Page 37 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

“No touching,” I say through gritted teeth. “None. In addition, our conversations will remain work-related.”

“Definitely,” she says, looking serious as she nods again. “I can definitely do that.”

Yet as she looks up at me, somehow I know there’s a but coming.

And she doesn’t make it two seconds.

“But—” she begins, and I pull my glasses off, scrubbing my hand over my face with a groan.

“But we are friends, you know?” she goes on. “So I’ll talk about work stuff in a friendly way . That’s okay, right?”

One conversation should not be this tiring. I sigh. “Yes. That’s fine. You’re not a robot.”

“Perfect,” she says happily. “And what about smiling? Am I allowed to smile at you?”

I blink at her, my glasses still hooked over my finger. “Yes…? Why wouldn’t you be allowed to smile?”

“Because,” she says, dead serious now. “As we’ve discussed, I’m very beautiful. But you’re unsure if you want to fall in love with me. So I’m not sure where we stand on smiles?—”

“Out,” I say, stepping to the side and yanking the door open. I point to the hallway outside. “Go. Out.”

“Don’t we have other things to discuss?” she says.

“No.”

“Nothing else? Because I have other questions,” she says as I direct her firmly through the door. “What if you have food on your lips but your hands are full so you can’t wipe the food off yourself? Am I allowed to touch your lips?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and continue nudging her; she’s putting up a lot of resistance for someone in heels.

She continues talking to me over her shoulder, her words coming faster. “Or what if I trip and stumble into your chest?—”

“No stumbling,” I say. “No more questions.” And I can’t tell if I want to laugh or tear my hair out or just—just?—

Kiss her again .

With one last push, I get her out into the hall, where she turns to face me.

“What about crying?” she says. This question is less playful. “I know you don’t like it. Am I allowed to cry?”

I pause. “Always,” I say, my voice hoarse. “But you’ll be required to tell me exactly why you’re crying.”

Her gaze darts over my face as another smile blooms over her lips—a small, warm smile, one that lights her eyes.

“Deal.”

I nod. “Go,” I say gruffly. Then I close the door in her face.

Which is stupid, obviously. I have nothing to do in an empty conference room. After one awkward second, I open the door again to reveal her waiting patiently.

“I need my vacuum,” she says, pointing into the room behind me.

I grunt as embarrassment creeps up my neck. “And I need to go back to work.”

I know I’m not imagining the little smile of amusement curling at the corners of her lips.

“Of course,” she says. “See you later, boss.”

I almost open a new conversation at this remark, one centered around appropriate ways to address each other, but then I decide I don’t have the bandwidth for that talk at the moment. So I stride down the hallway instead, a headache in my temples, a reluctant laugh still trapped in my throat?—

And I can still smell strawberry shortcake when I get back to my office.

Rodney arrives fifteen minutes later. I’m so caught up in thought that I don’t even notice him approach; I startle violently when he knocks on the door, the blinds rattling, and then enters before I’ve waved him in.

“You’re woolgathering this morning,” he says, his eyes darting critically over me.

I sigh. “I really am.”

“Well?” he says, settling himself on the couch. His wiry brows are furrowed, but beneath his grouchy expression I see genuine concern, too. “Out with it, then.”

“You first.” I’m buying time.

He gives a jerky shrug of his shoulders. “Fine. Once Miss Marigold becomes your assistant, I’ll be asking her for regular reports on your behavior.”

I blink at him. “What—like an actual babysitter?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “I expect noticeable changes, Luca.”

“Couldn’t you?—”

“No,” he barks. “I shouldn’t have had to hire her at all. So make it work. I’m doing what I can.”

I don’t know what I expected Rod to say, but it wasn’t this. I slump back in my chair and take my glasses off, running my hand down my face.

I kissed Juliet Marigold. And now she’ll be reporting on me? Is this really necessary?

“Why is this so important to you?” I finally say.

Rod’s stubborn jaw sets firmly, his mouth thinning into a tight line.

“Why?” I ask again, exasperated now. “I’ll do better, all right? Do I really need someone watching my every?—”

“Because I want you to take over the company!”

The words burst out of Rodney’s mouth like a dropping bomb, abrupt and loud and full of irritation, and silence falls immediately. For three eternal seconds, all I can do is stare at him, at his furrowed brow and curled frown.

When I finally find my voice again, my response is not impressive.

“ What? ”

“Oh, stop it,” Rodney snaps at me, jerking his gaze away from mine. He shifts in his seat as his frown deepens. “You knew this was a possibility. Don’t act like this is the first you’re hearing?—”

“That was always theoretical,” I breathe, my eyes so wide they might pop. “This—we never—” I snap my jaw shut, trying to organize my swirling thoughts. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

“No,” he says, and relief courses through me. “But I’m no spring chicken. So I can either leave the company to you, or I can leave it to someone like Fuller. Which do you think I prefer?”

Me. Of course he’ll always prefer me, because I’m the one person he truly trusts here. And he’s not wrong to trust me; I’ll do whatever I can for him.

But this…

“I guess I always thought about this situation in a more abstract way,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Something that might happen someday, in a very distant future.”

“Well, start thinking differently,” he says. “You’re my senior vice president.”

I glance quickly at the wall of windows and my closed door, but it’s stupid; of course no one can hear us.

I don’t know why I haven’t told anyone here my position in the company. It’s just one more layer of complexity I haven’t wanted to add to an already iffy situation.

