This is the opening I thought wouldn’t occur. This is where I say ‘maybe you should check,’ but I can’t quite summon the courage.
“So you wondered if I was wearing it?” I ask.
“Like I said, this is nothing we need to discuss.”
I could tell him the truth, which is that I wouldn’t have the first clue how to hook up garters. But I sort of like the idea of him considering it. I lean over once more to pin down the corner of the plan. “Use your imagination,” I reply.
“If you’re so insistent on your fairy tale,” he says between his teeth, “consider not bending over in front of me while suggesting I use my imagination.”
For a second, I don’t move a single muscle while I try to process what he just said. Until I realize there’s only one conclusion to be drawn:
He wants me.
This isn’t in my head. This isn’t because I stumbled into him in a bikini. This isn’t me persuading myself of something that isn’t there. And I should straighten and make a joke, play it off.
But.
But.
I don’t straighten. I don’t move an inch. “Or what, Caleb?” I whisper. “What will you do if I keep bending over?”
I’m breathless, waiting to see what he does.
His chair scrapes the floor as he rises, and then his hand lands on my ass.
Not a brush of his fingers, not an accident. His whole, hot palm is on my ass, fingers spread wide as if desperate to cover as much ground as possible. His swallow is audible.
He’s barely touched me, but there’s already an ache between my thighs that borders on unbearable. I press into his hand, silently willing him to take more, do more, and suddenly he’s gripping my hips, pulling me tight so that all I can feel is the very long, thick press of him against my ass.
“Lucie,” he says, his voice a low growl, “be very careful with what you say to me. I have a lot less self-control than you think.”
And then he walks away, and the door has slammed shut before I manage to collapse in a chair.
How did that happen?
How did Caleb—so single-mindedly focused on the company and his career—wind up letting go like that, and how did I wind up urging him to do it? I need this job. I need our working relationship to remain uncomplicated and friendly.
I guess that means we need to discuss what happened, but I have no idea what I’d say. If this was a movie starring Sandra Bullock or Reese Witherspoon, I’d confess that I’ve had a crush on him since I was six, that I came back to the lake once I turned twenty-one only to see him—unaware they’d moved—and met Jeremy instead.
But what good would that do? He’s moving away and doesn’t want kids or a relationship. Molly was right when she said he was a dead end.
I’ll apologize.
It wasn’t entirely my fault, but I’ll apologize simply to set things right. I’ll say, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was about, but I really value our friendship…can we pretend it didn’t happen?’
I put it off for the rest of the afternoon, and it’s not until I’m leaving to pick up the twins that I veer toward his office.
“He left town,” Kayleigh snarls at my back. I turn. Her face is as impassive as ever, but there’s a small gleam in her eyes. I get the feeling she likes delivering disappointing news. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
I’m sick of Kayleigh’s attitude and too disappointed about Caleb’s absence to hide it. “Why would I know?”
Her mouth presses flat. “You’re down here a lot.”
“I’ve been in Caleb’s office maybe five times since I started, which hardly seems excessive.”
She shrugs. “If you say so.”
Has my crush on Caleb been that obvious? Or has she simply picked up on something I’m only just realizing myself:
He wants me too.
25
LUCIE
One week later, I once again put on the green silk dress, the one that inexplicably seems to irritate Caleb, drop the kids at school, and head straight to San Francisco for the conference. My presentation isn’t until noon, but Mark assumed I’d want to be here at ten for Caleb’s opening panel and there was no subtle way to suggest that seeing Caleb before my presentation might do more harm than good. In the days that have passed since that afternoon in the break room, the incident has taken on a life of its own, looming larger in my head with every minute that passes. God, I wish we’d cleared the air before he left.