Really fucking special.
I know I’m veering into unprofessional territory—my mind is foggy with where to draw the line—but I need to clear things up with Larkin, even if it means casually trapping her in the world’s tackiest room.
“Things are weird between us. I can feel it. You’re avoiding me, you barely looked at me yesterday after Palmer left, and you skipped out on dinner. You can’t tell me—”
“I was embarrassed.” She shrugs, as if her admission didn’t nearly knock my feet from under me. “But last night I realized you shouldn’t have elicited such a reaction from me. At the end of the day, I’m your assistant, you’re my boss, and it was just a simple request.”
“Not for you,” I say, resisting the instinct to reach out and pull her into my chest, offer her a hug, to reassure her that she’s so much more than just my assistant. “You’re more than that, and we both know it. Now stop letting me off the hook. I’m sorry for being an ass.”
The smallest of smirks passes over her lips. “You weren’t an ass, Ford.”
“But . . .”
She chuckles. “There is no but.”
“You’re avoiding me, though.”
“I’m giving you space.”
That’s the last thing I need from her. Space. No, I am desperate to make sure there is no space between us, especially because of the space that’s pulling my family apart.
I don’t need space.
I need . . . hell, don’t go there, man.
I shake my head and curl my fists in my pockets so I’ll keep my hands to myself.
Don’t fucking touch her. She’s untouchable. And you shouldn’t want to touch her. Jesus. But then, I can’t help but blurt out, “I don’t want space from you. Last night was a shit night. I barely slept, eating alone was miserable, and I woke up this morning with one thing on my mind: making sure you were okay. That we were okay.”
“I’m fine, Ford. Asking me to get drinks isn’t going to break me. If anything, it was a good reminder as to where I stand in the company. Sometimes I get so caught up in working closely with you that I forget what I was hired for . . . getting drinks being a huge part of that.”
And that’s where the problem lies, because last night, as I played what I’d said to Larkin over and over in my head, I realized that she is so much more than an assistant.
“Maybe the first year that was your job, when you were getting your feet wet, but not now.” I take a step toward her, but I don’t know for what reason as I keep my hands firmly stuck in my pockets. I just have an urge to be close to her. “I value you more than I think you know. I’ve come to realize you’re one of the reasons I keep working my ass off. You push me, you challenge me, and after how weird things were last night, I realized that I can’t lose you. You could pretty much ask me for anything at this point, Larkin, and I would give it to you.”
And that’s the truth. I would give her anything.
Her eyes slowly flash up to mine, and for a brief second, it feels like she wants to say more, that she wants to reach out as well, close the distance between us. As we stand here, in this god-awful floral-printed room, something deep within me surfaces, something I haven’t felt in a really long time. Something that shakes me to my damn core.
Yearning.
Yearning for something more.
I wasn’t lying when I said she was different, that I would give her anything she wanted, because I would. And maybe it’s being here, on Marina Island, seeing her in her happy place, or maybe it’s being around my family and their incessant comments about how perfect Larkin is for me, but all last night I kept thinking about her in a very nonassistant way. I was considering our friendship and how close we’ve become, how she knows me better than anyone, how she’s the one person I go to for everything—and not just for work but for personal things as well.
I look forward to seeing her in the morning. Catching that smirk of hers.
I love running with her, pushing her harder, challenging her on the roads.
I love the way she can think three steps ahead of me and know what I need emotionally before I even do.
And I love spending time with her.
Yesterday’s tension and distance made for a rude awakening that I need her in my life, and as more than just an assistant.
“You would give me anything, huh?” she says, her voice cracking ever so slightly.
“Anything,” I say, holding my breath.
“If that’s the case . . .” She closes the distance between us, and my mouth goes dry as she pats my chest. “Come have a juice with me downstairs.”