“I need to know that you can play ball, kid,” Rod goes on, his voice still gruff but quieter now. “You do things your own way, and that’s fine. But I need to know that you can work well with other people when it’s necessary. You’re not a teenager anymore. This is a skill you need to have.”

And it’s possible that I’ve never felt as dumb, as ashamed, as I do right now—hearing this man I admire tell me I need to grow up, when I’m already in my thirties.

Crap.

“Just think about it,” he grunts, pulling my attention away from my sinking heart. Then he juts his chin at me. “Now tell me—what’s going on with you?”

I clear my throat, my hands flexing on the arms of my chair. Then I make myself speak. “I kissed her. Juliet.”

After the conversation we’ve just had, it’s a relief to talk about something different.

And if I weren’t so nervous, so tangled up in feelings that still don’t make sense, I’d laugh at Rodney’s response.

I don’t remember the last time I saw shock like this on his face.

His eyes go comically wide, his jowls wobbling as his jaw drops.

So I nod. I can feel the heat rising in my neck, even causing my ears to burn, and my voice is still gruff as I go on.

“We kissed. And while we don’t currently have plans to enter into a romantic relationship, she will be starting as my assistant on Monday.

” I pause. “Which is why I’m informing you of this development, of course. ”

Rodney has found his composure once more; he leans forward, his back stooped as he narrows his eyes on me. “What do you mean, you have no plans to enter a relationship? Why not?”

My grip on the handles of my chair loosens as I blink at him. Why does he sound angry ?

“Because it would be completely inappropriate,” I say, frowning at him.

“Technically, she won’t report to you,” he says, his lips tugging down further. “She won’t be in your chain of command. She’ll be in mine.”

I try again. “Fine. But she and I?—”

“Oh, shut up,” Rod snaps. He slumps back on the couch, looking disgusted. “Date that girl. Marry her. Be like everyone else. Stop wallowing.”

Now it’s my jaw that drops. I can’t even find words to say—not as his words swirl around in my brain, blazing trails everywhere they go.

“Shut your mouth,” he snaps at me when I’ve been gaping for several seconds. “You look like a fish.”

I shut my mouth. “I’m not going to—I can’t?—”

“I don’t see why not,” Rod cuts in.

“So many reasons.” My brain is finally catching up. “Our ages, for one. Our jobs. Her—” I falter and try again. “My?—”

“Excuses,” Rod says, waving one arthritic hand. “Nothing but excuses. You’re running scared.” He raises his bushy brow at me, waiting for me to disagree, but I don’t.

I’m not sure I can.

But admitting I’m scared doesn’t magically make the fear go away.

A sigh shudders out of me as I lean back in my chair.

I pull my glasses off, because I’m starting to get a headache; then I speak again.

“She’s perfect, Rodney. She’s—” I swallow, thinking of my attempts to set boundaries in the conference room earlier—thinking too of the conversation we had after we kissed.

“She’s a pain in the butt. But she’s also perfect. ”

My mind, most unhelpfully, starts filling in other adjectives. She’s strong, tenacious, playful, dignified. She’s infinitely positive. She fights her own demons—something horribly painful jabs at my insides remembering the things she told me—and she does it with grace, and—and?—

And good grief. The realization blooms with disbelief in my chest.

I think I might like her.

I shake my head and speak. “She should be with some perfect suburban man, living in a house with a white picket fence.”

“So buy a house with a fence,” Rodney barks at me. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get a move on.” His eyes narrow on me, and a shiver of foreboding trickles down my spine—because somehow I know that his next words are going to hurt.

I also know that because he’s Rodney, he’s going to say them anyway.

“You didn’t kill that girl,” he says. He doesn’t use a gentle voice; he doesn’t soften the blow. “And what’s more, you did the right thing. Marrying her would have been a mistake, unless a lot of things had changed and both of you had healed. You know that as well as I do.”

I bristle, a restless energy coursing through me as I fight the desire to run from this conversation. The feeling I woke up without is returning, an ugly, heavy fog in my lungs that makes it hard to breathe.

“And if she decided to end her own life”—my eyes widen, my heart stilling in my chest as he puts into words my deepest, darkest fears—“that was her choice. You did not make her do that.”

I try to say his name, to tell him to stop, tell him I don’t want to hear any more, but the words are stuck in my throat .

“She made her choices, whatever they were,” Rod goes on.

His voice has finally changed, less abrasive now.

“You’re not responsible for what she did—whatever it was.

And drowning yourself for the rest of your life won’t change anything.

She’s gone, Luca.” He pauses as a flash of sympathy glitters in his eyes.

“Let her stay gone. Remember her if you want. Respect her memory. But don’t trail mud over the rest of your life every time you visit Maura’s grave. ”

It’s a vivid mental image, one that makes me shudder—myself, stomping muddy footprints everywhere I go, in my home and at work and all the places in between, too.

I don’t like mud. Have I been wallowing in it?

“I’ll think about it,” I say heavily, words that come out distracted but sincere.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Rod replies, pushing himself back off the couch. “I know it’s hard for you to use your brain.”

I just roll my eyes.

“Get your act together,” he says as he shuffles out of the office, and then he pauses. “Your birthday’s next week. Want anything?”

“Not a thing,” I say, like I do every year.

He shrugs his stooped shoulders. “Fine. You’re on your own, then, kid—you and Miss Juliet Marigold.”