Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
We go about being at least friendly acquaintances over the next week, if not outright friends. After all, we’ve gone from essential being rivals—or mortal enemies, as far as I had been concerned after the splashdown—from truce to a new, uncertain peace.
At work, Will’s practically cordial. When he offers to make tea for Nancy and Sylvie and me, the three of us freeze in a tableau.
Sylvie does a double take despite herself but recovers quickly and says yes.
He helps Carine distribute parcels one morning when we’re in the office.
She blinks at me when she hears me call him Will rather than Mr. McLaren when he’s not around. I offer no explanation.
Increasingly, we’re spending more time out gathering items rather than sitting in the office, trying to figure out a plan.
We’ve already figured out a plan, and it’s working, at least so far, and Lily is in support.
Toward the end of each workday, we get ourselves back to the office to plan the route for pickups for the next day, send a few emails, and check in with Lily after we deposit everything we’ve gathered and hand over the paperwork to her.
Neither of us is bold enough to talk about what happened in the hotel room.
It’s like it didn’t happen. We don’t mention sharing a bed.
Or Will’s migraine—or his missing leg. Of course, I’m curious, but I don’t want to pry, especially as he didn’t explain what happened.
Fair enough, he wasn’t up for explanations at the time.
He hasn’t offered since, and I haven’t asked.
We definitely, definitely don’t talk about making out in bed together. That’s the fast track to madness.
Instead, we’re a bit too polite around each other.
Like today. We’re out doing a pickup of some bespoke handmade shoes on loan from a London designer, purchasing a selection of premium design magazines, and picking up a limited-edition print from an artist. We started at shoes, progressed to magazines, and are now on the artwork phase.
It’s kind of like going from first to third base.
Except I shouldn’t think about third base either.
At about that moment, Will glances at me, as if he can read my mind. His gaze lingers a moment too long on mine. Till he coughs and looks away, and I flush.
“Sorry,” he says smoothly, “my colleague Dylan will sign the paperwork.”
“Oh no, go right ahead. Please.” I pass the clipboard to him. Our fingers brush, and I shiver.
His gaze meets mine again. I look away first this time.
The sun streams through the studio window.
Tessa smiles at Will and takes the clipboard once Will signs the document.
Together, they sort out the transfer receipts.
Which gives me a moment to appreciate Will’s profile, the way his hair falls over his brow, the pull of fabric across his biceps and his err—
“Thank you again. I’m so honored to be part of the exhibition,” Tessa says, bringing me back from my unquenched thirsting.
“Of course you’ll come to the private view.” Will’s smile is entirely charming.
“I’d be delighted.” In turn, Tessa’s smile is broad, and I don’t think she’s only smiling about the private view. I’m sure she’s caught on to the growing awkwardness—or attraction—between Will and me.
“I’ll arrange for tickets to be sent to you.” Will gives his most charismatic smile, and I suspect both Tessa and I die a little inside as I do my solemn best not to swoon. “With a plus-one, naturally.”
“That’s very kind,” she says. “Thank you. I can’t wait to see the show and to see Lily again.”
Then we all stand smiling at each other like my awkwardness is catching, like say a touch of plague.
“Right.” I carefully take the box with the print inside, now that Tessa’s finished packing it up after our earlier inspection. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Before I say anything rash or worse, actually do something rash, we head out into the sunny afternoon to the waiting Land Rover, parked in front of her mews home and studio on a secret London side street.
Will opens the back and secures the box in place with care.
Then we both notice we’re standing shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching.
And I think he’s actually blushing.
“It’s hot out,” I blurt.
“Very hot out,” agrees Will, looking unusually shy. But he gazes at me, and this time, he doesn’t look away.
Is he actually flirting with me? Well, shit.
Act smooth, Dylan.
“You could get sunstroke like that,” I say. “Probably not great for migraines.”
“Probably not,” he agrees.
“Maybe we need to cool off.”
Then we shuffle, me suddenly fascinated by my fingernails, and him busying himself with closing the back of the Land Rover.
When we’re inside, Will flips on the air conditioner, which isn’t quite what I was I hoping for in terms of cooling off.
I pretend to study something fascinating on my phone, which is Russell’s text that he’s out with mates after work and I’m welcome to join.
I debate texting regrets because I’ll be doing something with Will involving ice cubes or ice cream and—
“Dylan?”
“Yeah?” I practically jump, definitely flushed now. I drop my hand to my lap with the phone and give him a sidelong glance. Will stares straight ahead.
