Page 95 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
I’m pretty sure Fischer didn’t know either. As Lila takes Grant’s hands and air kisses his cheeks, he watches the pair of them with his eyebrows pulling low. Both of Fischer’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, muscles bunching beneath his shirt, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so tense. And that’s saying something.
“Would you like me to gather everyone into the conference room?” I ask hesitantly.
Lila throws a sharp glance back at me. “No need.”
Before I can offer up any other options to make myself useful, Dani and Ava come down the hall, the other planners right behind them. Even the accountant and the lawyer arrive in the lobby, all of them with jackets, ready to head out.
Did I miss an email or something?
“We’re all going to lunch to finalize the Greenwood event,” Lila tells me.
“Oh!” I reach for my purse.
“You’re staying here.”
“Oh.” My stomach drops, though it wouldn’t be the first time I got left behind to man the phones. But if they’re finalizing the event, I should be there. After all, I’m the one who made all the calls and placed the orders.
Grant helps Lila into her jacket, and then she turns her full focus to me as everyone else shuffles into the elevator. “Be a dear and forward the spreadsheet to my phone, will you?”
“S-sure.” That’s not a strange request, but it still feels ominous.
When the elevator returns, Fischer gives me a sympathetic smile and then takes a step toward the open door.
Grant grabs his shoulder. “Might as well keep you here too, Price,” he says. “In case anything pops up.”
Fischer opens his mouth, probably to argue, but I clear my throat. Shake my head. So he clenches his jaw and steps aside so Grant and Lila can pass arm in arm.
The instant the elevator door closes, Fischer relaxes. “I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he says as he takes three wide steps to come to my desk and scoop me up against his side. “But I’m not going to complain about being left alone with you for the next couple of hours.”
I’m almost certain everyone going to lunch without us is a bad sign, but I keep that thought to myself. As Fischer said in his text, I need to stay positive, just as I always do.
“Do you want to know a fun fact about Ember Events?” I say, pressing my palm to his chest. He wore a navy blue Oxford shirt today, and I’m loving the dark and velvety look it gives him.
Fischer takes a moment to play with my curls before he answers. “I want to know anything you want to tell me.”
I bite my lip, which instantly shifts his attention to my mouth. “We have a fantastic supply closet. Plenty of room for a couple of people to hang out.”
He rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to seduce me at work, Miss Taylor?”
“Oh, there’s no trying here. Only succeed—”
He cuts me off with a kiss that skips the sweetness of last night, jumping straight into the kind of kiss that always makes me blush when I read about them in books. What Fischer lacks in peppy personality, he makes up for in enthusiasm, and I am not about to complain about his newfound kissing confidence. He kisses like he has things to say but lacks the words, and I don’t want to miss a thing.
When we finally come up for air, I laugh as I drop my head against his chest. “One might think you’re in a hurry to get somewhere.”
He wraps his arms around me, holding tight. “Making up for lost time,” he counters. “Now, what was this about a storage closet?”
We are absolutely not getting any work done while the others are at lunch, and I don’t even care. Hooking my finger on his collar, I tug him forward, never taking my eyes off of his as I lead him deeper into Ember.
***
My new favorite hobby is kissing Fischer Bradley. My second favorite hobby is talking to Fischer Bradley. For three hours, we have the office to ourselves, and we spend it either making out in hidden corners or sitting on the floor of my cubicle, me in Fischer’s lap with my back pressed against his chest as he runs his hands along my arms in a tantalizing, tender touch and answers every question I ask him.
Unlike before, there’s nothing he hides from me now, and I wish I had known how beautiful his soul was so I could have pushed him to open up sooner. With each new thing I learn—like how he’s a terrible swimmer but loves being in the water anyway, or how his favorite food changes with his mood—I like him that much more, to the point where I’m not sure I could like him more than I already do. Then he goes and tells me something new, and the limit moves again.
Like when he tells me he hates coffee.
“What?” I spin around to face him. “How many cups of coffee have I given you?”
