Page 17

Lara

My fingers fly across the keyboard, the clacking the only sound in my office. It's late, way past when the cleaning crew nodded their goodbyes and the last of my colleagues shut down their computers and made their ways home.

Droplets of rain cling to the windows, distorting the view outside. The city lights, usually sharp pinpricks against the night, instead merge into a watercolor of light. Reds blur into yellows, streetlamps bleed into neon signs, a view that’s fascinating and exciting to take in. But I’m not focused on the outside world, or anything but the words flowing across my screen.

I’ve powered down the second screen because I don’t need it at the moment, and I ignore that, too. I've dialed down the overheads to help ease the strain on my eyes. In the gentle ambiance I prefer for these solitary work sessions, my mind can focus, even if thoughts of him do sneak in occasionally.

I lean back, stretching the stiffness from my limbs, wishing I could do the same for the soreness. My gaze lingers on the windows for a moment, trying to focus on something far away to combat the constant closeness of the screens. The technique eases the pain gathering at the base of my skull and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m almost there,” I whisper to myself, to keep the focus that threatens to slip away with each tick of the clock. I hate late nights. Hate not being the one to put my son to bed. Hate that he’ll remember mom was busy and worked late far too many times. But some things can’t be helped, and that’s heartbreaking and true all at once.

My reflection stares back at me from the darkened screen of my dormant second monitor. I look determined, stubborn, and tired. The set of my lips is tight, and I actively try to relax my face.

“I’ve got this,” I say, rolling my shoulders to relieve the tension that's built up over hours of hunching and rubbing the back of my neck with one hand before diving right back into the comfort of work where I can forget everything else but what’s next, work emails, and the plans we’ve made to take the next step… once we find a partner.

For now, I just need to look over one more report. Send a few more emails. Then it's nothing but the comfort of my bed and the promise of sleep, however brief, before morning brings along a whole new set of demands.

The words on the report blur together and I let out a sigh that seems too loud in the silence. The details of the report fight like needy children for my attention. My eyes ache. I rub at the tension clawing the back of my neck, wishing it away. Why do I do this to myself? This could wait until morning, but some part of me won’t let me rest until this is complete.

“Working late?” A familiar voice startles me, and I almost fall out of my chair.

Lark stands in the doorway, but his presence fills the room like an unspoken demand for my attention. What the heck is he still doing here? It’s late, and there’s no way he still has work to do.

“Always,” I say, not turning to face him. “Deadlines don't sleep.”

“Neither do you, apparently.” He walks into my office, and I can feel his gaze on me, intense and oddly warming up my core.

“Can't afford to.” I try to sound nonchalant, focus on the screen where the words continue to blur into meaningless shapes.

“Let me help.” It's not a question, but a demand that I let him take over. But I’m not about to let anyone make demands, not even him. Outside this office, maybe he can lead, but in it, this is where I lead.

“No, I've got it.” I force my attention back to the work, wondering why he’s still there, still studying me, still not making a move to go so I can get back to work, because when he’s looking at me like that, I can hardly breathe, let alone accomplish anything.

He doesn't move, doesn't speak, just watches. I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, calculating, assessing, planning.

“Go home, Lark.” My tone is sharper than I intend. “I'm fine.”

“Sure doesn't look like it.” This time concern fills his words, and I push that away, too.

“Looks can be deceiving.” I finally glance at him, meet the intensity of his gaze. And we stay like that, both refusing to look away as we come to an impasse.

“Alright then,” he says with a nod, but even as he retreats, I sense this battle isn’t over. Which is just what I need, more complications as I struggle to complete the tasks at hand.

I exhale, a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I'm back in control, and I need to get back to work, no matter how much Lark clings to the edges of my thoughts.

I go back to the numbers that need taming.

“Almost done,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. And maybe, just maybe, I believe it.

The soft sound of footsteps has me looking up, ready to do battle with Lark again, but this time, it’s not the infuriating man I can’t stop thinking about. It’s Mark with a lifeline of hot caffeine in his hands as he approaches me with warm, brown eyes and a hint of a tired smile I feel to the depths of my bones.

“I thought you could use this,” he says, that familiar, friendly warmth I’ve come to expect from him coloring his tone.

“Thanks, Mark.” The words are automatic as I reach for the coffee, its heat seeping into my fingers. He lingers, looking past me at my screen as if trying to figure out if I’m working or avoiding going home.

“Need any help?” His gaze flicks to mine, concern deepening the slight lines in his forehead. “Shouldn’t you get home? I’m sure you have someone waiting.”

