Page 10 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)

MIA

I’d been ready since six, my files organized, my notes color-coded, and my nerves fraying at the edges with each passing minute. With nothing else to do, I rearranged my notes again.

With a quiet sigh, I bent down and pulled a heavy box from beneath my desk, stacking the files and my laptop carefully inside. The box was awkward, but I managed to balance it against my hip as I made my way down the dimly lit hallway toward the conference room.

As I passed Jack’s office, his door opened suddenly, and there he stood, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that had no business looking that good. His tie was gone, and the top button of his shirt was undone, making him look more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. And hot. Very hot.

“Let me take that.” He stepped forward, hands outstretched for the box.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically, tightening my grip.

Jack raised one eyebrow, a silent challenge that somehow made my insides turn liquid. We stood there for a heartbeat, a ridiculous standoff over a box of files.

“Fine.” I huffed, relinquishing it into his waiting hands. “But I carried it all the way from my office, just so we’re clear.”

“Duly noted.” His mouth twitched, almost a smile but not quite there. “This way.”

I followed him to the conference room, watching the easy way he carried the weight that had me struggling.

When he pushed the door open with his shoulder, I was surprised to see the table already set up with two laptop stations and, more surprisingly, a spread of coffee, tea, and an assortment of snacks neatly arranged in the center.

“You brought food?” I blurted, oddly touched by the gesture.

Jack set the box down and glanced at me. “I figured you probably skipped lunch again. Didn’t want you passing out on me.”

The fact that he’d noticed made something warm bloom in my chest. “How did you know?”

“Mia, I have a direct line of sight to your office. I know you rarely leave your desk during the day. So, you always have that look around four o’clock.” He turned away, busying himself with the coffee pot. “Like you’re running on caffeine and determination.”

I wasn’t sure which was more unsettling: that he’d been watching me closely enough to notice my habits, or that he was completely right.

He gestured toward one of the chairs. “Sit. Coffee?”

“God yes.” I sank into the chair, resisting the urge to slip my shoes off. My feet were aching.

“How do you have it?”

“Cream, one sugar. Thanks.”

I watched as he prepared my coffee, his movements efficient and precise.

There was something ridiculously attractive about the way his forearms flexed as he stirred, the way his long fingers curled around the mug.

It was just coffee, for fuck’s sake. Yet here I was, mesmerized by Jack Sullivan making a simple beverage.

He slid the mug across to me, then moved around the table, assembling a small plate of finger sandwiches and fruit before placing it in front of me. He prepared a similar plate for himself, then settled into the chair adjacent to mine.

I opened my laptop, grateful for the distraction of work. “Where should we start?”

“That’s your call.” Jack booted up his own computer. “This is your system.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, considering. “Well, if it were truly my system, the entire company’s processes would be digitized by now. Half of our inefficiencies come from outdated systems.”

“Fuck yes.” Jack’s tone was so emphatic, it surprised a laugh out of me.

The sound seemed to catch him off guard. His eyes fixed on my face, his expression shifting to something intense and almost... wondering? For a moment, he just stared, and I felt heat crawl up my neck.

“What?” I was suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

He blinked, as if pulling himself back from somewhere far away. “Nothing. You were saying about digitization?”

I cleared my throat, trying to regain my professional footing. “It’s overdue.”

“So why hasn’t it been implemented already?”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Some people in leadership feel that the current systems work perfectly fine as they are. They believe there’s no need to change something that isn’t broken.”

“Which people?” His tone made it clear he already knew the answer.

I hesitated again, not wanting to throw anyone under the bus. Professional loyalty ran deep, even when it came to Porter.

His eyes were locked on mine. “Porter?”

My expression must have given me away because he nodded, question answered.

“He’s been... resistant to technological updates,” I admitted, keeping my voice neutral. “He’s concerned about disrupting established workflows, since everything is already going so well.”

“If they were working perfectly well,” Jack said dryly, “the company wouldn’t be on the brink of financial collapse and there would be no need for me to be here.”

“Exactly!” I gestured emphatically with my coffee cup. “Anyway, he’s always been like that, so it’s not going to change any time soon.”

Jack nodded, but his focus had shifted to my untouched plate. “You don’t like the food?” His voice held a note of concern that made my chest tighten.

“Oh, no, it looks great,” I said quickly. “I just got distracted.” Well, that was a bare faced lie. But I couldn’t tell him the truth, because the truth was fucking embarrassing. I hated eating in front of people and that’s all there was to it.

