Page 62 of Brooklynaire

Running out of ideas, I head to my Brooklyn office. Since it’s past eight, I’m surprised to see a light burning in the corporate offices. My sneakers are quiet on the shiny wooden floors, so I can’t be heard as I approach. And then I find what I’m looking for. Rebecca is in my private office, standing at the bookcase, a feather duster in her hand. She’s rearranging my collection of autographed, game-winning pucks and humming toherself.

I don’t recognize the song, but I have to stop for a second just to admire her. Her face is calm but focused on her work. I know every one of her facial expressions: the face she makes when a caller has been rude to her. And the look of joy she gets when she laughs—chin up, eyesbright.

But now I also know how she looks when she’s turned on and wants my hands on her body. And I may never be the same. Tonight she’s wearing tight jeans that show off her delectable butt, and unfortunately now I know exactly how good it feels in myhands…

Rebecca whirls around, emitting a squeal of surprise. I’ve startled her. Badly. She drops the feather duster, and when she bends down to pick it up, I see her sway justslightly.

A split second later I’m there, a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. I can’t helpmyself.

She stands slowly, eyes wide. We’re too close together. I can smell her perfume, and it makes me want to lean in and kiss herneck.

“Hi,” I say instead. She has that deer-in-the-headlightslook.

Wonderful.

“What are you doing here on a Monday night?” she asks,frowning.

“I was going to ask you the same thing, since you aren’t cleared to come back to workyet.”

She gives me a grumpy face. “I can’t do screen work, but I can stress-clean. I’m not breaking anyrules.”

“Stress-clean? Just a wild guess here. But am I the cause of yourstress?”

She gives me a guilty littleshrug.

Fuck. This isn’t how I wanted things to go between us. (Said the idiot who slept with his friend and coworker.) I take a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to question your judgment. Can we talk for asecond?”

“Do we have to?” she asksquietly.

“Yeah,” I whisper. There’s a long beat where we’re just staring into each other’s eyes. And immediately I realize two things. 1. I regret nothing. In fact, I’d like to take her home with me right now, lock my bedroom door, and spend a lot of time remembering all the sexy noises she makes when she comes. 2. She’s not on the same page. Her expression is closed off.Unreadable.

Fuck.

“You’re not answering my calls, Bec,” I point out. “Talk tome.”

She turns and sits down on the love seat in my office. Her body language is stiff, as if she’s about to hear a sermon inchurch.

I sit down beside her, taking care to leave space betweenus.

“How did you find me?” she asks, picking at afingernail.

“Since you’re not taking my calls…” I nudge her with my knee with my own. “First I went to yourapartment.”

“My sister ratted meout?”

“Nope. But she was awfullychatty.”

Rebeccagroans.

“Yeah. No boundaries on Missy. But that’s not what’s bothering you. Can you tell me what’s the matter? I can take it. Whatever it is.”Even if I don’t likeit.

“I just can’t believe…” She puts her hands on her knees and faces me. Her blue eyes are tentative. “I becamethatwoman.”

“Whatwoman?”

“The one who sleeps with herboss.”

Ouch. I try a joke. “Really? You slept with HughMajor?”