I don’t share my personal life with anyone I work with but Shana, and now Lark.

I feel a twinge of guilt that I’m not home, but I shake it off. “I appreciate it, but this is something I have to do alone.” Polite firmness and a cool distance remind him that I’m the boss and my life isn’t public knowledge or a topic for discussion. I encourage my employees to share with me so I can make sure everyone has days off they need, and everything else that comes with being a boss. But my own life? That’s off-limits.

But Mark stands rooted in place as if I didn’t just politely tell him to go away and let me work.

He doesn't move, his brows knitted as he studies my face as if searching for the truth. He’s going to find it, and when he does, it’ll be clear I’m not looking to be rescued.

Mark inches closer, the warmth of his presence pushing against my personal space. “How about a neck rub? You look tense,” he says, hands hovering in the air like he's ready to land on my shoulders.

I pull back out of reach, a refusal already crossing my lips. “That's not necessary, but thanks for the offer.” I don’t want him to touch me, and I don’t want this incredibly intimate moment to continue another second longer. Maybe he’s not trying to be creepy, but this is getting awkward. I press my fingers to my temple, hoping to convey end-of-day exhaustion instead of discomfort.

He leans in too close, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You always do so much for everyone here. Who's taking care of you?” His words fill my ears, trying to find a place in my heart.

My pulse quickens, not from his question, but from the sudden surge of adrenaline. This is an overstep. I’ve already made it clear I’m not interested, so for him to continue is unacceptable. I'm about to tell him off when another voice fills the room. A deep, unexpected and familiar voice that leaves me relieved.

“Is everything okay here?” Lark asks, an air of authority to the set of his shoulders and the tightness of his features.

I turn, relief flooding my veins. With a silent, grateful thank you to the universe that sent him my direction, I speak up. “Everything's fine, Lark.” I lift my coffee. “Mark thoughtfully brought me coffee and offered help, but he’s going now.”

I catch the faint lift of Lark's eyebrow, the way his eyes lock onto Mark’s. There’s something there, some undercurrent I don’t understand and don’t have the energy or time to devote to figuring out.

Mark's posture straightens, like he’s quickly recalibrating his demeanor. “I’m just trying to be helpful,” he mutters, in Lark’s general direction. But neither Lark nor I miss the defensiveness in his words and movement. He's off-balance, whatever plans he had suddenly turned upside down by the new presence in the room.

Lark crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing just a fraction of an inch. “Oh, he’s leaving now?” The question is directed at me, but it feels like a warning shot across Mark's bow.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Yes. He’s leaving now. I told him I don’t need his help, and I’m pretty sure he was going.” Of course, I know Mark had no intention of accepting no as an answer, but I want to make things very, very clear. And if he doesn’t get it this time, I’ll start looking for his replacement in the morning. Heck, I might do that anyway. I don’t need someone being pushy and trying to take advantage of moments when I’m tired, stressed, and trying to focus.

I want to sound assertive, remind them both that I'm not some damsel. But Lark's intense stare warns me he might not even be hearing me anymore. He’s too intent on Mark.

Mark's eyes dart between Lark and me, as if trying to figure out if there’s more going on than he knows. With a tight nod, he makes the smart choice and retreats. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He spins on his heel and makes a quick, almost urgent escape. Only then can I breathe easier.

Lark seems to read my sense of relief and comes closer, placing his powerful hands on my desk and making those incredible forearms flex. “You sure you’re okay?” Concern softens the hard lines of his face and makes his voice gentle.

I nod, a shiver trailing down my spine at the look in his eyes. “Yes, I’m fine.” My voice is a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner still running full blast. “Thank you for checking on me.”

His gaze doesn't waver. I’d swear he’s searching my face for something more than the words I’m saying, as if he’s not quite sure I’m being completely honest. And maybe I’m not, but I really want to get work done and get home to my comfortable bed. Because it’s been a long day and I’m tired.

But his gaze lingers, holding me captive in the stillness of the office. Then, as if satisfied with what he sees, he relaxes slightly, the protective edge melting away. “Good. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Something about his words leaves my heart thumping faster than it should and I wonder why I’m having a reaction to his protectiveness. I don’t need a man to keep me safe. I wouldn’t have hesitated to mace Mark if he got too bold. But still, knowing Lark’s deep-seated need to protect me… it’s exciting in all the wrong ways.

