Even my dad, the one constant in my life, was always more of a phantom relationship than anything else; there for me one moment when it suited him, gone when it didn’t.

Kiera, despite all her own personal demons and family dysfunction, showed me what it could be like to have even one person permanently in my corner. And so, for a long time, that’s what I allowed myself to have: one person. Kiera.

But all of a sudden, now that’s not enough. I kind of, maybe, possibly want more. But more can be scary when you’re used to next to nothing.

I do want more with Owen. Not for the next couple of months, but for as long as I can get. But with my tendency to run, I don’t know if I can do that to him. To me. To us. Maybe I tried with other guys, because I didn’t really think it would work out with us in the first place. With Owen, there’s potential for…

No.

I can’t even let myself finish that thought. Yes, I think I’m ready to admit I want more connection in my life, but if there’s even a five percent chance of hurting Owen, I won’t take it.

CHAPTER 17

JUNIE

As I walk to my desk on Monday morning, I put on a new hat. A more professional hat. My “I’m not flirting with my boss anymore” hat, to be precise. Because this is getting more complicated, and I know it kind of started out complicated, but it wasn’t supposed to get more complicated.

Over the weekend, I decided something. I can do both. I can stay in my tower with my nice, cozy walls keeping me safe and sound while still working on my half-hatched desire to find a little more connection in my life. Kiera might think the first and most obvious place to look for this connection is in my love life, but that’s a little too scary still. I’m not quite ready for that.

So, instead, I’ll start with my work life. It’s my goal to make this job stick for longer than the contracted three months, so I can start with that. Connections at work still count. They’ll fill all my little cracks and crevices to the tippy top until I’m ready to move on to something more serious.

If I have any hope of continuing my employment with Em3rge Technologies, I need to fulfill my end of the original bargain and help Mr. Ferguson—who will henceforth be known only as Mr. Ferguson instead of Owen—catch the mole.

Which is why I’ve come up with a brilliant plan.

At 9:05, right on schedule—in other words, five minutes late—Shane comes waltzing through the elevator doors.

“Good morning, Junie,” he says, winking at me when he reaches my desk. “I believe I have an unexpected, last-minute appointment with Owen. You wouldn’t happen to know what this meeting is about, would you?”

Ignoring his question, I push away from my desk, beckoning for him to follow with a finger over my shoulder. “This way, Mr. Thatcher.”

After a quick knock on Mr. Ferguson’s door, I enter his office.

“Oh, Miss Cousins, good,” he says. “I was about to ask you about this meeting on my calendar. I don’t remember scheduling it.”

“That’s because you didn’t schedule it. I did.” I close the door behind Shane, then walk over to Mr. Ferguson’s desk to hit the glass-darkening button. Unfortunately, this means I have to get close to Mr. Ferguson, and when I do, I smell his woodsy, fresh body wash and have an immediate, visceral flashback to our kiss.

The memory hits me right in the feels, and I momentarily forget where I am and what I’m doing, stalling by Mr. Ferguson’s side like a windup toy that ran out of steam. His deep-brown eyes meet mine. Is he having the same flashback too? If Shane wasn’t here, would he hit the window button himself? Take my hand? Pull me onto his lap and run his fingers through my hair…

Shane clears his throat, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

Right. Right. Clearly this whole “distancing myself from Mr. Ferguson” thing is going to be more difficult than I originally thought.

I need to be all business. It’s not enough to try not to think of the k-i-s-s itself. I need to distance myself from him entirely. Those bedroom eyes must be avoided at all costs. From now on I’ll look at, um…his nose! Noses can’t be bedroomy. There’s nothing romantic about noses, even ones as perfect as Mr. Ferguson’s.

Yes. From here on out, when I need to look at Mr. Ferguson, I’ll stare at his nose.

“I called this meeting because it’s time to do something drastic to weed out the mole,” I say after I’ve stepped back a safe distance from the desk.

Mr. Ferguson and Shane share a look.

“Okay,” Shane says slowly. “We realize that, but without knowing who the mole is, there’s not much we can do at this point.”

“Exactly, which is why I’ve come up with a plan.” My heart is suddenly racing. Useless adrenaline is coursing through my veins. Why am I so nervous about this?

“Let’s hear it.” Mr. Ferguson folds his arms over his chest, making the fabric of his charcoal-gray button-up stretch and tighten across his shoulders.

Look at the nose, Junie. The nose!