Page 140 of The Plus One Contract

I swallow hard, forcing myself to turn.

Nathan steps into view, looking devastatingly perfect under the soft overhead light. The cut of his suit. The tension in his jaw. The war flickering behind his eyes like he doesn’t know whether to pull me in or turn away.

“Hi,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.

We’re just standing here, staring, so much dancing between us.

Six weeks’ worth of unspoken words pressing in from every angle.

Say something. Say anything.

Before either of us can, someone calls out behind him.

“Mr. Calloway! Good to see you again!”

His jaw clenches, and frustration flickers across his face.

He’s here for work. Not for me.

The thought lances through my chest like a cruel joke.

I muster a shaky smile and step back.

His gaze snaps back to mine, something desperate in his expression, and I try not to crumble.

Instead, I dip my chin in quiet acknowledgment, stepping past him.

As I do, I catch the familiar scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body so close to mine. My hand twitches.

If I reach out just an inch, I could touch him. Just for a second. Just to feel… something.

The moment passes.

I keep walking.

Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see his hand reach for me too.

Fifty-Two

Inod along to something my coworker says, adding a quick “That makes sense” before glancing back at the reports scattered in front of me. The conference room feels stifling, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I’ve answered questions, nodded at the right moments, and tossed in a suggestion or two, but my mind is everywhere but here.

I can’t stop thinking about him.

A flicker of excitement and dread wars in my stomach, leaving me uneasy.

Are we better off leaving things as they ended?

We had an agreement—one week, no attachments. Then we destroyed our own rules. Nathan left, and I let him. Now he’s back in the city, and I have no idea if I should reach out or if he’s already moved on.

“Okay, that about wraps things up,” says one of the senior partners, yanking me back to reality. “Sienna, thanks for your insights. As always, keep us updated.”

“Of course,” I reply, managing a professional smile.

The second the meeting ends, I escape the room with a quiet exhale and head to my office.

The instant I open the door, I’m greeted by the sight of Harper lounging in one of the guest chairs. She’s armed with an overpriced salad in one hand and a coffee in the other. She brandishes the coffee like a peace offering.

“I come bearing caffeine,” she announces, wiggling the cup. “How’d your meeting go?”

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