And in that moment, with rain trickling trails down the windows and the quiet hum of the room, I see something more in Lark's eyes. Something that tells me this isn't just about my safety. This is about us.

Lark stays put, his presence filling the room in a way he has no right to do. My heart races, each beat a drum echoing through the quiet office. I catch my breath and try to steady myself.

“Thanks for stepping in,” I say, needing to fill the silence between us and tell him how I feel about the whole situation.

“It’s my pleasure,” he says, the words resonating through my body and leaving me thinking about the nights we spent together. With this man, pleasure is a trigger word that unleashes memories that could drown me if I let them.

I want to dismiss him in some desperate struggle to keep things professional, though I know I’ve been failing pretty spectacularly at that. But there's something between us, some pull I can’t quite fight against. Maybe I don’t want to fight. And the words just won’t come. I swivel my chair slightly away in a delicate attempt to put some distance between us and hopefully break free of this intense tug trying to pull us together.

“Late nights are part of the job,” I say, keeping both my words and tone casual, though I feel anything but. “You know how it is.”

He nods, but his gaze doesn't waver. “Doesn't mean you have to face them alone.”

That’s an offer if I’ve ever heard one. I can feel the weight of the necklace around my neck, the one he’d given me, and I see his gaze travel down to it between the lapels of my deep purple blouse. His gaze meets mine and I resist the urge to reach up and touch the pendant. It’s special to me. Like him. Like our past. Like our son. But just because something is special doesn’t mean it’s worth risking everything for. Right?

“Thank you again,” I say, as if that’ll shoo him off. Of course, it doesn’t work, and his offer still stands between us like a whole other person, tempting, dangerous. We're colleagues, we're friends—no, not just friends. The shift between us is obvious, and I know we’re both aware of it. But that doesn’t mean we can do anything about it.

Spending time with him has been fun, but that’s where it has to end.

“Maybe,” I say, finally addressing his offer, hoping that’ll be the ticket to getting him out of my hair. “But some things can't be shared.” There, I said it.

“Like what?” His voice drops lower, oddly intimate despite the very real possibility that some other late-stayer might pop into my office to make my world more bizarre.

“Like... certain responsibilities.” My answer is weak, and I don’t have a stronger one. So I turn back to the screen, pretending to focus on the words in the report that are still blurring before my eyes like the traitors they are.

“Everyone needs help sometimes and there’s nothing wrong with that.” He leans closer, his scent flowing around me.

I stand abruptly, turning to face him. “And some of us need to learn to manage on our own.” There’s a place I can go that he won’t follow, and I’ll go if I have to.

His brow furrows with either confusion or concern—it's hard to tell. “Lara...”

Nope, I’m not doing this right now. We’re not doing this right now. Not tonight.

“Look, Lark,” I cut him off, my voice stronger now. “I appreciate it, really. But this,” I gesture vaguely at the space between us while meaning the tension, the attraction, the deepening need between us, “it's not what I need.”

He studies me, searching for answers to questions he’s not asking out loud, and I’m not sure if he finds the responses or not. But he gives a nod and straightens up, his posture suddenly so closed off I have to wonder if I’ve just broken this delicate thing between us. But if it’s that fragile, then it wasn’t meant to be and it’s better to cut my losses and run anyway. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, though my insides twist with the effort of trying to make him think I don’t care what happens next, even though I very much do.

He turns to leave, and every fiber of my being screams to reach out, to call him back. But I don't. I can't.

This, this thing we’re doing – whatever it is, I have no idea how to quantify it – it’s dangerous. And I know if I don't step back now, if I let him sweep me off my feet, I'll lose more than my balance—I'll lose myself.

As he walks out the office door, a shiver runs through me. I'm safe, yes. But at what cost? And why can’t I shake the feeling that I’ve just broken something that might not be able to be fixed, no matter how hard I try?

And if I’ve broken it, why is it so hard to remind myself that anything so fragile isn’t real anyway?

Besides, the more concerning part of all of this is how much I wanted him to pull me into his arms, pin me between my desk and his powerful body, and take us both to the past and those scorching hot nights spent together.

I squeeze my eyes closed, the memories of his hands, his body, the pleasure that he unleashed in me…

Opening my eyes, I breathe out and tell myself I did the right thing. Back then, being with him, I knew we’d wind up out of control. I’d lose myself. And I know now that the same will happen if we take this leap.

And I can’t afford to lose myself in a relationship with a man. Even if that man is my child’s father. I have too many plans, too big of dreams, too much ambition to be held back by someone, even if that someone makes me feel alive.