Page 9 of Secret Bump

He doesn’t meet my gaze. “Continue with your presentation.”

I glance down at my notes, but the words swim in front of my eyes. What happened to him missing me, too?

He must not have meant it the same way.

I thought three days apart was agony. How will I survive three months?

Chapter 6

Mack

I thoughtit was the right thing to say. I know it’s the right thing to do. But Isabelle’s face has fallen, and nothing feels right after all.

Why did I tell her I missed her, too? That slip necessitated a rapid reassessment. A new plan, on the fly. And that’s something I have always excelled at. I can pivot without remorse. I’m famous for it.

But fuck, I’m filled with remorse right now.

I don’t blame her for confessing that she missed me. She told me she’s unfailingly honest, and I love that about her.

But I know better. I could have lied to her, and I needed to, for her own sake.

Her voice wavers as she resumes reading from her notes. I nod along, and give her some corrective notes, but most of my attention is consumed by her body language.

Her tight shoulders, her firm jaw. The distance in her gaze and the anxious way she tugs at her kilt.

I’m fucking this up.

I’m hurting my girl, and that’s unforgivable.

Chapter 7

Isabelle

Once we finish talkingabout his research priorities for the next quarter, there’s nothing to do but leave his office.

I know that.

So I stand.

But I don’t leave. I can’t. It’s too hard. Why is it so hard to tear myself away from him?

I’ve avoided making eye contact since he told me we wouldn’t actually be working closely together for the next while, but now I look straight at him. I want his last memory of me to be a good one.

“Thank you for everything this week,” I say. “For the advance on my pay and the accommodations. I'm so grateful to you.”

His thick brows pull together fiercely. “Isabelle, you don't have to be grateful to me. I invest in my employees. It’s truly the least I can do. Especially?—”

He cuts himself off.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

But it's not nothing. I can feel it. There's something pulling us together like we're connected somehow.

I circle around his desk, slowly. Waiting him to tell me to stop, to order me back to my desk.

He doesn’t stop me. He even turns slightly in his chair, his long, thick legs sliding into view.

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