So Not My Boss Crush

Chapter 14

I hold plank pose, and my whole body trembles with exertion.

But I won’t quit.

It is early. Only five-thirty in the morning.

I’m tired, thanks to another night of tossing and turning. This time, it wasn’t barking that kept me up. I dragged those two dirty dog beds into my bedroom, and both dogs slept just fine, with only a few gentle snores now and then.

I was up because I was thinking about Gwen.

I kissed her yesterday evening. I knew this thing was getting away from me, and there, by the edge of that water, I just couldn’t help it.

It felt so good to walk with her after, hand-in-hand. And when she stopped by later, to give the dogs that last walk of the night, I went with her.

I canceled my coaching call with Bailey Marks for that.

I’ve never canceled a call with Bailey.

What was I thinking?

Bailey Marks is my best client. His sessions net me serious money.

But I chose spending time with Gwen over coaching him.

Gwen and I walked the dogs down the driveway, then back up. I could’ve done that myself, and I told her that. But she said—it still makes me feel happy to remember it—that she wanted to be there with me. Not because I was paying her, but because it was nice to spend time with me.

Nice…

I’ve never been a guy who has anything to do with that word.

But when Gwen looks up at me with those big blue-green eyes, I want to be a nice guy.

When she lingered in the entryway before departing for the night, I wanted a repeat of our kiss by that pond.

She left abruptly with a few of those nonsensical sentences she’s so good at—a jumble of words and phrases that barely made sense.

And I knew because she was so flustered that another kiss was on her mind, too.

I haven’t seen her this morning yet. Left the house before she showed up. I bet she’s there now, feeding the dogs and giving them that loving, nurturing attention she seems to be so good at.

My body weight presses into my palms, which dig into the mat beneath me. Sweat drips from my temple. My arms shake harder.

I wasn’t thinking about risk and reward yesterday. That was the problem. I let myself get caught up in my feelings for her, and I forgot about the consequences.

Unable to bear the weight of my body for another second, I step forward, one foot, then the other. I fit my feet between my hands.

Then I jump up.

My sneakers squeak as I land back on the gym’s floor. I tense like a coiled spring, then jump back, so I’m once again a long plank.

Jordan, beside me, does the same. “That’s twelve,” he grunts.

“Twelve more,” I choke out as I catch my breath.

“You serious?” He groans.

“I’m serious.” With massive effort, I get my feet between my hands again and propel myself up. Every muscle in my body protests, but I do it anyway.

This pain is the good kind of pain. The only good kind of pain.

And I deserve it for yesterday.

I didn’t think about risk and reward, when I pulled her in close and lowered my lips onto hers.

That kiss will come with consequences. Same goes for holding her hand at the park, and then for walking along my driveway, under the stars. We talked a lot, as we let the dogs get fresh air. She told me about the house she’s working on renovating, with her brother; the roof repairs, her hopes for exposing a brick chimney in the living room, what type of siding she’d like.

She chatted about replacing the floor in the kitchen, and how she’s missing a notched trowel for the chore. It was nice listening to her talk. Relaxing. Her voice is serene and melodic, and it calms me deep in my bones.

She asked me about my family, and I let myself open up more to her, too. I even talked a bit more about my divorce, and I hardly ever talk about that with anyone, even Leo and Jordan. There’s something about Gwen that just makes her incredibly easy to confide in. Maybe it’s the way she listens, as though it’s the most important thing in the world she could be doing.

When we talked about how Kate’s doing, up in that hotel room in Alaska, waiting for Sawyer to get in, I didn’t even get riled up. Which is wild, because I always get riled up about Kate.

Hm.

Where will all this lead?

I really have no business getting so personal with Gwen Temple.

I’m ahead of Jordan now. He’s still stretched out in plank. Sweat drips from his temple and his lower back sags with fatigue.

“You got this, dude,” I tell him as I spring back so my body’s long, like his. “Couple more. Stick with it.”

“Don’t know if I can…”

“You can.” I jump up as high as I can. I land on the balls of my feet, trying my best to be light.

When I get my legs behind me again, I look over at him. “So… you guys got in my head yesterday about Gwen. I ended up kissing her.”

