Cord shot me a look across the desk, and I shook my head, my face heating because his disappointed expression made my stomach drop. She hasn’t been lying to me for a few weeks about her job; she’s been keeping it a secret for months, knowing who I was. My stomach roiled. “We’ve been hanging out for a few months.”
Mason’s eyes widened. “What the hell were you thinking? Can I remind you about our strict nonfraternization policy?”
I slammed my head into my hands. “I know, okay! It just . . . happened, but it wasn’t sexual until two days ago. There were extenuating circumstances, and she’s special. People would understand.”
Mason expelled that dry laugh again. “I think you are unfamiliar with people. Let me introduce you,” he said, pointing to a printout of comments and the social media stream. “？‘Extenuating circumstances’ sounds like an excuse to get your dick wet and make sure the company got good coverage. No, I think we deny a sexual relationship, and you need to distance yourself from her. You’re not celebrities, but you’re not nobodies, either, and cameras are everywhere.”
Mason took a call then, holding up a finger. “Yes, we’re going with that. Put together some language. I’ll be there in five.” He hung up without pleasantries. “You heard me, right? If there are pictures, this strategy doesn’t work. If you’ve been fucking her for months or weeks or kissing her near a camera, this won’t work.”
“It was this weekend,” I repeated.
I glanced back down at his tablet, new notifications popping up on the #MakeBrittaSweat hashtag.
Fuck.
51
I WALKED ACROSS the office building’s lobby a little slower than normal, my heels clacking against the marble floor. The way the sunlight reflected off the chrome and glass accents gave the space an extra sparkle, but I was also a little sore from the weekend’s exertions, particularly the run that morning and the shower afterward. I squeezed my thighs at the memory of Wes on his knees, water spraying his tanned shoulders, and then him standing behind me. A warm feeling settled low in my belly.
We’d spent all Sunday lost in each other. I’d already known Wes was hot and sweet and wonderful, but the way he touched me, kissed me, how his tongue felt on my softest places and how he stroked me so deep, filling me—all of it made goose bumps prickle at even the hint of memory. I smiled to myself, glancing at my phone, where I could see he was typing a message. I’d never plugged it in, and the battery was hanging on by a thread. I saw I had a bunch of missed texts—probably the text thread with RJ, Kat, and Del. I’d missed an episode of our favorite reality TV show and the subsequent commentary and debriefing. I didn’t toggle over, not wanting to miss Wes’s message with my battery so close to dying.
“Morning, Anthony,” I said to the security guard, who tipped back in his chair.
“Got a message they were looking for you upstairs,” he said, picking up the phone. “Told me to be on the lookout.”
“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t think of any reason they’d be looking for me, except that maybe Claire had been right and Maricela had news about the promotion. The way my luck had been going, I had a feeling it was mine. Even if it wasn’t, I was going to be fine.
I leaned against the cool metal wall of the elevator, my eager anticipation leading to yet another moment to think about Wes, as if he hadn’t been consuming my thoughts all morning.
I read his incoming text, confused. “What mentoring program?”
The doors opened to Natalie’s hard stare. “Were you ever going to answer your damn phone?” She hissed, pulling me by the arm from the elevator.
What the hell? “I had it on do not disturb. What’s going on?”
Natalie looked like someone had deleted her Instagram feed. “Your secret is out and it’s everywhere.”
“What secret?”
“Come with me,” she huffed, pulling me into her office. When we were behind a closed door, whatever modicum of restraint she’d been applying cracked. “You’re sleeping with your coach?”
“How did you . . . What do you mean?” The last person I wanted knowing details of my sex life was Natalie.
“Who ignores their phone for twelve fucking hours? See for yourself. This was posted this weekend.”
Stomach lurching, I pictured many photos we could have been in at the wedding—Wes handing me a drink, Wes kissing me on the dance floor, the two of us climbing into a cab together. We’d been so careless.