Page 32 of Off the Record

He takes my hand, pulling me toward him. I go willingly. When he cups my jaw, I think I might melt right into him. “Believe me, Paisley. I only took this job because I realized it would give me a chance to get to know you. But now I sound like a creep.”

“Not really,” I say, leaning closer, my fingers sliding around the back of his neck. His breath is hot against my skin. “I’m not complaining.”

I can feel his lips smile against my jaw.

The tugging in my gut reminds me that we haven’t discussed everything. I want to forget what Andrea said, but I can’t. It takes everything I possess to pull away from him, but I meet his eyes with mine. They look half drunk, but I was beside him all night and know it must be from emotion.

“Andrea said your company is dissolvingRhythm,that we’re all losing our jobs, and you’ve already asked her to be your new personal secretary.”

Hudson’s expression stills. The seconds pass in heavy, thick silence, his guilt growing more evident with every beat of the clock.

My stomach drops. I know with certainty that it’s all true and, once again, I’ve been lied to. The truth has been withheld. I’ve been falling for someone who isn’t honest with me. It’s Leo all over again.

My body goes tight and shaky, like my skin is swarming with bugs. I pull away. He reaches for me, but he must notice my expression, because he withdraws. “Was my position ever safe?”

“Paisley.”

“Be honest. I deserve time to find a new job.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No one has been safe?—”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” The fact that he isn’t dropping immediate explanations hurts, but it also effectively drives anger through me with the power of a commercial coffee machine.

“Paisley, please wait.”

“Unless you have something to say that will explain all this, I really don’t want to hear it.”

He looks lost.

Which is hard to see, but enough to make me leave. I give him a few seconds to start explaining—to say anything. When he remains silent, I walk to the door and close it behind me.

He doesn’t follow.

ten

Monday.I get to work and there’s a caramel macchiato waiting on my desk.

Hudson Owens: Will you come to my office?

Paisley McConkie: Sorry, my desk fish can’t be left unattended today. She just lost her brother and she’s grieving.

Tuesday. A second caramel macchiato joins the first one. Both sit there, smelling divine and tempting me beyond reasonable control.

Hudson Owens: Can I see you in my office, please?

Paisley McConkie: Not right now. My feet are suffering from acute temporary paralysis.

Wednesday. A third cup. I really should throw them all away, but I can’t bring myself to touch them.

Hudson Owens: Paisley, will you please come to my office?

Paisley McConkie: I can’t. My nail polish is drying.

I look up after sending that message. Hudson steps away from his desk and crosses the room, then looks pointedly at my naked nails. My pulse is thundering, his strong, tall form looming above me, evidence of his gestures sitting between us like three little soldiers fighting on his side. What’s he going to do, call me out in front of the entire office? I hold his gaze, my expression unforgiving. He’s lucky I haven’t made an office-wide announcement. Everyone deserves the heads up that their jobs will be gone soon. Except I also don’t want to incite mass panic. There has to be a good way to do this.

“We can meet here, if that’s better,” he says coolly.

The last few days have been miserable. I don’t want to argue with him, here or anywhere else. I might be putting on a brave, angry facade, but I’m hurting. I’d thought he was different, and it’s painful to be wrong when things matter like this.

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