Chapter 9
“The timeline for the heritage exhibition needs to be moved up,” I say, spreading the latest mockups across our shared workspace. “If we want media coverage, we need to launch before the Monaco Yacht Show steals all the attention.”
Eve doesn’t look up from her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard with sharp, precise movements. “Don’t shed everywhere while you’re leaning over my desk.”
I pause, straightening up. “What?”
“Your hair.” She lifts her head to look at me, her dark eyes flashing with irritation.
“It’s getting all over my workspace. Some of us actually care about maintaining a professional environment.
” The movement draws my attention to her earrings—ridiculously large feathered hoops that sway with every turn of her head.
They’re completely inappropriate for the office.
All blue and green feathers, like some kind of exotic bird took up residence in her ears.
I run a hand through my hair automatically. “I’m not shedding—”
“Right there.” She points to my keyboard with the tip of her pen, her red-lacquered nails catching the light. “And there. And on my mouse pad.”
I follow her gaze and freeze. There are several blonde strands scattered across my desk—the same color and length as mine. When did that happen?
“Huh.” I brush them away quickly. “Weird.”
“Weird is one word for it.” Eve’s voice is bone-dry. “Disgusting is another. Are you stressed about something? I hear that causes hair loss.”
“I’m not losing my hair,” I snap, more defensive than the situation warrants.
“If you say so.” She turns back to her screen with a dismissive shrug that makes those ridiculous feathers dance. I can’t help myself. I reach out and flick one of the earrings, watching it spin.
“Don’t touch my jewelry,” she snaps, jerking away from me.
“They’re distracting. And completely inappropriate for a professional office.”
“My earrings are none of your business.” She touches the feathered hoop protectively. “Just keep your follicle situation away from my side of the desk.”
I settle back into my chair, trying to focus on the campaign timeline, but my eyes keep drifting between the strands I just swept away and those absurd earrings. That’s definitely my hair, but why would it be falling out? I’m thirty-two, not sixty.
“The heritage angle is solid,” Eve says, pulling my attention back to work. “But your event concept is still too modern. These people don’t want to be immersed in some virtual experience.”
“And your suggestion?”
“Interactive elements. Let them feel the craftsmanship.” She leans forward, and those damn feathers brush against her neck. “Hands-on demonstrations of traditional yacht-building techniques.”
Despite my annoyance about the hair comment, I have to admit it’s a good idea. “That could work. Maybe partner with some of the original craftsmen?”
“Exactly.” For a moment, her expression softens into something approaching approval before she catches herself. “Though I’m sure you’ll find some way to overcomplicate it.”
“And I’m sure you’ll find some way to turn it into a lecture about maritime history that puts everyone to sleep.”
“Better than your approach of throwing money at everything until it sparkles.”
We’re leaning closer as we argue, the space between us alive with simmering currents. I reach out and flick her earring again, unable to resist the way it spins and glistens in the light.
“Stop that,” she hisses, but her cheeks flush slightly.
“Then stop wearing bird costumes to work.”
“Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”
“You know what your problem is?” I murmur, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her dark eyes.
“No. But I know what yours is,” she shoots back.
I ignore her. “You act like caring about something means taking all the fun out of it. Everything has to be serious and perfect with you.”
“And you act like everything’s a joke.” Her voice drops lower, more intimate despite the bite in her words. “Some things actually matter, Wilder. Some things are worth taking seriously.”
“Who says I don’t take things seriously?
I take you very seriously, Eve.” I throw the last part in there to mess with her but my gaze drops to her lips, yet suddenly I’m the one feeling dazed.
They’re painted that bold red she always wears, and they’re parted slightly from her heated words.
Even pissed off and lecturing me, she’s annoyingly gorgeous.
The thought irritates me almost as much as it turns me on.
Trust Eve Lopez to look like a fucking model even when she’s being a sanctimonious pain in the ass.
I find myself wondering what those perfectly painted lips would look like wrapped around—
I force my eyes back to hers, catching the exact moment she realizes where I was looking. Her jaw tightens with indignation.
“The mockups need work,” she says sharply, pulling back like I’ve burned her. “The color palette is too muted.”