“That’s great, man.” He steps one foot forward, then the other. His jump is half as high as when we started, but at least he’s doing it. “Here at work, or what?”

“We took my sister’s dogs to the park.”

“Nice.” His back sags, a deeper curve this time. Then he collapses down onto the mat beneath him and rolls over. “That’s all I got.”

“You give up too early. Push through. You’ve got more in you than you think. When you think you hit empty, that’s when you gotta dig deep.”

He ignores this, probably because it’s so early in the morning, and he’d rather lay sprawled on his back than join me in the self-punishment. “I’m happy for you guys. You’re a good pair.”

“Nah, it’s not like that. I told you and Leo yesterday—I can’t let anything happen with her.”

“Sounds like it already did.”

“Sure, yesterday I got caught up in it. But today, I’m thinking I should backpedal.”

“Don’t be like that. See where it goes.”

“I think making a move on her was a mistake.” I hang in plank for a minute to really seal in the torture. My whole body shakes like a leaf.

“You don’t make mistakes. You make decisions.”

“Usually. But yesterday, I messed up with her. I wasn’t thinking right. I let myself forget…”

“Mia,” he guesses.

I lower down. When I sit up, my abdomen aches. I take a sip of my water. “Yeah.”

“You were a different guy, then.”

“I haven’t changed.”

“Maybe you have more than you think. At least, you’re not the guy you were when we were college roommates. You met Mia not long after that. You were both kids.”

“Man, I don’t know…”

“You’ve grown up.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be a relationship guy. Not long term. I like, you know, a good time. A night on the town, a party. And Gwen’s not like that. I can tell. She’s so wholesome, man. She’s good. I’m not, and I’d only hurt her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I just do fun. The vacations. The hook-ups.”

“That’s only ‘cause you’ve never been with someone worth sticking with… worth being good for.”

“I don’t know if I have that in me.”

“Listen, you’re too hard on yourself. You always are. You’re critical of yourself, and that’s why you work so hard. Stop being so critical. You are a good person to the core. Why do you think I’m friends with you? Why do you think Leo’s friends with you? If you were some heartless a-hole, we wouldn’t hang out with you.”

“Come on. I know you guys only hang out with me ‘cause I have a pool,” I joke. “And a home basketball court. And the dirt bikes, four-by-fours, that beach house…”

He smiles, swears at me, and throws his sweaty towel at my head.

I dodge it just in time. It’s too early to deal with some nasty, stinky towel in my face.

He laughs and reaches for his water bottle. “So, what’s your plan? With Gwen?”

“Pretend it never happened, for starters.”

“Oh, yeah, like that’s gonna work.”

“It doesn’t have to work forever. Just until HR finds me a new assistant. Then, we’ll have some distance. It’ll fade.”

I get up and head for the rack of kettlebells.

“Listen to me,” Jordan says when he joins me at the rack. “Two points. One: Ignoring whatever happened between you guys won’t work. I’m telling you. I saw you two together yesterday. There’s something real there. You need to talk to her about whatever is going on. And, two, what you guys have won’t just fizzle out. Real chemistry doesn’t work like that.”

I grab a fifty-pounder. Jordan does the same.

“Thanks for the pointers. I’ll figure it out.” I widen my legs, then swing it up.

Jordan knows the routine. He mimics my motion, and soon, we’re both immersed in the effort.

I talked about Gwen because I needed to vent. To express myself. I don’t know why I thought I’d get away with voicing my immature plan to ignore the kiss.

Maybe part of me knew my intelligent friend would nix that idea. Jordan is brainy. He knows about psychology, human behavior.

Of course, he’s right.

I do need to talk to Gwen about what’s going on between us.

That’s not going to be easy.

It’s easier to focus on the day’s workout than dwell on the confusing situation with my sweet assistant. So, for the next twenty minutes, that’s what I do. We finish rounds of kettlebell swings, plus presses, push-ups, lunges, and leg raises.

By the time we’re closing in on the final repetitions of our last set of side planks, I feel like a limp rag. Good workout.

“Hey,” Jordan says as he rolls up his mat. “Leo said something about you hiring a PI. What’s up with that?”

His question reminds me that Brian Campbell is due at my office at nine o’clock to give me a report on the investigation.

We walk toward the locker rooms.

