Page 55 of The Proximity Effect

“That’s a good plan... I’ll um... find Archer and Liam.” I shuffled papers around my desk, trying to look important while having absolutely no idea what I was doing.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up the seldom-used group text I had with Archer and Liam.

Me: Where are you two? Winter is coming!

Liam: I’m in the gym.

Me: Did you know there was a storm coming? I wouldn’t be surprised if the Night King makes an appearance. Frank used the word biblical.

Liam: Frank thrives on drama. Archer sent an email out two days ago. Did you not get it?

I dropped my phone on a stack of papers and opened up my email, which had over five hundred unread messages. Sure enough, there was an email from Archer detailing the roles of each of the managers and a small list of tasks for me to complete. Shit.

This was why I shouldn’t be running a multi-million-dollar business. If I couldn’t run my own company, I certainly wasn’t going to ever be good at running one I hadn’t had a hand instarting. The worst part was that now, instead of only letting myself down, I was letting down other people.

Me: I’ve been having issues with my email. I’m on it…

Archer: Do you need help?

Me: That depends if you’re going to be sighing and making me feel like a loser.

Archer: I can’t make any guarantees on the sighing.

Did he just make a joke?

I smiled at my phone, a tiny spark of hope flickering in my chest. Maybe there was still a chance to fix my fuck-up if Archer was actually joking with me. The guy had the emotional range of a rock most days, so even the smallest hint of humor felt like winning the lottery. It wasn’t much, but I’d take what I could get.

Standing up, I grabbed the apocalypse binder and was about to dive into my apparently very late to-do list when Tessa walked in, bringing with her the faint scent of vanilla and coffee that always seemed to follow her around.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite chef coming to rescue me.” I waggled my eyebrows at her, falling back on my usual defense mechanism of flirtation. “Unless you’re here for a different kind of rescue? Because I’m totally down for that too.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine in a way that made me feel simultaneously better and worse about myself. “You weren’t there last night.”

“Ah, so you missed me?” I leaned back against my desk, aiming for casual but probably looking more like I was having a mild stroke.

“Evan.” She said my name like she saw right through my class-clown act to all the insecurities lurking beneath. “Why didn’t you join us last night?”

I ran a hand through my hair, buying time while I decided how honest to be. “Would you believe I had an urgent meeting with my underwear drawer? Very demanding. Always trying to escape. You know how it is with rebellious underwear.”

“Try again.” She crossed her arms, fixing me with a look that somehow made me want to spill all my secrets.

“I...” The words stuck in my throat. “I chickened out, okay? I stood outside your door like an idiot and then left. Probably wore a groove in the carpet pacing back and forth first.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “But you sent Liam with ice cream, and you’ve been pushing for this. Did you change your mind? If you did, that’s perfectly understandable, but things seemed fine at dinner…”

“I didn’t change my mind. I didn’t want to fuck it up or overwhelm you with three of us at once so quickly.” It wasn’t completely a lie.

She gave me a look that told me she did not believe me at all. Apparently, I wasn’t as good at lying as I thought.

The laugh that burst out of me was probably a bit too loud, a bit too sharp, echoing in the office like a gunshot. “Everything I touch turns into a disaster. My marketing company? Crashed and burned. My friendship with the guys? I managed to fuck that up spectacularly. And now look at this place.” I gestured wildly around me, nearly knocking over a stack of papers. “I ordered heart-shaped beds, Tessa. Heart-shaped beds! Who does that? Besides Elvis?”

“I kind of like the heart-shaped beds.” Her lips twitched. “They’re... memorable.”

“They’re tacky as hell, and you know it.” The fight drained out of me. “I don’t want to mess this up too. Whatever this isbetween all of us. It feels too important.” The admission was like ripping off a Band-Aid—quick, painful, and possibly leaving a mark.

Tessa stepped closer. “You know what I think?”

“That I should stick to ordering regular-shaped furniture?”

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