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Chapter Sixteen

A urora

“I don’t like any of them.” I scroll back to the first page of uniform designs. “They’re just lackluster. There’s nothing iconic or fun about any of these.” I glance over my shoulder at Tally, who is standing behind me. “What do you think?”

“I can’t disagree with you. I don’t know how they missed the mark so badly. These are unfortunate.”

“Take this one, for example,” I say, pointing at the design in the center of the screen. “Nothing about this pops. It’s completely generic.”

“It’s better than this one.” Tally motions toward the last one displayed on my computer screen. “I’m not sure where they were even going with this. If I were a child at a hockey game and someone ran up to me wearing this, it would’ve scared the bejesus out of me.”

“The one beside it is three strips of fabric. I don’t know what they’d charge for this, but if it’s over ten dollars, it’s too much.”

Tally sighs, moving around my desk and sitting across from me. She pulls her computer onto her lap and starts typing away.

“I’m just making some notes before I forget,” she says. “I’ll respond to their email with our comments and ask them to try again. I’ll ensure you’re cc’d.”

“Thank you. Maybe try emphasizing that we want something fresh and fun.”

“And family friendly.” She looks at me over the screen and grins. “Should I insist that they use a minimum of five strips of fabric?”

I laugh, switching from my email to my online calendar. “Now let’s review the audition schedule. You reserved the facilities for the dates in blue, correct?”

“Right. I have a tentative hold on the dates in yellow, too, just in case. It’s so hard to snag times. I figured it was better to have more and not need them than not have them and be screwed.”

“Absolutely. We’re announcing everything next week. Are we ready to go on that?”

Tally finishes her typing with a flourish.

“Yup. Ready to go. We have new Social accounts and an amazing new website to launch on Monday. I’ll have a few posts for you to approve in a day or two.

Derek was going to use Good Day’s research to help tailor the posts to our targeted demographic, but the report, as you know, is delayed. ”

“Okay. Applications open on Saturday, correct? And we’re doing that through a portal on the website?”

“Exactly. The tech team is adjusting the back end of the website, which I don’t fully understand, but they expect it to be completed by Wednesday.” She looks up. “Guess it should be done tomorrow.”

Bile creeps upmy throat as I think about Wednesday.

“You just turned a little green,” Tally says, confused.

“I’m fine. I just …” I sigh. “I have a date on Wednesday night at six with a guy I should never in a million years have agreed to see.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I hate myself, apparently.” I look at the ceiling. “We’re going to Caesar's at six.”

“That’s … an interesting choice.”

“Yeah. Let’s move this conversation along, please. I’m going to pretend this date isn’t happening until the very last minute.”

She side-eyes me like I might fall apart but does as requested. “Additionally, I reviewed your notes from last week on the audition process, and I’m not sure I fully understood them. Do you have a moment to go over it?”

“Of course.”

My email dings and a new message from Tally is at the top.

“Take a look at that,” she says. “I tried to organize it in the most logical way possible. Feel free to adjust it, obviously.”

I scan her notes. “Okay, let’s start day one with something fun.

Maybe Raptors trivia, just to break the ice.

Let’s do games while the interviews are happening, and let’s do those in groups of three.

That’ll give us insight into how they act in a group setting.

The games will single out who will partake in activities and who won’t. ”

“Oh, that’s smart.”

“I’ve done this before.” I smile. “Granted, I was on the other side of things, but the process is the process.”

“Do you want the choreography for day two to go to everyone on the first day? Or wait and see who gets cut and send it only to those who make it?”

“If they don’t make it to the second day, they don’t need the choreography. Let’s make sure someone tapes the routine, and we’ll send it via text or email to everyone we ask back for day two.”

“Got it.”

I look up at a knock on the door.

“Excuse me, ladies. Am I interrupting?” Tate grins from the doorway.

Does this man ever not look good?