“I talked to a lawyer about the last launch. Remember, the Home Trainer Heavyweight Bag?”

“Sure, a couple weeks back.”

“We did sixty percent fewer sales than we expected. Want to guess why?”

“You’re the one who loves guessing, not me.”

I push open the locker room doors. The motion sensor light snaps on, flooding the exposed brick walls with pale light.

It’s still so early. Jordan and I are the only ones here.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. Our numbers tanked because Fit For Life launched the same exact product the day before. Marketed it to the same target audience, on all the same channels. I’m talking down to the nitty-gritty details.”

“What the…”

“Yeah. I know. Shady.” I let a swear fly because that’s how fired up this gets me. “So, I talked to a lawyer, and she advised me to get a detective involved. She thinks Fit For Life did some illegal stuff to get info about my launch. She needs evidence, and that’s where the detective can help out.”

My blood pressure rises when I think about the fact that Fit For Life stole information from me.

I hate the fact that a rival company knew all the details of my launch plan. The owner of Fit For Life, Clarice Manning, has always struck me as immoral. She operates her business out of Riley, only an hour from my headquarters. Her whole deal is one big rip-off of mine.

That comes with the territory when it comes to success. There will be copycats. She’s mine. From the start, she’s been a pain, but she’s never gone this far. I’m sure she’s behind the theft, but I don’t know how she pulled it off.

“How did it happen?” Jordan asks, echoing my own thoughts. He checks his phone, then rifles in his bag for a towel.

“That’s what I hired the PI, Brian, for.”

“What’s his deal?”

“He’s an older guy… the only one I could get on short notice. I need to figure this out before the next launch. He used to work for the police, but now he’s on his own.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Good, I think. He took off on a vacation not long after I hired him, which sorta upset me, but he’s back now, and he’s been checking in every day. He’s gonna give me a report this morning on the latest. He’s been nosing around Clarice’s operation undercover, he says, trying to get some info from her staff. He says he has some new leads, and he’s gonna fill me in on them soon. He took a look at my personal laptop, too. I had a bunch of details about the launch plan on there, and he thinks someone got onto it. Maybe even broke into my place to do it.”

Jordan curses under his breath. “Man, you’re talking about spying, right? Like, someone’s all up in your business.”

“Looks like it.”

“That’s rough.”

“No kidding. I don’t have time to deal with this, but that’s what he’s for. He’ll figure it out. He better. That last failed launch really messed with my profit margins for the last quarter.”

“Sorry, man.”

“I don’t want pity. I’ll be fine. If I can get to the bottom of this and stop it, the next launch will be better.”

I know my company puts out good products. Products people want. And I know how competitive business can be, too, so I’m not going to waste time feeling sorry for myself about the situation.

Fit For Life can use underhanded strategies—spying, trespassing, stealing information—if that’s the game Clarice wants to play. But she won’t get away with it. I’ll figure out what she’s up to. I’ll learn exactly how she stole information from me, and then it won’t happen again. I will get lawyers involved. She’ll learn that Brock Benson is not a guy to mess with.

Jordan heads for the showers.

I perch on the bench and take a minute to sort through a couple of messages and emails. Kate texted me from Alaska. Though I usually ignore her texts, this time, I write out a response to ask how it’s going.

Gwen passed on a few updates from her yesterday, and they actually touched my heart. Kate’s nervous about the moment when Sawyer’s boat will get in tomorrow morning. Apparently, she’s had a lot of time to think up there in Alaska. She’s realized how much she wants a family.

When Kate has her baby, I’ll become an uncle.

How will that feel? What kind of uncle will I be?

Gwen and I talked a little bit last night about that, too, while we rambled around with the dogs. She said her aunts helped raise her. She got all sappy when she talked about them and how special they are to her.

It’d be pretty freaking cool if my niece or nephew ever talked about me like that.

Maybe my mom and Gwen are both onto something with this advice they’re giving me about Kate.

I am her older brother. I should try to be involved and supportive.

Jordan says I’ve changed, more than I can see, since my young-adult years. Maybe the same is true about Kate.

I respect how attentive Gwen is when listening to people. That’s a cool skill to have. I should try to be a little more like that.

I do get too caught up in my own stuff. My own world. I could be better.

