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“Did you see the way he handled that total dickhead at the Meridian meeting last week?” Angela chimes up.
“He’s always prepared,” Carter adds, pausing as our leisurely steps had drawn us to a large canvas featuring a pair of hands, one reaching out but slightly hesitant, the other gently grasping a pinkish-purple flower, the longing between them almost tangible.
“Apparently, Harrison’s been shadowing him lately, and he was saying that Marcus researches every single objection that could possibly come up and has counter-arguments ready,” Carter says.
My eyes drift across the gallery to where Marcus stands, effortlessly charming the same group of potential clients. The soft lighting catches the angles of his face as he explains something that has his small audience captivated.
His eyes glance in our direction, meeting mine for a fraction of a heartbeat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he reverts his attention back to his audience.
“He certainly knows how to command a room,” I murmur, not entirely realising I had spoken aloud until I notice the silence from my friends and glance at them, only to catch them exchanging a look that’s far too knowing.
“Interesting,” Carter says, turning around to face me and Angela.
I can feel a rush of heat spreading up my neck. “What?”
“Oh nothing,” Carter says. “Just the way your face turns a vibrant shade of red every time his name is mentioned.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, turning toward a nearby sculpture to hide my face. It’s a twisted metal piece that probably represents something profound, but right now is just a convenient distraction.
“You know, now that I think about it,” Angela adds, her voice teasing and bright, “you did volunteer rather quickly to reorganise the supply closet the other day.”
“It needed to be done!” I protest, turning back to face her. “Have youtriedfinding a fresh notebook in there? I tried to get a folder out last week and a box fell and nearly killed me!”
“Sure,” she says. “And it had nothing to do with the fact that the supply closet is just a few feet away from his desk?”
I take a larger sip of wine than intended, nearly choking on it. “I just wanted to organise it,” I say.
“Just like youwantedto sit through that entire Teams call about analytics becausehewas leading it, not taking your eyes off the screen for a second?” Carter asks.
“I was learning!” I insist, feeling my cheeks burning brighter by the second.
“Oh! And remember when you spilled coffee on yourself when he complimented your market analysis for Sunrise Smoothies?” Angela laughs behind her wine glass. “I’ve never seen anyone blushthatshade of crimson.”
“The coffee was hot, and it was embarrassing!” I hiss.
“Not as hot as you think Marcus is,” Carter whispers dramatically.
My jaw drops as I give him a playful shove, but why can’t I do anything about this damn smile trying to take control of my face?
“Babe, you practically glow when he walks into a room. Just admit it. Youlovehim,” Angela says.
“I hate you both,” I say, burying my face in my hands as I try not to laugh, which is damn near impossible with the two of them.
“No, you love us!” Angela says.
“And apparently, you love Mr. Andersson too!” Carter chimes.
I burst out laughing, swatting him as hard as I can on the arm. “I don’t…lovehim,” I hiss, glancing over to make sure he’s not close enough to hear. “I just… appreciate his creative capabilities,” I force myself to say as professionally as I can.
Carter scoffs. “And his laugh.”
“And the way his shirt clings to those arms!” Angela adds, whipping her head round to look at him. “Even I can’t help but admire that!”
“And his voice,” Carter adds. “That gravelly thing he does when he’s mid-pitch. Ugh. Even I’d go gay for that.”
“Stop it, stop it,stop it!” I whine, but the stupid smile has well and truly taken over my face as my skin flushes hotter by the second.
That gravelly voice reallydoesget me all hot and bothered. And the shirt he’s wearing tonight is…