Dark gray pants paired with a crisp white T-shirt make for a striking combination. The man does rock a good white shirt. A black blazer matches a black belt wrapped around his waist. Bright white sneakers tie the look together.

He looks like he walked straight off a runway.

He steps inside my office, and I’m immediately hit with a burst of his cologne. I don’t know whether he wore an extra spritz today, or if I’m just acutely aware of everything about him. Either way, the scent has my mouth watering.

“We were just making changes to the audition process for the promo team,” Tally says, looking up at him with stars in her eyes.

I don’t blame her. Everyone in the office reacts to him, albeit in different ways. Some women drool. Some men chase him like puppies. Others stand back in awe like they’re watching a movie. Porn, probably.

He does this simply by existing. What kind of magic is that?

Tate slides a hand in his pocket and casually leans against the door. “The promo team … is that the talent team you were discussing yesterday?”

“It’s tough to come up with a cute name when your mascot is a raptor,” I say, laughing. “We’re still throwing ideas around.”

“I’m 99 percent sure that my father chose the mascot,” Tate says. “That’s par for the course considering everything that man touched turned to shit.”

The office grows quiet, and I don’t know what to say. It’s never good to pile on when someone remarks negatively about their family. But the flash in his eyes when he mentioned his dad makes me curious.

“Aurora, if you don’t mind, I’m going to head back to my desk and get started on these replies,” Tally says.

“Great idea. If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will.” She grabs her computer and stands. “It was good seeing you, Mr. Brewer.”

He gives her a dazzling, panty-dropping smile. “You, too, Tally.”

She trips on a chair leg on her way out.

Tate shuts the door behind her.

“You wield that thing like a weapon,” I say, sitting back in my chair.

“What thing ?”

“That smile.”

He sits on the corner of my desk. “I’ve smiled at you several times, and you seem to be defending yourself just fine.”

If he only knew just how often I’ve gone to war with myself over his smile, among other things, he’d be surprised.

I look at him, smirking from his perch above me.

No, he wouldn’t.

I wondered how often we’d see each other during the normal course of the day.

He was nowhere to be found when I arrived at six thirty this morning.

I saw him briefly after lunch, but a little wave was our only form of connection.

A part of me feels relieved that I haven’t seen him a lot … and another part of me is disappointed.

“How has your day been?” he asks.

I glance around the mess on my desk. “Productive. One of my superpowers is being productive when I’m avoiding something.”

“Don’t you mean some one ?”

I grin. “Are you insinuating that I’m avoiding you?”

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“Not specifically,” I say.

“And to think that my goal has been trying to run into you all day,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “This doesn’t bother you, does it? Me being in your office? Because if it does, I’ll go.”

I wish I could say that it did, but it would be a lie.

Because every time someone has passed my doorway today, I’ve held my breath, hoping it was him.

And that is the problem. We get along so well.

If things were different, I can easily imagine being friends with Tate Brewer.

He’s fun, his sense of humor is on point, and his wit is perfection. He’s also smart, kind, and respectful.

Damn him.

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” I say softly.

He pushes off my desk. “So what are you making for dinner tonight?”

“That’s not at all random.”

“You said you like to cook, so I was wondering what you make on a random Tuesday night.”

“I have no clue. I haven’t been able to give it much thought. Probably whatever is in my fridge.”

He smiles. “I know this little place not too far from here where?—”

“Tate.”

“What?”

“No.”

He sighs, frowning. “You’ve single-handedly turned me down more than every other woman in my twenty-seven years combined.”

“You’re twenty-seven?” Oh God.

“Yeah.” His brows tug together. “What’s the big deal? How old did you think I was?”

“Honestly, I’ve intentionally not thought about it.”

“As in, you made a point to not think about it because you care or because you don’t care?”

I cover my face with my hands and release a long sigh.

“You realize I’m an adult, right?” he asks, grinning.

I drop my hands. “Yes, I realize that. That wasn’t my concern. My concern was the age gap between us and just how excessive it might be because I don’t really love feeling that much older than you.”

