Page 55 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Sophia

My days began to fall into a comfortable pattern. I gleefully threw myself into work. Andi’s confidence in me fueled my own, and every manuscript I reviewed felt like a chance to prove myself.

Andi and I clicked instantly. We’d spend our lunches together, chatting about books and life. Last Friday, we even ate a Titanic-themed sushi dinner at Elijah’s together.

Andi and Ned continuously clashed while Susan worked to keep the peace. Surprisingly, Corbin stuck around my entire first week, and strolled in again on Monday. He stayed tucked away in his office. If he spoke to anyone, it was Andi.

I decided to swing by Lana’s shop on my way in on Wednesday, juggling a tray of coffees to drop off at everyone’s desk. It was a subtle way to build goodwill.

Ned practically trapped me in his office with small talk so bad it bordered on painful, but I managed to excuse myself with a polite smile and headed for Corbin’s door—the one that had remained firmly shut, a silent, unapproachable barrier.

I paused outside, balancing his coffee in one hand, my knuckles hovering over the polished wood.

Finally, I found my resolve and knocked.

“Come in,” his gruff voice called from inside.

Steeling myself, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Papers and files were neatly stacked on the desk, but the faint scent of leather and the cedar notes of Corbin filled the space.

Corbin looked up from his laptop, his sharp eyes locking onto mine, and for a second, I forgot why I was there .

“I brought coffee.” My voice cracked slightly as I set the cup on his desk.

“From Lana’s?” His expression softened.

“Of course. She remembered your drink, half-sweet maple bourbon cappuccino.”

He smirked, the slightest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Thanks.”

I lingered for a moment too long, the silence between us pressing against my skin.

“Anything else?” he asked, his voice casual, dismissive.

“Nope, that’s all.” I awkwardly tapped my fingers on his desk and slipped out of his office, shutting the door behind me.

My heart raced the whole way back to my desk.

By the end of my second week, I had begun to settle into this new life. The office was quiet and still, like the cold December air had stiffened the pace.

Today, no amount of tea or coffee seemed to chase away the chill inside me. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, I stood at the coffee station, fumbling around for tea bags. My fingers brushed over packets of sugar and creamer as I searched absentmindedly.

A cough sounded behind me.

I froze, nervous energy zapped through me. Turning slowly, I found myself face-to-face—or rather, face-to-chest—with Corbin.

He was so close that I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, smell the sweet citrus as it danced in my nose.

My throat dried instantly.

“Excuse me,” he thrummed, his voice low and smooth.

I shuffled to the side, my heart racing as he reached past me, his arm brushing mine.

The contact was brief—innocent by anyone’s standards—but it set every nerve ending in my body on edge.

His hand hovered near mine for a split second, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin, and then he plucked a packet of sugar from the tray.

“You drink tea?” he asked, glancing down at the mug in my hand with the paper tag hanging from a string draped over the side .

I fumbled for words, my cheeks heating as I tried to keep my composure. “I, uh, already maxed out my coffee quota for the day. Tea seemed safer.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “Safe. That’s a good choice.” The way he said it made the word feel anything but.

“A little late in the day for you to be drinking coffee,” I said, nodding to the steaming cup in his hand. “Big night tonight?”

I knew he was heading back to New York for the weekend. What I didn’t know was when he’d be coming back to Misty Springs again. I had already seen him more than I expected to.

According to Andi—and Corbin—he wouldn’t be spending much time here, especially not as the year ended—too many important board meetings and “societal posturing disguised as holiday parties.”

“Well, yes. That, and the fact that I didn’t have a gorgeous brunette stop by my office this morning to bring me a cup—has left me wanting,” he murmured deeply, leaning in close.

A spark lit beneath my skin. My gaze fell to his mouth, then to the smoldering embers flickering behind his whiskey-colored eyes.

“Did you like it when this gorgeous brunette gave you coffee, Mr. Buescher?”

The fire in his eyes raged, but my gaze didn’t falter.

The countertop was at my back, his hard body inches away—close enough for me to feel the tingly closeness of his proximity.

Flirting with Corbin was dangerous—a reckless indulgence I knew I should avoid.

“I liked a lot of things this gorgeous brunette gave me,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to my ear.

Liquid heat rushed low in my belly. My hips rolled forward, barely grazing his thigh underneath the expensive suit he wore. I lifted my fingers, aching to trail them along the firm muscle of his chest where it clung to his soft shirt.

The sharp click of Andi’s heels broke the moment, and I straightened, fisting my fingers at my side as Corbin took a casual step back.

“Good, there you are,” Andi said, breezing into the room, oblivious to the static still crackling in the air. “Want to catch up before you leave?” she asked, glancing at Corbin .

