46. Margot
46
margot
Opening the front door to the office, I poke my head out and look around. “Braden, what are you doing here?” I half expected to see Matt and Rae with him. But it’s just him.
Raising the pizza box in his hands, he shrugs. “We ordered from Mimi’s and Matt sent me to pick it up. I remembered you work next door and thought you might be hungry.”
I blink. I’m starving. I’ve already eaten four of Derek’s cookies while I’ve been working, but the smell of the pizza has my stomach growling. “Aren’t Rae and Matt waiting for you to bring it back to the apartment?”
“Yeah, but they won’t mind if I feed you first.” He huffs a laugh. “Rae would probably rip me a new one if I didn’t.”
“Probably,” I agree with a light laugh of my own. Opening the door further, I gesture for him to come inside. “I think there are paper plates in the break room. I’ll grab a slice and you can head back.” Looking over my shoulder, I add, “Thanks, by the way.”
“No problem.” Braden looks around the office as he follows. “They really have you working this late? ”
My sigh is barely audible. “Unfortunately. I should have been done by now, but I’m a little stuck.”
Braden follows me into the break room and sets the pizza box on the small round table in the middle.
“How so?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head as I grab a plate from the cabinet. “My boss more or less told me I was losing my voice in this latest piece. I think I’ve fixed most of it, but something about it still isn’t sitting right.” I shrug. “Maybe I’ve read it too many times.”
He opens the pizza box, so I can grab a slice. “Yeah, if you stepped away from it a bit, I’m sure it would be clear, but I’m assuming you don’t have time to do that.”
“Exactly.”
“Want me to take a look?” He points to the door of the break room even though he doesn’t know where my office is.
“Really?”
He closes the box of pizza now that I have my slice and shrugs. “Why not? I might not be able to help, but I’m happy to try.”
I hold his stare as a mild dose of panic travels through my veins. Plenty of people read my work after something has been published, but the idea of sitting and watching him read something I’ve written, when I know it’s not good enough yet, has me second guessing his offer.
But maybe he can help.
“Sure,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
“Yeah?” Braden doesn’t bother hiding his surprise.
“Yeah, that would be great. As long as you don’t mind.”
He genuinely smiles, and it’s like something inside me warms. His blue eyes, so different from Jackson’s, have a little more spark in them now. Picking up the pizza, he gestures toward the door. “Lead the way.”
So, I do. I let him follow me through the hall to my tiny office in the back. I sit in front of my computer so I can wake everything up and minimize some of my other windows.
“You’ve been holding out on me.”
I look around my monitor so I can see him. “What?”
He nods to the corner of my desk. “You have cookies.”
Letting out a light laugh, I nod. “They’re from my coworker. They’re incredible. I think they’re shortbread but there’s a hint of lemon in them.” Picking up the container, I hold it toward him. “Help yourself. I planned on bringing them home for everyone.”
Carefully setting down the pizza box where the container of cookies just sat, he reaches for one. “Thanks.”
I stack the cookies on top of the pizza and refocus on my computer.
“Holy shit.” The words come out of him like a groan, and I peek around my computer to find him with his head back and eyes closed as the cookie undoubtedly melts in his mouth. “Please tell me she’s single and not out of my league.”
My lips pull into a smile. “ He is very much middle aged and married.”
Lowering his head, Braden catches my eye over the monitor. “Damn. All the good ones are taken.”
His tone is joking and light, but the way he’s looking at me has my heart picking up speed. I know what he’s implying. It’s what he’s been implying for months. Tilting my head slightly, I say, “Maybe you’re just looking in all the wrong places.”
He grins. “Yeah.” Tossing the rest of the cookie into his mouth, he shrugs. “I guess I am.” Perking up and rubbing his hands together, he walks around to my side of the desk. “All right. What do we have?”
His arm rests on the back of my chair as he starts to read over my shoulder. I can smell the subtle spice of his cologne and there’s a lingering hint of soap like he showered recently. I can feel the warmth of his presence behind me and suppress a small shiver as I get to my feet. “Here, you take the chair.”