Jordan heads out to start his day, and I make my way toward the weight room.

I do a few quick sets, still distracted. This is the extra that I’m known for putting in. I like to go above and beyond what other people are willing to do.

I push myself.

I always have.

When the sets are done, I take a quick shower and then get dressed. As I head out of the locker room, I place a call to Bailey Marks. He has a big fight coming up, and I need to reschedule the session that I canceled last night.

More importantly, I need to make sure our friendship’s still strong.

We catch up as I walk down the long hallway. He’s winding down his day while I’m just getting fired up. Though he sounds wiped out, he also sounds positive and confident, and I tell him so. He gets pumped up as we talk, and so do I.

It’s good to hear that he’s not upset about the canceled session. As I near the shipping department, we wrap up the call.

I know I’ll pass Gwen’s desk when I walk through the sea of tables, cubicles, computers, and ringing phones.

The walk never used to mean anything to me. But right now, as I force my worked muscles to move, I feel it start up: the speedy heartbeat, the rush in my veins, the aliveness.

Then I spot her desk up ahead.

She’s sitting behind it, erect and poised, her face to her computer screen.

Though she’s facing the screen—and won’t look my way—I know she knows I’m walking toward her.

I feel this electricity passing between us. When her eyes flick upward, they connect with mine immediately.

She quickly looks away, back to her screen.

I slow my pace, then stop at her desk and tap my knuckles against it. “Morning.”

She bites her lip, and pink blossoms on her cheeks. She keeps facing the computer screen. I see her chest rise and fall a few times as she draws in quick breaths. “Well… Hm. This is new. Good morning.”

She opens her mouth, like she wants to say more, but she closes it before words can escape.

There’s a question in her eyes.

What is it?

I want to know. “Something on your mind?”

“It’s just—for years… for years, I used to say good morning to you. You never said anything back.”

“That was before you were my assistant.”

“Right…” Her eyes hook on mine. And before we kissed, she says with her look.

I nod as though she’s spoken.

We’re doing it again. Communicating without words. “I bet you thought I was a real jerk.”

She bites her lip.

“A monster, even.” I reach into my front pocket and find the small, hard plastic case. It’s the size of a container of dental floss, but that’s not what it is.

I set it on her desk.

She tilts her head quizzically. “What is this?”

“My hearing aid.” The department is open concept, and I’m very aware that my employees could be watching.

I don’t like wearing a hearing aid. It makes me feel old. I keep it out whenever I’m on video because I don’t want my audience to think I’m anything less than strong and whole. And I keep it out other times, too, like when I work out, swim, or shower. Most days, I don’t put it in until the afternoon. It’s my secret.

But Gwen’s softness affects me.

She is unguarded in a way that makes me want to be a little less guarded, too. Nearby employees might hear this, but I don’t mind.

She examines the case wordlessly. “Hearing aid…” she murmurs. “So… you didn’t hear me?”

“Not once.”

“For all those years?”

“If I heard you, I’d have answered,” I tell her. It’s happening again: the under-a-spell sensation. Though the navy cardigan is formless as always, nothing could hide the natural glow that seems to radiate off her. She looks beautiful.

“Hm…” she says, nipping in her lower lip and reaching for the hearing aid case. She turns it in her palm and then holds it out to me. “Things are not always as they seem, are they?”

“Sometimes very far from it.” When I accept the case, our fingertips touch. I remember how she felt in my arms.

“All those years, I thought you were too important and busy to talk to a person like me,” she says.

“A person like you? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Average.”

Here I am, feeling helpless because she’s angelic—and she thinks she’s average?

If she was mediocre, I would not be lingering here at her desk when I have a thousand other things I should be doing.

If she was typical, I would not feel—right this instant—like I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

She’s not mediocre.

She’s not typical.

She’s captivating.

“You think too little of yourself,” I say.

Her lip hitches up at one side. “My grandmother told me that once. She wants me to stay in the castle, in the Queen’s Room, so I know I’m ‘worth all the sweet things in life.’ My grandmother adored sweetness. Not literally, though she did heap so much sugar into her tea. But I mean the actual, real sweet things in life.”

Now I’m not only captivated by her image. I’m captivated by her words.

My phone beeps.