I clear my throat, annoyed at myself for getting distracted by her mouth when she was in the middle of being insufferable. “Right. The mockups.”
“Steven, can you pull up the vendor contacts?” Eve calls out, all business again. “We need to start reaching out to craftsmen for the demonstration piece.”
“On it,” Steven replies from his desk.
I spend the next hour trying to focus on campaign details, but something keeps nagging at me. When I lean back in my chair, I spot more blonde strands on my sleeve. I brush them off casually, telling myself it’s probably just from running my hands through my hair.
“You coming to Danny’s?” Joshua asks as everyone starts gathering their things for lunch. “I’m buying lunch for everyone as belated penance for that psycho ex-girlfriend situation.”
“Yeah, in a minute,” I say, shuffling through some papers.
As the office empties out, I glance towards the security camera in the corner of the room.
Making sure there’s nobody there, I check my phone for the video surveillance that Ethan forwarded me.
Playing it on my phone, I notice that the desks the camera covers are Joshua and Eve’s.
My desk is right next to Eve’s, but it is covered by the camera on the opposite end of the room.
The intruder hadn’t messed with them. He hadn’t been worried about being caught in them.
Which probably means whatever he wanted was from Eve or Joshua.
But what? Laptops are taken home at the end of the day, so he couldn’t have come to copy something from them.
Whatever he was pocketing in the video had been small, like a flash drive.
Did he take something from one of the desks, then?
I can’t figure it out without asking questions. Eve will have no problem telling me, but Joshua will get suspicious.
As I return to my desk, I notice more strands on my notepad which is open to the first page where I was writing some vendor contact information.
Then several on my coffee mug. What the hell?
I run my fingers through my hair, checking for any loose spots, but everything feels normal.
Maybe it’s just one of those days. People shed hair all the time, right?
The afternoon passes without incident, and I almost forget about the whole hair shedding thing until I’m putting on my coat to leave. There are multiple blonde strands on the shoulder that definitely weren’t there this morning.
“Weird,” I mutter, flicking them away.
* * *
The next morning, I find at least five strands on my keyboard before I even sit down.
“Are you molting?” Joshua asks, noticing me brushing them away.
“Very funny,” I reply, but confusion is starting to set in. What on earth?
Eve walks in wearing another pair of obnoxious earrings—this time silver hoops with tiny bells that actually jingle when she moves. The sound is like Christmas on crack.
“Those can’t be within regulation,” I say as she settles at her desk.
“There’s no regulation against earrings, Reynolds.” She shakes her head deliberately, making the bells chime. “Some of us believe in expressing our personality through fashion.”
“Some of us believe in not announcing our arrival like sleigh bells.”
“Right,” she says dryly, “because you prefer announcing your arrival by shedding hair everywhere like some kind of territorial animal marking its space.” She tilts her head, studying me with mock concern.
“You know, my uncle started shedding like that out of nowhere.” She looks thoughtful, her dark eyes scanning my hairline with clinical interest. “Come to think of it, he must have been about your age when it started. Thirty-two? Thirty-three? One day, he had a full head of hair. The next, he was leaving DNA evidence everywhere he went. He ended up going bald. He’s got a nice shiny head now and wears fedoras.
” She tilts her head back, studying my head.
“I suppose you would look okay in a fedora.”
“I’m not going bald,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Of course not,” she replies sweetly. “I’m sure it’s just stress. Or genetics. Or both.”
I just narrow my eyes at her, but I have bigger concerns at the moment. Sliding my chair over at her, I ignore the wary look she shoots me, and I ask in a low voice, “Is something missing from your desk?”
“I swear to god, Caleb, if this is another one of your—”
“I’m serious,” I murmur. “Something small like a flash drive or something.”
She blinks, studying me as if to make sure I really mean business. Finally she says slowly, “Let me check.”
She rifles through her belongings and then her two drawers. Her brows furrow together. “Well, nothing aside from my staple pins, which I’m sure you nabbed because I saw them on your desk yesterday.”
I press my lips together. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I would know if something was missing,” she says quietly.
My eyes flicker towards Joshua, and Eve arches her brows. “You want to ask him?”
My voice is low. “Yeah, but I’ll give myself away.”