Chapter 19 Team Building Exercise
NINETEEN
Team Building Exercise
April
Mateo was the one who suggested dancing. “You can’t sit still after eating like that, bellissima,” he said, already on his feet, offering his hand like it was the next course.
“I’m pretty sure sitting still is exactly what you’re supposed to do after eating,” April said.
“Sitting still is for people with no rhythm.” Mateo’s grin was pure temptation. “You have rhythm. I can tell.”
“You can tell from watching me eat?”
“I can tell from watching you breathe.”
Which was either the most romantic thing or the creepiest. April genuinely couldn't decide, but apparently didn’t care because she was taking his hand anyway.
The dance floor dropped in tiers, the lowest level a writhing mass of bodies moving to the bass.
Mateo pulled her into the thick of it, bodies pressing close on all sides.
He danced with his whole body, completely committed, no half measures.
He pulled her close enough that she could smell the cedar and salt of his cologne, a scent that skipped logic and went straight to her pulse.
His body moved against hers, his hips rolling in time with the music in a way that made it very clear this was a preview of a preview of the bedroom.
“You’re tense,” he said low against her ear, thumbs pressing into her back with pressure that promised release.
“I’m in a club with seven men who all showed up because my life imploded,” April said. “Tense feels appropriate.”
"You're allowed to enjoy this, you know." His hand settled on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him so she could feel every movement. "The day's been chaos. This part? This is yours."
"You've been doing that all day."
"Doing what?"
"Supporting me. At the tasting, you told me to be greedy. And every choice I've made since then, every time I said 'yes' to something impossible, it's because you made me believe I was allowed to."
Mateo met her eyes. “Because you are allowed.”
April wanted to argue, to run the numbers one more time. But Mateo had a point, and his body was providing a counterargument her brain couldn’t possibly win against. She stopped trying to calculate the risk and simply moved with him. Mateo leaned in close, brushing a warm kiss to her temple.
April came back from the dance floor, flushed and Killian was waiting. His hand found her waist immediately, pulling her between his legs in a possessive grip. Then he stilled, as if he’d only just realized it.
“I need to issue a formal correction,” he said, low enough only she could hear.
His voice had that controlled, boardroom precision, the tone he probably used to announce quarterly earnings.
“This morning’s announcement was premature.
I failed to secure stakeholder approval prior to the public filing. ”
April blinked. "Did you just apologize like a press release?"
"Yes." He said with no hesitation. "I practiced saying 'fiancée' in the mirror this morning. Multiple times. I got ahead of myself because I wanted it to be real."
His hand loosened at her waist. "Do you want me here, or do you want space?"
April stayed. She took his hand and squeezed once. His shoulders dropped. "Thank you," he said, and kissed her cheek.
Liam claimed the next dance, pulling her back onto the floor with that dangerous precision he brought to everything.
“Still standing,” he said, his hands steadying at her hips as they moved.
“Is that a surprise?”
“Not to me.” He spun her, then drew her back against his chest, his rhythm meeting hers. “But I don’t think most people could.”
“I did cry in a supply closet this morning.”
“And now you’re here. Dancing.”
Caleb cut in next, smooth as anything. “The script says I should let someone else have the next dance. Fuck the script.”
“Do you always talk like you’re in a movie?”
“I’ve been in seventeen movies and three series. At this point, I’m not sure where the performance ends and I begin.” He pulled her close, bodies moving together in a way that wouldn’t pass broadcast standards. “But this? You? This is real.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I make believe for a living.” His eyes were serious despite the smile. “And even though you’re impossibly genuine, nothing about you feels like make-believe.”
Jax appeared next to her when Caleb spun her out, caught her before she could stumble, and pulled her into a rhythm that felt controlled and chaotic at the same time.
He moved with her, his body leading hers through the crowd with absolute certainty.
“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. Shakespeare understood chaos.” His eyes held hers, “Most people resist chaos. You shape it.”
“I’m not good at chaos. I’m in chaos.”
“Same thing,” Jax said. “You’re better at it than you think you are.”
Then he smiled and kissed the back of her hand before guiding her toward the booth.
???
Arthur didn’t dance.
When April stumbled back to the booth this time, overheated, overstimulated, her temperature regulation clearly offline, Arthur didn’t just hand her water. He guided her down onto his lap instead, firm and stable beneath her.