But Jack was watching me with a doubtful expression that bordered on worry.

Huffing out a breath, I reached for a small sandwich just to set his mind at ease.

I took a bite, hyper-aware of his eyes on me. The sandwich was actually delicious, cucumber and cream cheese on soft bread, and I realized how hungry I actually was.

Jack watched me for a moment, then satisfaction flickered in his hazel eyes.

Only when I reached for a second sandwich did he pick up his own plate and take a bite.

“Okay,” he said, his tone shifting back to business, “Let’s get into it.”

Gathering my hair in my hands, I pulled it over my shoulder. “Yes, let’s.”

We fell into a rhythm, leaning over spreadsheets, comparing notes, and building a framework for company-wide implementation. The minutes slipped into hours as we worked, and I was startled when Jack glanced at his watch and frowned.

“It’s after ten. We should call it a night.”

I blinked, surprised by how quickly the time had passed. “Already?”

His mouth quirked into something almost resembling a smile. He always did that. Just a little half smile. It made me wonder what the full deal would look like. “Already.”

We made quick work of packing up and I’d barely put my laptop on top of the box before Jack grabbed it to carry back to my office. I didn’t fight him this time. I was tired, and the sight of his muscled forearms flexing under the weight was enough to soothe my bruised pride.

After stowing the box under my desk, we walked out to the deserted parking lot, to his sleek black Audi gleaming under the security lights.

Jack opened the passenger door of his car.

“Oh, um, you don’t have to?—”

“just get in the car, Mia.”

He waited for me to slide into the buttery soft leather with a mumbled thanks, then closed the door behind me.

I’d never, in my life, had a guy open a door for me like this. Or close it with a little snap of impatience at my hesitation. It was kinda cute, so of course, I watched through the windshield as he walked around the front of the car. His confident stride and broad shoulders made for a great view.

When he slipped into the driver’s seat, he gave me another one of those slight smiles that had heat pooling in my belly. Then he punched my address into the navigation system and eased out of the lot.

The short drive from the business park to my home passed in comfortable silence.

I’d expected it to be awkward, this forced intimacy of being alone in his car, but somehow it wasn’t.

The interior smelled faintly of cedar and something spicier.

His cologne, I realized, taking a deeper breath than necessary.

It was subtle but unmistakably masculine, like everything else about him.

I flicked him a glance. The soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated his profile: the strong jaw, the straight nose, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrated on the road. Being that gorgeous should be a crime, honestly.

As we turned onto my street, I wondered what he thought of my modest neighborhood with its small bungalows and overgrown gardens.

Did Jack Sullivan, with his designer suits and luxury car, silently judge the plastic flamingo Mrs. Mulvany insisted on displaying in her front yard? Somehow, I didn’t think so.

When he pulled into my driveway, I’d barely reached for my purse when Jack was out of the car and opening my door for me.

The man was stubborn, that was for sure.

Biting back a smile, I climbed out, suddenly very aware of how close we were standing, our bodies just inches apart in the dim moonlight.

My breath caught in my throat as his eyes met mine.

His eyes held mine for a moment too long to be purely professional, something flickering in those hazel depths that made my heart stutter. Time seemed to stretch between us like warm honey, thick and sweet.

In that moment, all I could think about was what it would be like to kiss him.

My gaze dropped to his lips and heat flooded my cheeks.

I imagined closing that small distance between us, feeling his mouth on mine, his hands pulling me closer.

The intensity of the thought made me dizzy, and I swayed slightly on my feet. Fuck, what a psycho.

Jack cleared his throat and stepped back, breaking the moment. “Great work tonight, Mia.”

“Thank you.” My voice squeaked embarrassingly, another great moment for me. Not.

“Goodnight.” His voice was low, almost rough around the edges, sending a shiver through me.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

I headed up the walkway, feeling his eyes on my back the entire way. At the door, I glanced over my shoulder to find him still standing by the car, waiting to make sure I got inside safely. I offered a small wave before slipping my key into the lock.

Once inside, I closed the door and leaned back against it, my eyes falling shut as I replayed the evening in my mind.

The sound of his car pulling away drifted through the window.

I imagined him driving through the dark streets, wondered where he lived.

What his house was like. Did he live alone? Fuck, did he have a wife, a girlfriend?

I let my head fall back against the door, huffing out a breath. What the hell was happening to me?