EPILOGUE
LACEY
The rule is, once we walk in the door to the office, we keep it professional.
This means hugging, handholding, and kissing are allowed in the elevator, so long as no other Lettercat employees are present.
Affection and pet names— should any be introduced —are similarly banned at company lunches and business dinners, though there’s a happy hour exception as long as it’s Lettercatters only in attendance.
I can’t be expected to keep my hands off this man for ten hours straight.
“Are you nervous?” Jude asks, hitting the button for our floor. He’s tan and relaxed after a week mostly off; we logged in for two hours each afternoon, once we realized not doing so made us too anxious to enjoy ourselves. People don’t change entirely overnight.
“I’m not nervous at all,” I tell him. “I’m excited.”
The doors slide open and we step out. Jude stops in front of the Lettercat sign and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand.
“What was that about?” I ask, once he’s come back to me.
He smiles. “I’ll tell you later,” he says, kissing my hand before he lets it go. “I don’t want to be late for my first meeting with our new Head of Product.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” I tell him as I badge in. “I hear she can be very difficult.”