Page 82 of Written By a Woman

Signe’s eyes met mine for a moment before they dropped to my lips as she parted her own, “All the time.”

“All the time,” I agreed with her.

We stood there, the murmurs of distant voices of other Sun Steer employees echoing around us as we took the other in. I wondered how I could go about my day without wanting to touch her. To feel her skin under my hands. To pull those desperate sounds from her lips that haunted me in the best possible way.

“Come to dinner with me,” I tried not to visibly wince at my choice of words, making my request sound like a demand. I wanted it to be Signe’s choice, not like I was pressuring her to do so.

Signe grinned, gnawing on her plump bottom lip I could still remember the taste of as she eyed me up and down, “I’m free tomorrow night?” was her reply.

I smiled in relief; glad she wasn’t thrown by my over-eager wording.

“I can pick you up at seven?” I questioned, my eyes flicking up to some sales reps behind her that were making their way toward the managerial office wing.

“That sounds nice,” Signe smiled at me, before pulling the iPad away from her chest and glancing down at it, “I should get this over to Jacqueline before I forget.”

I nodded, shoving my hands in the pockets of my slacks because it took every muscle in my body not to grab her by the shoulders, shove her against the wall I was leaning on, and taste her lips again.

“Have a good day, Ms. Lange,” I stood straight as she started to walk away. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes taking their fill as they dragged up and down my body, before grinning to herself and facing forward. Turning her back to me, she knocked on Jacqueline’s office door.

I was wrecked for this woman.

No matter what happened in my workday, if I stepped down as CTO tomorrow or a month from now, I only had one objective in my mind.

Figuring out how to get my lips on Signe’s again as fast as humanly possible.

* * *

SIGNE

The amount of effort it took for me to smile normally at the camera was embarrassing.

I sat in my little studio apartment, on a video call with my agent and editor, getting ready to tell them why I called this random meeting.

“So,” I gulped, before wincing the slightest bit and deciding to rip the band-aid off, “I think we should change some things about Zayne and his character.” I nodded once, and flipped through my notebook as if this was a super serious decision I had planned. And not a decision I made because I crossed an ethical boundary by writing fanfic of a very real person, but I also made out with him.

And was currently “exploring things” with him.

Changes had to be made.

“What kinds of things?” Michelle asked.

“Um,”everything? “His name, for starters.” It was a change I should have made a long time ago. Except I sucked at naming characters in my books. Names were the bane of my existence. I usually just googled a long list of names and slapped one on that didn’t remind me of anyone I hated.

Except for Zayne.

Because it sounded like Zaid.

I was such a loser.

“This again? To what?”

“Um…well…” I inhaled through my nose, “I am wondering if we should change Zayne’s background a bit, too.”

Michelle and Layla stared at me in silence for a moment before Layla chimed in, “Like, his trauma?”

“No, like,” I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m thinking I want to write a male lead with a different ethnic background. Maybe someone Eastern European—oh, south Asian would be good, too.”

They both just stared at me.