink this, I’ll end up eating a sad desk salad with the interns and pretending I don’t notice that half the office stares at Reece like he’s a Marvel character who wandered into the wrong genre.
The delivery arrives exactly four minutes before noon.
I pause outside his office, heart thudding against my ribs.
His door’s closed, but the blinds aren’t drawn, so I can see him inside—jacket off, sleeves rolled up, one hand pressed to his temple as he studies something on his screen. He looks… tense. Frustrated. Gorgeous.
I knock once and he glances up, his brows lifting when he sees me. I hold up the bag like a prize. “Figured I’d return the favor.”
He doesn’t speak right away, which sends my anxiety cartwheeling. “You ordered lunch?”
“Thai. Unless you’re one of those people who thinks cilantro tastes like soap. In which case, I will judge you but I will also eat yours.”
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close enough to keep me breathing. “Come in.”
I step inside, trying to look casual instead of desperate for validation. I set the bag on the corner of his desk and pull out the two containers.
“I wasn’t sure what your meat preference is,” I say. “So, chicken pad see ew, medium spice, and spring rolls because I like carbs that crunch.” He watches me with that unreadable gaze that somehow makes me feel both scrutinized and seen.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I say, handing him a set of chopsticks. “But I wanted to. And I figured you could use a break before you spontaneously combust from glaring at your inbox.”
That earns me a real reaction, a heavy exhale while shaking his head. “You figured correctly.”
I drop into the chair across from his desk, cracking open my container like I do this all the time. “Besides, I didn’t want to eat with the interns again. They keep asking me if I’m married, and I’m too fragile for that kind of trauma right now.”
He smirks. “You’re twenty-seven.”
“Exactly. Practically geriatric in dating years.”
He picks up a spring roll but doesn’t eat it. He just looks at it like he’s not sure how we got here.
“You’re impossible to predict,” he says.
“I’m not trying to be unpredictable. I’m trying to be… not weird.”
He raises an eyebrow.
I wince. “Okay, maybe I’m failing but I just figured a friendly lunch between two kind of strangers that have a weird past connection and might have crossed a line yesterday might be weird?”
“Crossed a line?” He gives me that look, the one that says he knows exactly what I’m talking about but he’s playing coy.
“Oh.” I flash him a flirty smile, allowing a few seconds of silence to settle between us. “I guess I assumed telling your boss that you liked the way he looks at you was probably teetering on the side of inappropriate.”
His gaze stays on me for another few seconds, staring at me over the rim of his glass as he takes a drink. “I guess that depends on how you think your boss is looking at you.”
Oh. Well, shit.
My mouth dries instantly. I blink at him, unsure if he actually said that out loud or if I’ve finally gone insane and started hallucinating my sexual fantasies during lunch breaks.
The way he’s watching me… God. It’s like he’s undressing me with his eyes, purposely, reverently, like he’s savoring the idea of peeling every layer off with his hands.
My voice is steady, somehow, even though I’m ninety-nine percent certain my pulse just relocated to between my thighs. “Okay. Hypothetically, let’s say… she thinks he’s looking at her like he wants to pin her to the table and make her forget her own name.”
Reece’s jaw tightens. Barely. But I see it. He exhales through his nose like he’s resetting, like I just said the one thing he’s been trying not to think about all damn day.
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering a little too long like he’s trying to call my bluff.
“Then,” he says, low and deliberate, “he’s not doing a very good job hiding it.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
My stomach flips. Heat slides down my spine like a slow-melting candle. My legs cross instinctively beneath the table.
“Sounds like that boss should be careful,” I breathe out, trying to ignore the ache blooming in my core. “Sounds like he’s walking a very dangerous line.”
“He’s aware,” Reece says, voice rougher now. “And he’s been standing on that line since the moment she walked into his office in a red dress.”
I look away. I have to. If I don’t, I’ll say something reckless. Like please, fuck me on your desk.
A beat passes. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly very aware of how warm my cheeks feel.
“I promise not to ask about your astrological chart or your childhood trauma,” I say instead, grasping for levity—because if I don’t lighten this moment, I’ll combust right here in front of him. That earns me a real laugh. Short, low, and so startlingly intimate that I feel it between my thighs.