I ignore it. “Like what?”

“Like the things that make life worth living. Not big things. I mean little things. The things that, when you get to your deathbed, and you look back, you remember, and you smile about.”

“Like…?”

“You know… a moment with a laughing child. A really stunning sunset, with red and fuchsia and peach. The smell of rain on a summer lawn. The taste of an apple pie that has just the right amount of cinnamon in it.” She pinches her fingers to show me. “Talking to someone and really understanding them—really getting them. Pink roses, green paths… The moment when you know something, in your heart, for no reason.”

I’m stunned.

The list stirs something in me.

My mother told me that I was rushing around too much.

Have I been so focused on earning money that I’ve let these little moments pass me by?

What will I remember when I’m on my deathbed?

Will I remember yet another Wednesday morning of hammering away on my computer’s keyboard?

Probably not.

I’ve done that version of Wednesday countless times.

As I search my mind, I can’t find even one memorable moment in that mass of hours logged at my desk, hustling for money.

Hustling to get ahead.

What I might remember is that I stood across from a beautiful woman in the Shipping Department. That I wanted to kiss her but failed.

I might look back on this very moment and kick myself.

I might regret it—unless I act.

Right now.

“Break room?” I say, aware of the new husky depth to my voice.

Her lip twitches very subtly. “For what?”

“I want a cup of coffee,” I lie.

Right now, I couldn’t care less about caffeine.

I want Gwen.

I want to kiss her good morning. I want to tell her that I missed her after she left my house last night. I want to tell her how hard it was to leave my house this morning, knowing that she’d soon arrive.

I want to tell her just how good it feels to see her now.

And I can’t do that here at her desk.

Not with all these eyes on us.

We walk to the break room in silence. As we walk, she tugs at the cuff of her sweater, like she’s nervous.

The minute we enter the empty break room, she closes the door behind us.

I lock it.

Better not to have anyone walk in on us.

I reach for her and circle my hand around her hip like I did when we stood near the pond. She draws closer to me until I can feel the warmth of her body pressed close to mine.

“Brock?” she whispers when I tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah?”

“This is a lot. From you, passing by my desk every day without acknowledging me, to…” She rests her hand on my lower back.

My body tenses.

Those back muscles I worked don’t even ache anymore. They feel amazing. Alive. Tingly.

Her hand is warm through my shirt.

“What was I saying?” she asks.

I’m so close to her, I can breathe in the now-familiar scent of flowers. Her perfume has hints of roses. Or, is that her shampoo?

“Something about how this is a lot,” I tell her.

“Right. Sort of intense, and I don’t know if?—”

When I hold her like this, it’s very hard to concentrate. The curve of her waist fits so perfectly in my palms. Her sweater is soft. Her lips draw me in. I don’t even realize I’m leaning down until my lips are mere centimeters from hers.

“Oh,” she gasps. The word whispers across my lips.

“Good morning,” I whisper back.

“This is how you say good morning?”

“To you, it is.”

“Then I’m glad we locked the door.” She closes the gap by inching up and touching her lips to mine.

At first, the kiss is tender. She sips my lips, tasting me.

I’m helpless. Lost in this feeling.

I let her do what she wants to me, move how she wants to move. I stay still and savor the feel of her lips against mine.

She moves her hand from my lower back up along the cotton of my shirt. She finds the nape of my neck. Her fingertips move up into my hair.

“Damp hair,” she whispers. “Shower?”

“Shower.” I don’t know if either of us is making sense. Don’t care.

I dip my lips down to hers and drink her in as if she’s medicine that I badly need.

And, in a way, she is.

I need Gwen.

That is becoming more and more clear to me with each passing moment.

“You smell nice after you shower,” she whispers as her fingers move up into my hair again. “Just like at your house yesterday, at breakfast. So fresh. Soapy and?—”

The sentence ends when our lips fuse again.

This time, the kiss is longer.

Deeper.

I can’t get enough of the feel of her hand as it strokes my neck. Her body, pressed to mine, feels so good I want to keep that door twisted locked for hours.

I know we can’t.

As it is, the locked door is probably generating some rumors. And when we step out? Those rumors might get worse.

But I want to stay in here, with her in my arms.

