Page 29 of Worth the Risk

“Nothing, never mind. Good night,” I say again, excusing myself from the room as she shrugs, slipping her earbuds in and turning back to her task at hand.

As I make my way back toward the elevator, I can’t help but wonder if the real reason Taylor left early was because she’s avoiding me. I push the thought aside, reminding myself of all the times I told her that she needed to stop working so late. Maybe she really has realized that burying herself in work isn’t the answer.

I hang my head, reminding myself of that same sentiment as I make my way back to my office and settle in for another long night of avoiding life. Before pushing the thought from my mind for the final time tonight, I pull out my phone to check once more if Taylor has posted the video.

“Did you post it yet?” I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re the only two people in the break room.

“Hmm?” Taylor looks up from her cup of coffee she’s stirring.

“The video.”

“Oh.” She turns away from me. “No, not yet.” She tosses her stir stick into the trash and moves toward the exit, but I step in front of her.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve been busy,” she says slowly and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how weirdly obsessive I’m starting to become over this entire thing.

“I was happy to see you left early yesterday.” I change the subject.

“It wasn’tearly,more like on time for once.” Her fingers nervously tap the side of her mug, her eyes shifting from mine. “Felt nice, though, leaving while the sun was still out.”

An awkwardness hangs between us, something I don’t think we’ve ever experienced before. A brief rush of panic comes over me, like maybe I pushed this entire thing too far. But then, I see it… that pink glow starting to form on her cheeks when her eyes glance at my crotch. I bite my cheek to keep from chuckling.

“I’m sure it did.” I step around her, letting my arm softly brush against her as I reach for the coffee pot. “For a second”—I turn my head slightly, catching her line of sight with my peripheral—“I thought you might be avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” She repeats the words. “Why?”

I let her question simmer for several achingly long seconds, the internal struggle she’s facing playing out across her expression. I can see it on the tip of her tongue, her desire to take the question back. She knows damn well what I’m inferring and the way her entire body is on edge tells me she’s praying I don’t say the words out loud.

Because you melted against me, wanton and needy over a simple kiss.

“Because I’ve barely seen you this week,” I reply casually, a wave of relief washing over her face when Geneva, our office admin, steps into the room, even though her face is buried in her phone screen. “But it makes sense since you’ve been so busy trying to get out of here at a decent time.”

“Yes, exactly.” She nods. “Anyway, I need to get back to my office. Miguel should be calling me in the next few minutes.”

“How old are these muffins?” Geneva looks over at us, her hand holding up the plastic lid to a large box of assorted pastries.

“Just brought them in this morning.” Eric burst into the break room, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips like a cartoon cat about to devour a mouse. “My wife is on this gluten-free, dairy-free,anything that tastes goodfree diet so the only place I can cheat in peace”—his eyes grow large as he reaches into the box and pulls out a giant Danish—“is here.”

“I’m not sure she isn’t right,” I tease just as he opens his mouth and takes the largest bite I’ve ever seen. He groans dramatically around a mouthful of pastry. I turn to look at Taylor, but she’s used the opportunity to almost sneak past me out of the break room.

“Are you going to post it?”

The click of her heels pauses, her eyes darting nervously toward Geneva and Eric who are up to their elbows in the pastry box. When she realizes they’re not paying attention, her shoulders drop in relief. “Yes, of course, just as soon as I get a free minute. Actually, thanks for reminding me because I completely forgot about it.” Then she spins on her toes and walks out of the room, tossing me a dismissive wave.

Forgot about it?

All I can focus on is the memory of her pressed against me. If I close my eyes, I can feel her. Smell her. Taste her. And sheforgot about it?

An urgent need to remind her exactly how good that kiss was pulses through me when I start down the hallway, but following her to her office for a redo isn’t an option.

Either she’s toying with me or she’s in denial.

The memory of her face that night is burned into my brain. The way she looked at me, the way she melted against me, wanting—no,needing—more of me. I’ve imagined our lips finally meeting a thousand times and not once did she walk away from it, forgetting it happened.

I grin as I sink down into my chair, the thought that she’s been sitting, aching, wanting more of me while pretending she’s unbothered making me feel like a fucking god.

“Give it time,” I say to myself. “She’ll be crawling into my office by the end of the week.”

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