Page 58 of The Relationship Clause

Now, he’s not wearing a suit or jeans, he’s wearing gray sweatpants, a hoodie, and only socks on his feet. This version is worse than Jeans Owen. This is Lounge Owen, and if it wasn’t for my newfound vow of professionalism, I might have jumped him on sight.

“Was it the kiss?” he asks as soon as I open the door.

I pull up short. “Uhhh…what?”

He steps closer, ignoring any and all need for personal boundaries. “Was it the kiss? Or was it something else? Did I offend you in some way that would cause you to be upset with me again?”

Words won’t form, so all I do is shake my head.

“No? Are you sure? Because the way you’ve been acting around me this week has me thinking otherwise. You barely talk to me, you never smile anymore, you won’t look me in the eye. You’re still not looking me in the eye.”

My gaze wants to snap to his, but I keep it trained at his chest. I can’t even look at his nose. Still, I can practically feel the tension rolling off his body. He’s waiting for me to say something. I have to say something.

“I was being professional.”

“Exactly. You were professional. Too professional. You weren’t—” He motions with his hand as if trying to pull the word he’s looking for out of the air. “You weren’t you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I say it because what else can I say? I didn’t have fun this week either, but it was necessary. If he only knew how close I am to falling for him, he’d agree too.

“Is it going to be like this in Vail?” he asks after another beat of silence.

“Like what?”

“Like this. Distant, cold, uncomfortable.” He moves in further, as if trying to physically force away the distance between us from the past week. “Because if it is, if this is what it’s going to be like, I’ll call and cancel with my dad. I don’t care what he says. Nothing is worth making you feel discomfort or distress.”

“N-no, it’s not—I mean, I’m not—”

“Because I like the way things are. Were. I like the way we work together. Or at least, the way we used to work together.”

“You do?”

He’s standing so close to me now that my nose is practically touching his chin. It’s too close to be called professional. I should back up. Create clear and pointed space between us. There’s nothing behind me. I could move. He’s not keeping me here.

But I don’t.

I swallow hard, trying to clear my head, trying to remind myself to stay professional, act professional, but it’s impossible because the only thing my brain will register is the fact that Mr. Ferguson likes the way we work together, flirty banter and all.

He nods and licks his lips. I can’t help tracking every micromovement “Yes. I’ve never thought of the office as a place of enjoyment, but ever since you got here…”

When I speak, my words are breathy. “I…I think I need, well, we need to be professional, you know? With this trip to Vail and everything, the lines around our relationship felt like they were getting a little…blurry. I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

He nods, and I allow my eyes to drift up to see that he’s processing my words. “And what impression would that be?”

I swallow hard, wishing my knees would stop shaking. “Well, you know, I mean, we have that contract between us, and now we’re in this fake relationship, and I’m kind of a flirty person by nature. I didn’t want you thinking that I thought anything had changed between us. I’m still taking my job seriously. After the kiss, I wasn’t sure how to act. This is going to sound crazy, but I was thinking too much into things. Like maybe there was more behind the kiss than there actually was. But, like I said, that’s crazy. It was just a kiss, right? We needed to get your dad off our backs, and we did, and it was just a kiss, and there was nothing more to it, and it’ll never happen again, and I need to stop talking now.”

“I suppose I can appreciate that,” he says after a long beat passes. It kind of sounds like he might be smiling, but I’m not going to risk looking up there to find out. “But, Juniper?”

My heart skips a beat at the use of my full name again. His voice is deep and kind of rough, and it’s taking all my concentration to keep my eyes trained on his chest.

All of my concentration implodes, though, when I feel his fingers against my skin. He cups my cheeks with both of his hands, tilting my face up, up, up. At last, he coaxes my gaze to his. I expect to see storm clouds staring back at me, but instead, there are two warm, soft, brown eyes, bright and captivating. And I was right. There’s a teeny tiny smile on his lips as if he’s biting back gentle laughter.

“This weekend,” he says, “I don’t want professional Miss Cousins in Vail. This weekend, I want you. The real you. How do you feel about that?”

Seconds tick by as he waits for my answer. How long will he wait? A whole minute? An hour? All night? I don’t know what to say. My head and my heart are at war, both wielding heavy weapons, neither willing to yield. That is, until his thumb starts caressing my chin, barely grazing my bottom lip. My heart wins out.

“Okay,” I whisper. “This weekend, you get Juniper.”

“Promise?”

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