When we part, it feels like the room is spinning. The ground has shifted under my feet.

Now, this Wednesday morning is the one I’ll remember when I aman old man. I know that, for sure.

She steps away from me, and her brow creases as she eyes the door. “I think someone just rattled that handle. I bet any minute now, Janelle will be here with a set of spare keys. She’s not a facilities manager or anything, but she sure acts like it.”

I still feel dazed. It’s difficult to think about anything other than the desire flooding my body.

“That right?” I growl, consumed with the need to feel her lips on mine again.

“Yep. Oops, there she is. I can hear her and the keys jingling. Do I look okay?”

“You look perfect.”

Her smile is genuine but fleeting. “Thanks,” she whispers, “but I mean, like, okay, as in, do I look like I was just making out with you?”

“Is that what we were doing? Making out? That sounds like something teens do in the backs of cars, at some bluff overlooking town.”

She grins and pokes my chest. “You probably did that sort of thing. I didn’t.”

I catch her hand and hold it. “Never kissed in the backseat of a car?”

“Are you kidding me?” she says. “No!”

“What is so wrong about backseats?” I ask as I guide her hand around my waist to my back again. I leave her hand there, then wrap my arms around her again. “They’re nice and comfortable. Lots of room.”

“That’s the point!” she says with a quick laugh. “Too much room.”

“Room to move around is good.”

Over at the door, the jingling sound gets louder. “I know it’s one of these, but I just can’t remember which,” a woman on the other side of the door says.

I pretend I don’t hear the voice. I don’t want to hear anyone out there. I want to stay in this bubble with Gwen, pretending like the whole office outside doesn’t even exist.

Gwen seems to be feeling the same.

Her hand drifts up to my neck again. Her fingertips slide through my hair. She moves her fingertips gently to my scar and touches it carefully.

“Room to move around is trouble,” she says as her fingertips graze the length of my scar.

“I think you’re trouble.” I catch her hand, pull it down to my lips, and kiss her fingertips. “What we just did was trouble.”

“You’re the one who started it,” she whispers.

I can’t help myself. I steal a quick kiss.

That makes her smile.

I love her smile more every time I see it. “I only wanted to say good morning,” I tease. “You’re the one who closed the door behind us.”

“But you’re the one who locked it,” she counters before linking her hands behind my neck and guiding me down into another kiss.

“Guilty,” I croak when our lips part. And I’d do it again if I had the chance.

Suddenly, across the room, the door flies open.

A tall woman in a matching blazer and slacks barges in, keys in hand. “Got it, Frank,” she says to someone out in the hall.

She’s in her late fifties, and her short-cropped silver hair reminds me of a history teacher I had in middle school.

“Oh!” she cries when she spots Gwen and me. “Good gracious, you ‘bout gave me a heart attack, you two! Frank told me no one had opened this up yet—I thought the cleaning crew locked up…” She trails off, and her eyes flit back and forth between us a few times.

Gwen steps away and busies herself with the coffee pot.

This key-wielding, teacher-lookalike intruder must be Janelle.

I do my best to appear innocent despite the fact that I just admitted my guilt to Gwen seconds ago.

Janelle purses her lips. “Hm. Like I was saying, I thought the cleaning crew locked up last night due to a fluke. This room is usually open.”

“I might have locked it by mistake,” I say.

Gwen keeps her back to us. She stands on the tip toes of her clogs to grab two mugs from a cupboard. Then she hums to herself as she fills one, then another. Coffee drips down from the percolator, sizzles against the hot base, and sends a scent of burning drifting out into the room.

“Strange mistake to make,” Janelle muses.

“Things happen,” I say.

“Mm hm,” she agrees, with a knowing nod. “Things happen—sometimes mistakes.” When she glances over at Gwen again, her meaning couldn’t be more clear.

I hire bright people. Observant, attentive people who can handle the work I give. Not idiots.

Janelle has a good idea about what she just walked in on, and her disapproval is written in her sour expression.

She knows Gwen and I are sneaking around. Hooking up.

We are, but this is more than that.

How much more?

I’m afraid to even ponder that.

Gwen and I have to talk about what’s happening. Soon.

“Gwen, honey,” Janelle says, “is that dishwasher clean over there? I asked the new lead custodian, Marsha, to be sure to empty it if it’s clean.”