He doesn’t even look at me as I get up. His eyes stay locked on my words as he easily moves into the now empty seat. Watching him read my subpar work has my nerves on edge, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m pacing the small office and biting my thumbnail as I wait for him to get to the end of the piece.
It only takes minutes, but it feels like hours have passed by the time he looks up at me. “Margot.”
I stop pacing, but I can’t get my thumb out of my mouth. I grimace, bracing for the worst. “Yeah?”
“ Margot.” He shakes his head, looking back at the screen. “You’re an incredible writer.”
“But it still needs something,” I point out.
He nods. “It does, but first I need you to know this is great work.”
“Thanks.” I nod, but I can barely enjoy the compliment while I wait for whatever he’s about to say next.
“Great work,” he says again, holding my stare to make sure it sinks in. “But this doesn’t read like your blog.”
“You read my blog?”
“Yeah,” he says absently as he shifts his attention back to the screen. “Look.” He points to a few paragraphs, and I walk back around the desk to get a better view. “Like here, you talk all about the bookstore, but it doesn’t feel like you’re there. It sounds like you’re speaking remotely. If this were your blog, you’d make the reader feel like they were standing between the shelves with you.”
I frown. “I see what you mean, but the blog is so casual.”
He nods. “I’m not saying you have to get rid of your professional edge here, but I think you can combine both styles a little more.”
As soon as he finishes his sentence, it feels like there’s a shift in my mindset. Even though I’ve been here for longer than I’d like, I’m suddenly excited to sit back down and take another crack at it. The idea of blending my two writing styles has me buzzing because I suddenly know exactly what I need to do. It will give the article more flare, but still envelope a style of writing that will meet the expectations of our readers.
“Braden!” I say, clapping him on the shoulder excitedly. “You’re a genius.”
“Yeah?” He turns to look at me, and I’m vaguely aware of how close we are.
“Yes!” I nod enthusiastically, my eyes still glued to the screen, skimming for all the places I can give the article more of a personal touch. When I do eventually look over at him with a grin, I’m taken aback by how happy he looks. It isn’t an outward burst like the rush I’m experiencing. His happiness is subtle—quiet. It’s there in the way his eyes spark and the slight lift to his lips. It comes from within, and even though it’s innocent, it goes beyond the bounds of friendship.
I quickly stand up straight, removing my hand from the back of the chair. “Thank you. Really. I should be able to get those changes done and wrap things up.”
He shrugs, back to looking casual. “Of course. Always happy to help.” Getting to his feet, he steps around me and reaches for the pizza and cookies, keeping them neatly stacked. “Want me to leave you a cookie or two? No promise there will be much left later.”
I shake my head. “No, I figured they’d be my dinner, so I already had plenty. Thanks again for the pizza.”
He smiles, and the warmth that radiates from him hits me in the chest again. Nodding toward the door, he says, “Do me a favor and lock up behind me. I don’t like that you’re here alone this late.”
I follow him to the front, and once he’s outside, I stand with the door cracked. “Thanks again. I owe you one.” With a laugh, I add, “Two if I count the pizza.”
Braden lets out a chuckle. “I’m just glad I could help.”
My lips lift. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Margot.”
Closing the door, I turn the lock. The office feels eerie without his presence, but I make my way back to my desk and try to hold on to the spark he lit while he was here. But when I stare at the screen, I’m not thinking about the words I should be changing and rearranging. I’m thinking about the way he looked at me.
Tapping my phone screen, I see a text from Jackson a little while ago.
Jackson:
Just thinking about you.
Even though I’ve done nothing to warrant it, guilt settles heavy in my stomach. Jackson has no idea Braden likes me because it never felt like something I can confirm. It was only a look. It’s only ever a look—well, that and a subtle comment here or there. It’s innocent, but I wonder if Jackson would mind. I wonder if he’d care that I was here alone with a guy who increasingly makes it clear he has feelings for me.