“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”
“Never claimed not to be.” I offer my best goofy smile and hope that my nervous energy is enough to break this weird, tense ice that I can’t seem to get through.
We eat in silence for a minute, the kind that feels oddly comfortable. I take a sip of my iced tea and glance at him again. His jaw’s still tense. I want to ask what’s got him so tightly wound, but I don’t. Instead, I ease in sideways.
“How’s Archer?” The chopsticks freeze in his hand.
Bingo.
I act like I don’t notice, continuing to swirl my noodles around my fork. “I mean, one of us had to bring him up. Might as well be me.”
Reece sets the chopsticks down gently, his expression unreadable. “He’s doing well. He works for the company.”
“Seriously? I haven’t seen him.”
“He doesn’t come into this office, mostly remote. He’s on the road a lot with clients.”
I glance at him. “Does he know I’m here?”
Reece shakes his head. “No.” The word is hard. Sharp around the edges.
I let that sit for a beat, watching the way his shoulders draw back like he’s bracing for a blow.
“Okay,” I say. “We’re playing the short-answer game.” He doesn’t respond. So I push. Gently.
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
His eyes meet mine. Steady. Guarded. “Because he doesn’t need to know.”
I arch a brow. “Sounds like you’re protecting him from something.”
“Or protecting you.”
My heart skips. Then races. I blink. “What does that mean?” He doesn’t answer.
I lean back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I wasn’t trying to stir anything up. I just… he was my whole life once. And now I work for his dad. It’s not lost on me how insane that is.”
Reece’s mouth tightens. “You didn’t ask for that.”
“No. But I didn’t exactly run from it either.”
Another silence, but this one feels heavier. I clear my throat and go back to teasing, using humor as armor. “Not that it matters. Dating these days is impossible. They all want you to fix them or follow them on their social media or subscribe to their OnlyFans.”
His lips twitch. “OnlyFans?”
“Uhh, like social media,” I say, really not wanting to get into that conversation. I tilt my head. “What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
His eyes narrow. “Are you always this direct?”
“Yes, unfortunately. It’s a curse.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, his expression unreadable. Then finally, he says, “Let’s keep the lunch conversation work-related.” And just like that, the door slams shut again.
I nod slowly, pretending it doesn’t sting. “Got it. So… work. Love that for us.”
He picks up his chopsticks again, but his shoulders are looser now.
I try not to let the rejection bite too hard.
I let myself smile. Just a little. Maybe the door didn’t shut all the way.
Reece doesn’t eat much. He picks at his noodles like they’re a math problem he hasn’t decided how to solve yet.
I eat both spring rolls while he’s busy avoiding eye contact and then pretend to feel guilty about it. He notices, of course. He notices everything and gives me one of those slow, unimpressed glances that makes my stomach flip.
“You know,” I say, nudging the empty spring roll container with my chopsticks, “you really should be thanking me. Thai food is a bonding experience. There are scientific studies. Endorphins, chili oil, shared trauma over spice levels.”
That earns a half smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Not like before. I lean forward a little, resting my elbows on the desk.
“So. Archer.” His face doesn’t change, but his whole body stills.
I pretend not to notice. “You said he’s working remotely.
That’s wild. He was always so… center stage, you know?
Captain of everything. Homecoming royalty.
The guy who made speeches he didn’t write and still got standing ovations. ”
A flicker crosses Reece’s face. Not quite a wince. But close.
I keep going. “I figured he’d be in some corner office by now, flexing that confident Blackwood charm.”
Reece exhales. “He’s doing fine. But he prefers flexibility. Remote lets him travel with his girlfriend.”
I blink. “Girlfriend?”
“Yes, been together a few years. If I had to guess, he’s proposing soon. He’s always talked about a destination wedding. Mexico, I think.”
I sit back in my chair, trying to process that little bombshell. “Huh. Good for him.”
Reece finally looks at me, something unreadable in his gaze. “You didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “No. We haven’t spoken since…” My voice trails off. Since he shattered me. But I don’t say that out loud. “Since college.”
“I figured you might’ve stayed in touch,” he says.
I snort. “Not exactly. We weren’t the friendliest exes.” I take a sip of my tea. “You know how it goes—we broke up, I cried. Then he transferred schools.” I don’t go into the dirty details. Who wants to bring up a cheating ex to the guy’s dad?