Page 18 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

She just gives a little shrug and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Well,” she says into the awkward silence. She leans down and switches out the trash can liner, tying the old one and holding it up. “Duty calls.” Then she turns and heads toward my office door.

She’s almost there when I find myself speaking again.

“Wait,” I say. I force myself away from thoughts of Maura and instead turn my attention to the memo I need to send.

Rodney’s words are springing to mind—the way he called Juliet kindhearted.

So when she stops and looks over her shoulder at me, her brows raised in question, I clear my throat.

“Tell me what’s wrong with this,” I say, nodding at my computer screen.

“The email?” she says in surprise.

“Yes.”

Her shoulders twitch into another shrug. “Read it out loud? ”

I clear my throat again, because somehow last time did nothing.

“ Employees—it has come to my attention that some of you are taking longer lunch breaks than appropriate. Colorado state law mandates thirty minutes of time, while you are already being given forty-five. Kindly keep your break at forty-five minutes or less. Regards, Luca Slater .” I look up at her. “I don’t see how that’s rude.”

“It could be worse,” she concedes, returning to me, her strawberry scent lingering in the air between us. “But it’s not going to engender any affection. You need to acknowledge your employees’ feelings. And don’t demand things; ask . They’ll still understand that you’re setting rules.”

“Will they?” I say skeptically.

“Yes,” she says, and although my gaze is still on the screen in front of us, I can hear her rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so accusatory, either. Here, try this.”

When she looks at me expectantly, I put my hands on the keyboard, ready to type, and she nods.

“Dear employees—it has come to my attention that lunch breaks lately have been longer than the prescribed forty-five minutes. While I understand that work can be tiring, it’s important to stick to our schedule so we can go home on time at the end of the day.

Please let me know if you would rather stay later in the evening, and we can work something out.

Thanks for your hard work. Regards, Luca Slater. ”

I blink up at her. “No one is going to want to stay later in the evenings.”

Her eyes sparkle with something like laughter. “Then they’d better get their work done during the day, hmm?”

It’s…a good idea. Excellent, even.

“It doesn’t sound like me at all,” I say .

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She raises her brows. “Are you going to use it?”

I just grunt, but I already know this is the email I’m going to send.

And somehow she can tell. “In that case,” she says, her gaze brightening even further. She clasps her hands behind her back, looking at me with a little smile on her face. “I have a proposition.”

I raise one brow at her, and she shakes her head.

“Nothing crazy. I just think—” She breaks off, takes a deep breath like she’s steeling herself, and then goes on. “I think we should officially be friends.”

I’m not sure why this surprises me so much. “I—friends? Why?” It’s not my finest moment.

But her smile just breaks free into something brighter. “Because I like you. So I want to be friends.”

“You helped me with one email. That doesn’t form a magical bond,” I point out.

“But we’ve been friendly here, right?” she says. “And I did help you, and even though I know you’ll deny it”—her gaze sharpens into something keen, discerning—“you helped me with the clothes. So I think we can be friends. I want to be friends.”

“Even though I’m mean? ” I say drily.

She shrugs. “Maybe I’m a masochist.”

And although I try desperately, I can’t quite stop the twitch of my lips. “Apparently.”

“Boo,” she says as her smile furrows into a frown. “Come on. Friends.” Then she holds out her hand for me to shake.

And there’s nothing else I can do. So I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again. “If I agree to be your friend…” I trail off, letting my gaze da rt over her face, full of hope now, bright and starry-eyed. “If I agree to be your friend, will you stop looking at me like that?”

Her expression fades into something genuinely curious. “How do I look at you?” she says with a tilt of her head—like she doesn’t know. Like she truly doesn’t realize the way she looks at me.

With hearts in her eyes. That’s how she looks at me—like I’m everything she’s ever wanted.

“Never mind,” I say, because I can’t bring myself to explain. Not when I’m the one she’s looking at. So I push the words out: “Sure. Call us friends, if you want.”

“And you’ll call us friends too?” she says, extending her hand further.

I sigh, taking her hand, engulfing it in mine. “Yes,” I say. “I’ll call us friends too.”

“Excellent!” she says with the most brilliant smile I’ve seen yet. She lets go of my grip and twirls around, trash bag swinging. “I’ll get back to work, then.”

“One last thing,” I say, my eyes already back on the screen. I didn’t bring it up earlier, but since she’s on her way out, I need to ask. “Who’s your supervisor?”

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Quincey. Quincey Brewer.” She pauses and then goes on, “He pursued me in high school, and I was never interested. It’s just a little awkward now. But that’s all.”

I hum, tucking the name away in my mind. I wave at the door, and she nods before slipping out of the office.

The words were offhand, but she said he was gross . So I’ll keep an eye on Quincey Brewer—just to be safe. And, I guess…

I’ll try to make peace with the fact that Juliet Marigold will now be cleaning my office every day.