Page 16

“I’m not …” I argue, then I stop in my tracks, catching sight of the tall figure sitting in the waiting area behind reception. A wash of heat runs down my arms. “Oh. Good morning, Mr. Harwood.”

Nick has his legs crossed, a tray of coffees perched on his knee. He’s grinning.

“Good morning, Ms. Hayes,” he says.

A beat passes in which we all stare at each other. Robin does an awkward spin in his seat, nearly knocking his mug of tea to the floor.

“Mr. Harwood’s here,” he says.

“Yes, thank you, Robin,” I reply.

Lena and Mason are standing stock-still, gaping at Nick, but Nick hasn’t taken his eyes off me yet. He’s wearing a different suit today, a tailored, gray number with a vest and a maroon tie. Sitting in our tiny waiting area, he looks like a prince in a commoner’s guest room.

“Um,” I manage. We’re still making eye contact. I lift my chin as he stands, casually slipping one hand in his pocket. “Welcome to Charters PR Management, Mr. Harwood. I trust you had a pleasant weekend.”

His face betrays nothing. “I did.”

“These are my co-workers, Lena Rathore and Mason Bescht.”

Lena moves to shake Nick’s hand. “It’s … it’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Harwood.”

Mason just stands there like he ran out of batteries. I consider kicking him in the calf, but luckily Nick offers him his hand next. That’s enough to bring him back to life.

“Very nice to meet you, Nick—I mean, Mr. Harwood,” Mason says, beaming. “You look just like your pictures.”

Nick smiles politely and holds up his tray of coffees. “I brought these to apologize for wasting Ms. Hayes’ time the other day. I got caught up working.”

“Did you find our office okay?” Lena asks, gesturing for Nick to follow her down the hallway. “I know Blackstone Center can be difficult to navigate …”

They go on, disappearing into the meeting room. Mason and I trail them, elbowing each other. I’m doing my best to fire arrows at him from my eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

“Oh my god,” he says with his hand clamped over his mouth, trying not to laugh. “You should have seen your face.”

“I’ll get you for this,” I whisper.

Around the table, Lena’s setting up our old, clunky projector. Nick sits with his legs crossed again, thumbs tapping on his phone screen. I shrug off my coat and slide into the seat next to him, trying to pretend like the last ten minutes—the lasttwo days—never happened.

My phone vibrates.

Nick

The whole world, huh?

I can feel his attention on me while I pull folders out of my work bag and arrange them in front of us. His scent is everywhere in this tiny room, hitting my senses like a battering ram.

Sienna

With all due respect, Mr. Harwood … piss off.

Nick snorts, pocketing his phone.

It’s going to be a long morning.

Two hours later, Nick bids us goodbye and vanishes behind the elevator doors, our revised plan tucked in a folder beneath his arm.

Mason, Lena, and I stand near reception, counting our breaths. Then, when we’re certain he’s gone, Lena whips around and shoves me on the shoulder, unbalancing me on my heels.

“H-hey!” I sputter.