“Sure. Let’s go to my office,” he replied, lifting his coffee cup to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip.

I watched them walk away, my knees weak as the tension ebbed, leaving me to melt into a figurative puddle by the coffee pot.

***

Later that evening, I was at Boomer’s, tying on my apron and falling into the familiar rhythm of weekend shifts.

Despite my new job, I couldn’t let this one go just yet. I told myself only a few more weekends—just enough to pad my savings for a down payment on a car.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I froze when I saw Corbin’s name flash on the screen.

Corbin: At Lucali’s tonight. I took your advice and ordered something different this time.

A smile tugged at my lips. Lucali’s—the restaurant he and I ate at when I spent the night with him in New York. I gave him grief for being there dozens of times and always ordering the same thing off the menu.

Me: I loved that place. Best risotto I’ve ever had.

His reply came almost immediately.

Corbin: Me too. It’s been promoted to my first favorite restaurant.

I saw three dots appear and then disappear in rapid succession. I watched with quiet anticipation, curious about what words he was typing and deleting on his end.

Corbin: And I was right. Every time the elevator opens to my apartment, it’s… disappointing.

An unbridled smile formed on my face, recalling what he said while we were getting dressed that morning: “You realize now, every time I come up that elevator, I’m going to imagine that it’ll open up to you topless.

Before I could type a reply, my cell phone screen went black. A byproduct of its advanced age and the absolute abuse I put it through by dropping it, smothering it in strangers’ coffee, and never installing updates.

As a customer flagged me down, I shoved my phone back into my pocket. My gut sank as I considered the possibility of needing to buy a new one, but then I remembered that I could actually afford a new one.

My walk to the customer had a little more bounce to it than usual.

***

Monday arrived too quickly, pulling me back into the hum of office life.

The morning was quiet. Corbin wasn’t here, and despite my desperate desire to know if he was coming to Misty Springs this week, I didn’t have the opportunity to ask anyone without feeling like I sounded fifty shades of desperate.

We had a group meeting in the common area in the afternoon, and I had just settled into my seat when the heavy door of the lobby creaked open, answering my question.

All eyes turned toward Corbin as he let the door slam loudly behind him.

His gaze addressed the rest of the group huddled around the table before landing on me, curious and heavy. The air pressed in around me, filling with the presence of him.

“Mr. Buescher,” Andi said, her tone bristling. “We weren’t expecting you.”

Corbin smoothed his wool coat as he strode toward his office. “Something came up.”

I watched Andi’s expression sharpen toward Corbin before turning back to the group.

“Okay, let’s just get started,” Andi said, flustered.

Moments later, Corbin came back into the room and sat down at the table with us.

Once again, Andi paused to glare at him, but quickly resumed the meeting with Corbin observing .

It was near-impossible to keep my eyes on my laptop screen and not on Corbin.

The way his light blue button-down shirt clung to his chest. The stubble that formed along his sharp jaw, longer than usual, and somehow even sexier—if that was possible.

Every time he noticed me staring, he raised an eyebrow or gave a small smirk—it was torture.

Corbin participated in some of the discussions. Every time he spoke, I felt his voice vibrate over my skin, settling into me and heating my blood.

I barely heard the conversation, something about a new author, but when the word “greedy” came off his smoldering lips, my imagination went into overdrive.

Memories of his naked body hovering above me, my hands on his hips urging him to sink into me.

So greedy, Sophia.

“Right, Sophia?” Ned’s voice broke through my steamy memory.

My eyes snapped to his across the table. Then they roamed to see that everyone was looking at me, waiting for a response.

I looked at Corbin, his nostrils flaring like he was inside my head with me, reliving the very moment I was.

I almost whimpered, but somehow turned it into a “hmmm?”

“You’ve almost finished that manuscript? The Mask of Philonius?” Ned repeated.

“Oh, yes. Yep. I’ll be done today.” I reached for my water, suddenly parched, and choked on it when I noticed Corbin wiggling his eyebrows at me.

Did he say greedy on purpose?

Andi patted my back.

Did everyone notice me unraveling here in this meeting?

“I think we’re done here. Good work.” Corbin ordered as he closed his laptop.

The rest of the table gathered their papers and laptops before quickly dispersing back to their offices.

My body felt like I’d just run a marathon.

Who am I kidding? I’ve never run a marathon.

My muscles ached from the tension I’d held, trying to keep my traitorous body from responding to Corbin .

This was supposed to get easier.

Corbin had said he’d be in New York most of the time—not here, not down the hall, not in these meetings, not everywhere I turned.

Corbin’s presence was volatile. Dangerous.

And yet, it was tempting—like a new line had been drawn, one I couldn’t wait to press against.