“You’re older than me?”

I flash him a look that earns me a mischievous grin. “You know damn good and well that I’m older than you.”

“You’re under the wrong assumption that I’ve given your age a lot of thought. I’d rather be thinking about doing very, very dirty things to that delectable body of yours and not two numbers denoting how many years you’ve walked on Earth. That’s far less interesting.”

My body reacts to him without my permission. Heat pools in my cheeks and my core, and my breaths begin to tremble. My heart pounds as all internal systems prepare for an encounter it’s not going to get.

“Look at you,” he says just loud enough for me to hear. “This is how I have to get the truth out of you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You may lie to me, but your body? It doesn’t, and it really likes me, Aurora.”

Hearing my name—my real name—slip past his lips in a sentence so heady rips down the shield I’ve been trying to hold steady.

I keep dancing around the truth, and all that’s getting me is peppered with questions.

I’m not sure if he’s seeing how much it’ll take to get me to crack, or maybe he likes watching me squirm.

Either way, if I level with him, perhaps we can find a way to work through this predicament we’ve found ourselves in.

“Okay, Mr. Brewer.” I look him in the eyes. “Let’s just put it all out on the table and get it over with.”

“Like we did the other night, or …”

God . I lick my bottom lip. “I find you insanely attractive.”

His eyes shift to my favorite emerald-green hue.

“I replay last weekend over and over in my head. And if things were different—if I were different, if we were different ages—I’d entertain you and your theatrics.

But things are not different, Tate. There are numerous reasons this can’t work, and to add to that, I now work for you.

It’s probably illegal for us to even be having this conversation right now. ”

He snorts. “You clearly haven’t met my family.

Three of my brothers married women they worked with, and my sister married her bodyguard.

I’m not sure if that means we work too much or what, but it does seem to work out for us.

” He laughs. “My point in telling you this is that I assure you there’s no handbook violation.

My brother Jason is too much of a rule follower.

He would’ve had that section removed before he touched his assistant. ”

I laugh at the tenderness with which he discusses his family.

I’ve wondered many times what it would be like to have a large family.

I often felt alone growing up. My parents were always at the church, working on sermons or leading a class.

They hauled me with them. So instead of growing up with siblings or even a large group of similarly aged kids, I grew up with older people who thought children should be seen and not heard.

For the briefest moment, I again imagine Tate as a father, and my heart doubles in size.

“Why won’t you give me a chance, Aurora?”

His features are smooth and sober. Long gone is the playfulness and mischief I’m used to seeing on his face. He’s serious, and that takes my breath away.

The least I can do is be honest with him.

“I’m too scared,” I say, shrugging like I just told him the sky was blue. I may look nonchalant, but my insides break open as I speak my truth aloud.

He stills. “You’re scared of me?”

“I’m scared of you. I’m scared of me. I’m scared of even considering falling for someone again. Not that that’s what you’re asking me to do, of course. I’m not implying that you’ve somehow fallen for me in such a short period because that would be ridiculous.”

“Maybe it would be,” he says, searching my eyes. “But wouldn’t it also be ridiculous to allow fear to hold you back from something that has the potential to be amazing?”

His words hit my heart, striking the middle of my wounds.

He’s right. Allowing fear to hold me back is ridiculous. But isn’t it equally unreasonable to jump into deep, dark waters without thinking it through?

“Why do you care so much, Tate? Isn’t this more trouble than it’s worth?”

I force a swallow. Aren’t I more trouble than I’m worth? I hate that thought, but it’s right there, festering inside me.

“You mean, aren’t you more trouble than you’re worth?”

I fill my lungs with air and hold it, feeling the burn of the expansion overtake the sting of embarrassment at being called out.

His phone rings, breaking the silence between us. His gaze lingers on me for a long moment before he pulls the device from his pocket.

“I need to take this,” he says, looking at the screen.

I can’t find my voice, so I just nod.

He slips out of the room, closing the door behind him.