“Drink.”
She drank and barely had time to register the shift before he leaned in and pressed a solid kiss to her forehead. His hands held her at the waist with a certainty that made movement feel unnecessary. She settled into him.
“Good girl.” The words vibrated against her back, “That’s better.”
Something clicked and April understood what that voice would sound like in the dark. Heat flushed through her. Arthur’s hands tightened at her waist, as if he’d tracked the shift and filed it away.
He produced a small packet of wet wipes. “Your makeup is smudged.”
Of course it was.
She cleaned her face as best she could, still sitting in his lap, still hyperaware of every point of contact. At some point, he’d looked at her and decided she was worth protecting, then simply acted accordingly.
When was the last time anyone had believed in her like that, without conditions, disclaimers, or exit clauses? She couldn’t remember. So she smiled at him, a little watery, and said the first thing her brain could manage.
“I started the day with negative men. Now there are seven. The math doesn’t even make sense.”
“The math makes perfect sense,” Arthur said calmly, his hands still secure at her waist. “You’re exceptional. Exceptional things don’t follow normal distribution curves.”
“Did you just use statistics to compliment me?”
“Yes.”
Just an outlier, somehow that nearly undid her.
“You know you’ve been taking care of me all night,” she said.
“Yes,” Arthur replied.
“You do it like it’s… assumed.
“Someone had to,” he said at last. “You were carrying too many variables.”
She let out a small, shaky laugh. “That’s your way of saying I don’t have to do everything myself, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re okay with that?” she asked. “With being the one who watches the edges?”
Arthur’s thumb brushed once over her knuckles. “I prefer it,” he said. “Systems function better when someone is accountable for the structure.”
He took her hand then, palm up, steady. Just an anchor, offered without demand. “I don’t need to be first, I just need to be part of your constant.”
She squeezed his hand before she trusted herself with a response.
Arthur shifted, braced his feet wider, and drew her back until she rested flush against his chest, an adjustment made with the same quiet precision he brought to everything.
“Stay,” he rumbled.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His hand squeezed hers once. “You’re welcome.”
Jiro found April a few minutes later, still sitting in Arthur’s lap, trying to remember how to be a person who could process normal amounts of information.
He slid into the seat beside Arthur, close enough that their shoulders touched.
The club pulsed around them.
He leaned closer. “You okay?”
“I have no idea,” April said.
Jiro’s mouth lifted in a small, easy smile.
Arthur's hand was on her knee, thumb moving in slow circles, each pass edging higher. She was still sitting in his lap, his thigh warm beneath her, but it was getting harder to remember what they’d been talking about.
Mateo leaned in to refill her drink, brushing her shoulder before trailing down her arm as he pulled back.
Across the booth, Jax’s eyes tracked her movements, cataloging reactions for later.
Liam told a quip that made her laugh. When she turned, Jiro was watching with quiet attention that caught her breath.
Caleb’s grin was knowing. “You doing okay over there?”
April was not doing okay. She was aware of everything: the weight of Arthur beneath her, the brush of Mateo’s fingers, the way Jax watched like he was storing data for later.
Jiro’s hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair until his thumb found the sensitive skin there. She shivered.
“Cold?” Though the curve of his mouth said he already knew the answer.
“No,” she managed.
He leaned in, closing the space without crowding her, boxing her gently between Arthur’s solid presence and the heat of his own chest. Just before his mouth found her neck, he paused, eyes meeting hers, and pressed a slow kiss to her temple.
When he finally kissed her, it was unhurried, his mouth moving with quiet intention, tasting of amaretto. As April kissed him back, Jiro’s hands slid to her jaw.
Her hips shifted, a slow roll against Arthur’s thigh.
Arthur’s hands closed on her hips and lifted to meet the movement.
She kept moving. Small, helpless rolls of her hips while Jiro kissed her and Arthur held her exactly where he wanted her, letting her feel every inch of what she was doing to him.
Jiro drew back enough for her to see the unguarded look in his eyes before her phone buzzed in her hand.
JAX: Attached: [Arthur Vance—full panel current as of this week] / [Jiro Sato—full panel current as of this week]
Arthur whispered against her ear, lips brushing her skin. “There’s a private room. If you want it.”
“Yes.”