“I’d, er, suggest we go for a drink after work. But I have something to attend to.” Is it my imagination, or does he look genuinely disappointed?
“Right.” My shoulders sag ever so slightly before I catch myself. “I was hoping for ice cream, actually.”
“Dylan?” he asks again.
“Yeah?”
“I… I feel we should keep things professional…” Will says, unable to look at me. “But…”
“But?” I glance over for real this time as he holds on to the wheel. He hasn’t started driving yet. Charli XCX sings in the background while the air-conditioning whirs.
He draws in a slow breath. “I’m admittedly attracted to you.”
Before my brain has a chance to ruin the moment, I grin broadly at him. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”
Will blushes for real then. His mouth opens, then shuts. “Er, I probably shouldn’t have said that. Especially since we need to keep things above board.”
“Right. Professional.” I nod, but my heart’s thundering more loudly than the song that plays. “Totally professional.”
“Yes.”
“Will.”
“Yes?”
“I’m admittedly attracted to you too.” And I’m rewarded by him daring to glance over at me despite his death grip on the wheel.
“You are?”
“I am.”
Then he’s also grinning like an idiot for at least a long, satisfying moment before he sobers. “It’s best not to get involved with work colleagues.”
“I thought this is your first job.”
“My first real desk job, yes.” He frowns slightly. “But I don’t need to have had a job before to know that we shouldn’t get distracted from the work at hand. Anything else would be—”
“Don’t worry, I only date. I don’t have time for more. I mean, I’m only here in London for the summer—”
“Absolutely. An entirely sensible outlook.”
“It’s the first time anyone’s ever accused me of that,” I say, my grin huge.
Will drums his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Maybe…” I try carefully, “maybe we can try just one date? Get it out of our systems. A quick drink, and that’s that.”
He gives me a skeptical look. “I don’t know… That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“You’re probably right. It’s probably a terrible idea.”
“Terrible.”
I probably shouldn’t have said anything, because I’ve definitely made things even weirder between us. Shit. If only I could put the words back in my mouth.
Will finally takes the car out of park, and Tessa’s likely wondering why we haven’t left yet.
It’s felt like an eternity, but it’s only been minutes.
It’s a quiet ride back to the museum. Will looks serious the whole way there.
I alternate between watching London go by from the passenger window and fidgeting with my phone, restless.
We go through our now familiar afternoon ritual, albeit a little stilted.
We unload the exhibits, check them over and document their arrival, put them away, let Lily know we’re back.
We very carefully detail tomorrow’s route and items. It’s purely, strictly, carefully professional.
Even if Will’s looking flustered, pink-cheeked, dramatic against his dark hair.
As we pack up at the end of the day, Will finally looks at me. Our gazes lock as we stand beside the boardroom table in our now private office. His eyes are silver-blue in this light.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe… maybe only one date,” he murmurs, as if there’s anyone around to overhear us. “To get it out of our systems. Then we can go back to normal.”
My eyebrows lift at that. Startled speechless, I gawp instead, not wanting to question his change of heart. “Yeah? And back to calling me out on my bullshit like usual?”
“One date,” Will says firmly. “Leave it to me to sort out since I’m the local. Saturday alright?”
A shiver rolls along my spine at his take-charge energy. Yes, please. Also, there’s a problem, and said problem is that it’s Tuesday. And that means it’s four sleepless nights to Saturday. I might burst before then.
“Sounds great,” I say nonchalantly. I’m desperately intrigued but act cool. I shove my sweaty palms into my chinos, as if we’re accidentally going to shake hands like we’re making a business transaction for an exhibit pickup.
“Very good,” he says solemnly. Then the way his gaze lingers over me gives him away.
I flash a quick smile, elated. “Perfect. It’s literally one date.”
“One. Only one.” He hesitates. “Please don’t tell anyone. Especially at work. Also… we should make sure nothing seems out of the ordinary here. People shouldn’t catch on.”
“My lips are sealed, I promise.” Which is a real shame because I sure could use them for something else right about now.
That is, if we weren’t at work. And if Will wasn’t compartmentalizing like nobody’s business.
“You’ll need to leave a paper jam in the copier, at least, if you want to maintain your reputation so no one catches on. ”
The smile he gives me is more brilliant than the summer sun. I shiver with pleasure, heart thundering so loudly I’m sure everyone in the office can hear me swooning.
So much for Raj’s cad alert. I’m doomed.