“It’s clean. You know, I think Marsha got a little behind yesterday because she was deep-cleaning all the carpets. There are mugs over here on the shelf, and I’m sure someone will pitch in and empty the dishwasher this morning. Oh, you should see how sparkling clean this countertop is. See? She got all those pesky rings off from the old coffee maker.”

I watch Gwen’s back as she stirs three packets of sugar into one of the mugs. She glances over her shoulder at me.

That hair…

That smile.

Those eyes.

She lifts a packet of sugar and wags it.

I shake my head.

She grins, then lifts the creamer.

I gesture ‘no’ again, and she sets it down.

Meanwhile, she manages to chit-chat with Janelle about the cleaning staff and how good they always are at polishing up the room we’re in.

The room I just kissed Gwen in.

I run my hand through my hair and fleeting concerns about where this is heading whisper through my mind.

Consequences.

There could be consequences for this.

She nears me and offers a mug of coffee. “Here ya go, Boss,” she says casually, as though we didn’t just hold one another close.

The mug has #1 BOSS written across it in block letters.

“Walk with me to the elevators,” I suggest, using that same casual tone. I take a sip of the coffee and try not to look like I’m still fighting off waves of desire.

“Sure, can do.” She gives me a quick, very innocent-looking nod. “See ya, Janelle.”

Janelle is obviously not fooled by our act. “You two behave.” She folds her arms across her chest.

I feel her judgmental gaze on my back as Gwen and I depart.

Out in the hall, I grin at Gwen. “Did she just tell us to behave?”

She giggles. “I don’t know if it’s worth her time. You are not good at behaving.”

“You are just as bad as I am.”

“What? Me?” Her eyes widen, but her grin says she’s pretending. “No way,” she whispers. “This is all your fault.”

At the elevators, I jab the button for the fourth floor. “You coming up?”

“A ride in an elevator with you is the last thing I need.” She sips her coffee and steals a look up at me through her lashes.

Her lips look perfect on the rim of the mug.

I want them on me again.

I want to pull her in and kiss her right here because of how sweet she looks right now.

“You like the mug?” she asks.

“I do.” I twist the ceramic cup in my hands, taking in the letters again.

“Rhonda got it at a tag sale. She brought in a bunch of silly ones.”

“Seems like a mug you’d give to a boss, not have at the back of a cupboard in the break room. And yet, no one showed me.”

“You’re intimidating.” She catches my eye. “Inspiring, but intimidating.”

The elevator yawns open. It’s empty. I get in and look out at her.

“Sure you can’t ride up with me?” I ask. “Lots of room in here. Sorta like the backseat of a car up on a lookout bluff, but better.”

She shakes her head. “You are very bad… you know that? I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Text me if you need me.”

When the doors slide closed, the last impression I have of her is that knowing, playful smile.

She is enjoying this as much as I am.

For now, at least.

It’s only when the doors stretch open to the fourth floor that it hits me: I didn’t talk to her about what’s going on between us like Jordan suggested—like I decided to do.

I kissed her. I flirted with her. But I didn’t talk to her about what we were doing.

I could tell myself it’s because Janelle walked in on us, and I didn’t have time to bring it up.

That would be a lie.

The truth is, I’m scared of the discussion that has to happen, and that’s why I didn’t dive into it in the break room.

I’m afraid of it because I don’t know exactly what to say.

I hardly know how I feel about Gwen. All I know is that it’s good to be around her, and I don’t want to screw up. Beyond that, my mind’s a teeming froth of confusion, desire, and what-ifs.

What if we dated?

What if it got serious?

What if we crashed and burned?

I don’t want to cause pain again like I did when I married Mia. I know that the only way to really avoid that risk is to avoid love.

And yet, I know in my gut that I’m falling in love with Gwen.

Falling. Veering, swerving, speeding straight into that zone.

I also know it’s happening fast.

How does she feel about it? I’ll ask her that this evening—when we’re not at work. Even if it scares me, I’ll make myself do it.

And until then, I’ll enjoy the fact that this Wednesday will not be like every other Wednesday for the past six years in this exact same office building.

It is going to be more memorable.

Sweeter.

Because of Gwen.