Page 5 of A Secret Escape
I stare at the Camera icon on my Teams app, my cursor hovering over it like I’m about to press a detonator.
I’ve already been up to the fifth floor twice today – once with an excuse that I was looking for Stephen, and the second time I admitted I was looking for Marcus because I have an actual work question I need to ask him.
Reid, one of the Project Managers who works beside him, mentioned he was working from home and that I could call him on Teams.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I click the call button and immediately regret it. I frantically smooth my hair and adjust my blouse as the dial tone rings through my headset. Good thing the headphones look cute.
One ring. Two rings. I consider hanging up.
Three rings –
“Lila, hey.” Marcus Andersson’s face appears on my screen, and I nearly choke on my own breath.
He’s not wearing a suit. Not even a formal shirt.
He’s in a plain black t-shirt that somehow makes his shoulders look broader than ever.
His hair is more tousled than slicked back, soft and slightly unruly, and he’s wearing glasses.
Square frames that somehow make his eyes look even more intense than usual.
Since when does he wear glasses?
My brain stops working, unable to form a single word .
“Sorry, I- um,” I say, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “Reid mentioned you were working from home and -”
“Yea, sorry, I don’t usually like to, but my boiler’s being replaced. I should have mentioned it in the meeting yesterday. What’s up?”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “I just had a quick question about the Ridgeway Wines brief.” I take a breath as he smiles, begging my cheeks not to go pink.
“I wasn’t sure whether you wanted us to stick with the mood board you sent last week or pivot to something more lifestyle focused?
The client’s last e-mail was a little vague. ”
“Good question,” he says, leaning back and swivelling in his chair. The fabric of his shirt stretches just slightly over his chest in a way that is completely unfair.
“I believe they’re leaning more lifestyle now,” he says. “Something looser, more aspirational. Sorry, I should have sent a follow-up note after the call.”
“No worries,” I say. “Just wanted to check before I went too far down the wrong path.”
A pause lingers. Not necessarily an awkward one – just quiet. He gives me a small, thoughtful smile.
“Good thing you checked,” he says. “I like that about you. You don’t just guess – you ask.”
My brain trips over itself.
Somehow, I manage a smile. “Well… I like to be sure.”
“You’re doing a great job.” His eyes flicker, just for a second, like he’s let his guard down.
I need to hang up. End the call. Escape before I say something embarrassing .
“Thanks. Well, that’s it then, I guess. Thanks again,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile as I scramble for the ‘Leave Call’ button like it’s an ejector seat.
“Anytime,” he says, still smiling as the call ends and the screen goes back to white.
I slump in my chair and let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.
I am in so much trouble.