4. January 17, Monday #3
“Just because your marriage ended…just because Mitch lost you, doesn’t mean I want to lose you too.”
That was it. She moved before dignity could intervene and hugged him again.
His arms came around her instantly, tighter this time.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” she said into his chest, her voice embarrassingly wrecked.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.
When she finally leaned back, his mouth had tipped into a small smile.
“Also,” he added, “unless HR objects, you now work with my team. So even if we were terrible at friendship, occupational overlap would trap you here.”
That got another laugh out of her. “Good to know I’m being retained on a technicality.”
“Always. I’m very committed to the bureaucratic process.”
She snorted.
Some of the room came back into focus around them—the clink of mugs, the hum of conversation, the fact that some of his teammates were very obviously pretending not to stare and doing a poor job of it.
Zoey felt herself start to tense again.
Ilya noticed immediately.
Of course, he did.
He shifted closer, one hand briefly touching the small of her back in a quiet, grounding gesture before dropping away.
“They’re just curious. It’s not every day they see me hugging a gorgeous stranger in the middle of our cafeteria,” he murmured. “That’s all.”
Zoey blinked as her breath caught at the description.
Gorgeous?
Her?
On what planet?
She risked a glance toward the table.
A few of the guys had the decency to look elsewhere. Others absolutely did not. One looked delighted by the existence of drama in a way that suggested he should never be trusted with confidential information.
“Curious is an interesting choice of words,” Zoey muttered, choosing to focus on the part of the sentence that didn’t cause her belly to flip.
Ilya’s mouth twitched. “Would nosy, emotionally under-stimulated, and desperate for drama not their own feel better?”
“Absolutely.”
He angled his body slightly, enough to make the introduction easier but not so much that it felt like he was hauling her anywhere against her will.
“Come on,” he urged. “I’ll at least make them be normal to your face.”
He steered her toward the table with a light hand at her back, not possessive, just steadying. Helpful. She hated how much she appreciated it.
“Guys,” he said, “this is Zoey. She’s joining community partnerships and outreach, which means some of you will soon be asked to leave the building and behave like citizens.”
A few of them laughed.
Zoey gave a small wave. “Hi.”
“She’ll be helping with clinics, programming, community events, and anything else that requires organization, patience, and probably better judgment than most of you currently possess,” Ilya continued.
“That rules out Tommy,” someone muttered.
“I heard that,” another voice shot back.
The table erupted into low chaos.
To Zoey’s relief, none of it turned toward Mitch. None of it sharpened into awkwardness or appraisal. They looked at her the way people looked at any new staff member being dragged into the orbit of an established group—interested, curious, mildly chaotic, not unkind.
Mrs. Perry suddenly reappeared at her elbow, looking apologetic but efficient.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “I was kidnapped by someone with budget questions and no respect for time.”
She turned to Ilya with a polite smile that somehow still managed to imply boundaries. “Mr. Sergechev, thank you for keeping her company, but we need to get Zoey to Nina before the eleven o’clock meeting.”
The professional reminder was gentle but unmistakable.
Zoey stepped away from Ilya a little too fast.
Immediately, she regretted making it weird.
“Right,” she said. “Yes. Of course.” She looked at him, then away, then back because apparently she’d lost all basic motor planning. “We’ll catch up later?”
His brow lifted just slightly, maybe at her speed-retreat, maybe at the fact that she sounded like she was asking permission to exist. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Later.” Something in his voice—easy, but not careless—sent one last small shiver down her spine.
Totally normal, she told herself. You are having a normal reaction to seeing an old friend unexpectedly hug you in a hockey café after blowing up your life.
She gave a quick, harmless little wave toward the table and followed Mrs. Perry out of the room.
The hallway swallowed them in bright light and movement once again.
Mrs. Perry launched straight into a brisk summary of Nina’s department, recent campaigns, and the importance of not wasting Nina’s time if Zoey wished to remain among the employed.
Zoey nodded in all the right places.
She heard maybe half of it.
Because her skin still felt warm where Ilya’s arm had been. The relief of seeing him had hit like a drug she hadn’t known she was in withdrawal from.
Because whatever else had changed, he looked at her and said, simply, I’m glad you’re here.
And because, inconveniently, embarrassingly, and with absolutely no respect for her current emotional bandwidth, one thought kept repeating itself beneath everything else: Ilya thought she was gorgeous.