Page 22 of Making It Burn

“Fair enough,” I said.

“See?We’re not so different, you and me.”

“We’re extremely different.”

“Are we?”He leaned forward, elbows on my desk, and suddenly the space between us felt tiny.“We’re both workaholics and perfectionists.And I bet we both feel we have something to prove.Plus, we’re both sitting in this office at eight o’clock at night instead of having lives.”

“I have a life.”

“Do you?”

The question shouldn’t have stung, but it did.He was right.Outside of work and the clinic, what did I have?A sterile apartment I barely spent time in.A handful of acquaintances at the gym.And I occasionally played tennis with people whose last names I couldn’t remember.

“I have a very fulfilling life,” I said, but even I didn’t believe it.

Beau’s expression softened.“Mason—”

“We should get back to work.”I stood abruptly, carrying my empty container to the small trash can by the door.“We still need to finalize the timeline for the merger approval process.”

For a moment, I thought he was going to push.But he just nodded and pulled his laptop toward him.“Okay.Let’s do it.”

We worked for another two hours, reviewing documents and building out the case strategy.And despite everything—despite the history between us, despite the way my body was hyperaware of every time he shifted in his chair or leaned close to point at something on my screen—it worked.We worked.

Beau would think of something I’d missed, and I’d catch an error in his logic.We’d argue about the best approach, and somehow we’d end up with something better than either of us would’ve created alone.

It was infuriating.

It was also exhilarating.

Around ten, Beau stood and stretched, his sweater riding up just enough that I glimpsed a patch of skin above his belt.I looked away immediately, focusing on my laptop screen.

“I should head out,” he said.“Got a big day tomorrow.Moving into the new place.”

“The condo in Shockoe Bottom?”

“Yeah.Finally escaping my parents’ arctic tundra.”He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair.“Thanks for dinner.And for, you know, talking.About genuine stuff.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

He was standing close again—too close.I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the slight stubble along his jaw, the way his lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

My gaze dropped to his mouth without permission.

Don’t.

But I couldn’t look away.Couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to close the distance between us, to find out if he kissed the way he argued—with everything he had.

“Mason?”

I blinked, forcing myself to meet his eyes.“What?”

“You okay?”

“Fine.Just tired.”

He studied me for a moment longer, and I had the horrible feeling he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.But he just nodded and headed for the door.