Page 57 of The Seven Year Slip

“It’s a joke,” he lamented, almost pitifully, and then waved him away. “I have her. You can go back to work.”

“Yes, Chef.” The server nodded again, and quickly left to tend to his tables.

When the squirrelly guy was gone, I heard the chef rumble, “You’renot from a magazine.”

Turning on my heels, I whirled around to face James Ashton. My stomach folded itself into knots. Just half an hour ago, his mouth was on my neck, his breath against my skin, and now—we couldn’t be further apart. “James,” I greeted him, trying to keep my voice level.

I hoped this worked.

I hoped Iwan was right.

He was in his chef’s uniform, a white coat buttoned down the side of the front, straining his broad shoulders. “Yes, Clementine?”

“You rejected our offer.”

“I did, and if that’s why you’re here,” he said carefully, “my decision is final.”

My heart plummeted into my toes. “Hold on, hear me out—”

“I’m sorry,” he went on, letting his arms fall to his side, and he passed me toward the kitchen. “I really need to get back to work—”

I whirled around on my heels. “Is it because of me?”

He froze in his footsteps, his back to me. My hands were clenched so tightly, I felt my nails leaving indentations in my palms.

“Is it because of me?” I repeated. “Because you and I...”

He glanced over his shoulder, and that was all the answer I really needed.

Itwasbecause of me. My fists began to tremble. I probably should have felt sad that he hated me, but to punishDrew? I wasn’t sad—I was getting angry. “Hold on, you don’t think that’s a bit harsh?”

He turned back to me. “No, actually.”

“We didn’t even do anything,” I said, taking a step toward him as he retreated back. “We just kissed—a few times. That’sit.” I took another step, and he pressed himself flat against the wall, framed between a sconce and a still life of a fruit bowl. “And I’m sure you’ve done more thanthatsince then, James.”

His pale eyes were wide. “Um... well...”

“I get it if you don’t like me or want to forget about me, but to reject Strauss and Adder’s offer because ofme?” I went on because the Iwan I knew and the man standing in front of me couldn’t have been more different, and I didn’t care how successful he was now, or how handsome, I had a publishing imprint to save.

“Clementine,” he said, and I hated how level his voice still was, how composed, “do you really think we should work together? Doyou think that this”—he motioned between us—“would be a good idea?”

“I think you and Drew would work great together! And I think Strauss and Adder would treat your worksowell. Never mind I amdamngood at my job, and IknowI am. I wouldn’t let a personal grudge or whatever you have against me affect how hard I will work for you and your books.” My hands fell out of fists. “I know my coming here is unprofessional, but you once said that it’s the people that make a good team, and everyone at Strauss and Adder is good. They’re hardworking, and they’re honest, and you deserve that. And they deserve a chance. A real one.”

And I wouldn’t be here making a fool of myself if it wasn’t important. Strauss & Adder needed a big author to fill the vacuum Basil Ray left behind, and if we didn’t get one, it would bode very, very badly for my job—and everyone else’s job at the imprint. Basil Ray wouldn’t be thereasonStrauss & Adder closed, but I refused to make that old cryptid the nail in this proverbial coffin.

He pursed his lips, hoping I’d break eye contact first, but he finally did, and looked away. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He muttered, “I don’t like you using my own words against me...”

“Admit it,” I said, poking him in the chest, “it’s a good move.”

He scrunched his nose, the first small crack in his put-together facade. The first small sign of my Iwan. “It’s... also quite endearing,” he admitted, “and a little bit sexy.”

I blinked. “Sexy?”

To which he replied, his face inches from mine, so close I could feel his words on my skin, “You have me backed up against a wall, Lemon.”

...Oh.

I finally realized how close we were. So close I could see my reflection in the polished buttons of his chef’s coat.Unprofessionallyclose. And suddenly, that awful telltale feeling returned. The Pop Rocks in my stomach, how it almost made me feel sick. Heat rose up on my cheeks, and I quickly stepped away, my ears burning hot. “Sorry, sorry.”

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