7. Skye #2
“I’m sorry.” He stiffens. Like he didn’t know we ended on bad terms. Or maybe he did and he just didn’t want to hear it from me.
“It was college,” I say lightly. “People are dumb in college.”
Reece doesn’t answer. He just watches me like he’s reading footnotes I can’t see.
“We were both young and didn’t handle it well,” I add, “and I didn’t know how to make it hurt less.” I offer him a small smile. “I’m sure that’s ancient history for him too.”
His expression darkens. “It’s not ancient. And it’s not excused. Whatever he did to hurt you.”
I blink. “You’re mad at him?”
“I’m disappointed,” he says after a long pause. “But I’ve learned disappointment’s quieter than anger. Harder to forgive.”
The air between us thickens. For a second I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward.”
“You didn’t,” he says. “I did.”
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and for the first time, he looks tired.
Not in the way people get when they’re overworked, but the kind that creeps in after years of holding in too much and letting too little out.
I saw that look on my mom’s face a lot growing up, especially after my dad bailed on us after my sixth birthday.
I soften. “Can I ask you something?”
He doesn’t look up. “You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
I smile around the rim of my drink. “Fair.”
I toy with my chopsticks for a second, then go for it. “Why didn’t you tell Archer I’m working here?”
That gets his attention. He glances up, expression unreadable. “Didn’t seem necessary.”
“That’s… surprising.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t blink.
I lean in slightly. “You two don’t talk much?”
His jaw ticks, just once. “We talk. Just not about everything.”
Okay. Wall firmly in place. I nod, like that answer makes total sense. It doesn’t.
“Got it. Off-limits topic.” I smile, trying to tease him out of the awkward. “That’s fine. We can go back to pretending my dating history with your son isn’t a weird footnote in our employee onboarding process.”
He huffs a breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but I’ll take it.
“Don’t worry,” I add, grinning. “I’m not planning on giving him a heads-up either. Let’s see how long it takes for him to notice.”
His gaze flicks back to mine. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“Hey, I take my thrills where I can get them. My current love life is nonexistent and I’ve officially become someone who gets excited about fresh office pens.”
That earns me a small, reluctant smile. Progress.
“And for the record,” I add, “I didn’t come here to cause drama. I needed a job. You offered one. That’s it.”
He nods once. “Understood.”
“But,” I say, tapping my chopsticks against the container, “if the universe is trying to mess with both of us… I kind of respect the creativity.”
He leans back in his chair, finally relaxing a fraction. “Is that how you explain everything? Cosmic chaos theory?”
“Only the parts that don’t make any sense,” I say. “And this definitely qualifies.”
Another silence settles. This one’s… not uncomfortable. Like we’ve wandered into territory we’re both pretending not to notice.
Finally, he shifts the topic. “How are you finding the team?”
I smile at the sudden subject change, letting him have the out. “Everyone’s been great. Leo’s been showing me around. Jen terrifies me a little but in a fun, ‘please don’t fire me’ kind of way.”
“She terrifies me too.”
I laugh. “Good to know it’s not just me.”
“She’s also the reason this firm still runs, so… tread lightly.”
“Copy that.” I grin. “I’ll bring her baked goods next week.”
He watches me for a beat. “You’re settling in faster than I expected but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering your jovial personality.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
I smirk. “I’ll take it anyway.”
Another beat passes. Then he says, “I was impressed with your résumé. You’re overqualified for the role.”
I shrug. “Overqualified and unemployed is still unemployed.”
“You could’ve gone right back into your old field. Chicago isn’t exactly a city without opportunity.”
“Sure.” I toy with the condensation on my cup. “But I didn’t want to. I was burnt out. Sick of the hours. The pressure. The constant measuring of value by how many meetings you survive in a day.”
He nods, like he understands that better than most.
“I wanted to feel like what I was doing mattered. Or at the very least, like I wasn’t slowly dying inside.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s a low bar.”
“Maybe. But it’s honestly how I felt at the time.”
He studies me again, his expression softer now. Curious. “I get it,” he says finally. “It’s why I left my last firm before I started this. I had everything I thought I wanted and still couldn’t sleep at night. So I built my own business.”
I lean back, sipping the last of my iced tea. “Wow. Look at us. Trauma bonding over lunch.”
He shakes his head in exasperation. “Let’s not call it that.”
“Okay. Mentally stable reflection time?”
He actually laughs, low and quiet. And holy hell, it’s unfair how good that sounds.
For a few seconds, we just sit there, eating lukewarm noodles. Pretending we’re not two people with a tangled history and no roadmap for where this is going.
I don’t let myself look at him while I clean up the remains of our lunch. Mostly because I’m still recovering from the way he defended me. The way his voice dipped when he said what Archer did wasn’t excused. It wasn’t a grand gesture. But it felt like one.
I’m shoving napkins into the take-out bag when Reece finally speaks. “So you and Leo seem to be getting along.”
I blink. The comment’s casual on the surface, but something about it makes me glance up. His expression is still cool, composed, but the timing? The way he’s not quite looking at me when he says it?
Oh.
I arrange my features into something neutral. “Leo’s nice.”
“Nice,” he repeats, like the word tastes off.
I fight a smile. “Yeah. He’s like… a puppy. Very enthusiastic. Likes to organize things alphabetically. Not really my type.”
That earns me a sharp, curious glance. “And what is your type?” he asks.
That stops me. My heart skips and then steadies into a careful rhythm. I’m tempted to say all sorts of really stupid things but instead, I shrug and keep it lighthearted. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
He hums low in his throat. Not quite satisfied, but he doesn’t press.
I gather the containers, stacking them into the paper bag. “Anyway, Leo’s been helpful. Showed me around. Gave me the inside scoop on who hoards the office snacks and which coffee pot doesn’t suck.”
“He talks a lot,” Reece says.
“Some people might call that friendly.”
“Some people should get back to work.”
I grin. “And some people sound an awful lot like a boss who doesn't like his employees talking to each other.”
He doesn’t respond. But I swear I catch the ghost of a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. I step toward the door, take-out bag in hand. “Thanks for letting me hijack your lunch break.”
“Anytime.”
I pause with my hand on the door. “Just to clarify, when you say ‘anytime,’ is that specific to Thai food, or can I branch out? Because I make a mean mac and cheese, and I’m not above bribery.”
“You’re planning on making me lunch now?”
“I’m full of surprises.”
He studies me. Slow and quiet and thorough. Like he’s cataloging the things he’s not supposed to notice. Then, almost too soft to catch, he replies, “Yeah. You are.”
The words make something flutter low in my stomach. I open the door before I can ruin it by saying something completely inappropriate. But as I step out, I glance back over my shoulder and offer him a sweet wave.
“See you later, boss.”
His eyes are still on me. But this time, they don’t feel unreadable. They feel like a warning. Or an invitation. Maybe both.
I’m two steps into the hallway when his voice stops me.
“Skye.”
I turn, pulse skipping at the sound of my name in that low, authoritative tone. Like he’s testing how much weight it can carry in the space between us.
“Yes?”
He doesn’t move from where he’s standing, but his gaze holds mine. “There’s a meeting in Boston next week,” he says, voice even. “I’ll need you to join me.”
Just like that, the air shifts.
I blink. “Oh. Okay. Of course.”
He nods once. “Start preparing the client briefing. We’ll fly out Thursday morning.”
I nod back, but my brain’s still catching up.
“Boston,” I say again, mostly to myself.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “Pack light.”
The door closes behind me before I can ask what the hell that means. But I’m still smiling when I reach my desk. And suddenly, next week can’t come soon enough.