Page 12 of Take It Offline

Ivy tosses her head back and laughs. “Logan didn’t look very happy about it.”

My gaze drifts to the door, but all that’s left of him is the tingling where his lips brushed my cheek. “He didn’t, did he?”

And like all good document controllers, Ivy has an acute attention for detail. “You still miss him.”

I turn back to her and sink a little in my seat. “Is that ridiculous? It’s been three months since we ended things.”

I’ve been afraid to admit it. Gutsy and glamorous, she’s the greatest friend I’ve ever had. I can’t stand the idea of disappointing her.

Ivy sets a hand flat on the table and leans forward. “How you feel is not ridiculous. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

What a precious gem of a human. “I know, and I love you for that.”

“He did seem genuinely happy to see you.”

Hope springs up inside me. “Do you think so?” I really want to believe her. We left things unfinished, ending with amaybe laterthat I wasn’t sure would ever come. But now… “I was supposed to use this time to work things out, and I’m no closer to an answer.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. If he really cares about you, it won’t matter to him that you can’t?—”

“It matters to me,” I say. I want him back, but I can’t handle disappointing us both a second time. “Whatever is stalling me in the bedroom needs to be fixed. If I can do that before the fundraiser, then we stand a chance at making it work.”

“If you’re sure,” Ivy says.

I am. I’ve never been more certain of anything.

All problems have solutions, even intimate ones. When Logan and I were together, I hoped all I needed was time, but the issue grew like mold, invisible to the eye until it was too late.

Now I’m determined.

If I’m going to get Logan back, I need to solve this. And as monumental as it feels, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier than the Charlie-sized obstacle I have.

CHAPTER 6

SETTING THE STANDARD

EMMA

Let the record show that I do not enjoy being deceptive. Or unhelpful.

Despite what I promised Ivy and myself—and the mantra I repeated ten times while applying mascara this morning—I’m not sure I can be ruthless when it comes to Charlie.

Where do I even start?

Probably not with the coffee I bought as a peace offering.

As I place the piping-hot hazelnut mocha on his empty desk, I know Ivy is somewhere, shaking her head at me.

May my parents rejoice in years of etiquette lessons finally having taken root, I guess. At least I know they never managed to put out the fire in me.

See? I may be accommodating and unfailingly polite even when I’m imagining where a pencil could do the most damage (it’s probably the neck, but the testicles would be so much more satisfying), but polite does not mean passive.

So when Charlie greets my olive branch with nothing but an amused brow raise, I know one thing for sure.

He better be ready for a fight.

Calling the procedure bloated and illegible is being kind.

It’d be a hell of a lot easier if we were simply tweaking a few sentences and deleting references to the old system before patting ourselves on the back for a job half-done.

---