Page 165 of Breaking the Rules
I focus on fixing a medium roast. On itsdrip drip dripand the comforting scent of coffee. On pouring exactly the right amount of half and half and adding just a touch of sugar.
Fucking Hunter.
He's ruined this too.
Now that I'm used to his fancy pour overs, this K-cup screams of mediocrity.
I slide my shoulders back, suck a deep breath through my teeth, march to the counter as casually as possible.
Ryan's eyes meet mine. They get big. Intense. "You think we should hire more artists?"
I fight my desire to glare. "It's what the math suggests."
Ryan brushes a wavy strand behind his ear. "How many?"
"Well…" I step behind the counter. Pull up the Google Doc I made. "We're limited by space, but we could fit another suite in here. And we could get more strict about kicking people who aren't working to the lobby."
He nods.
"We could hire three or four artists. Easily." I turn the screen so it's facing Ryan.
He's so quiet and intense.
He's always like that.
But I'm not usually seeking his approval.
My eyes flit to Hunter.
He nods someway to gonod.
I try my best to ignore it.
To not feel the warmth in my chest or the flutter in my stomach.
It's worse that he's being all supportive and encouraging. It would be easier if he was a dick. Then I could convince myself I was wrong about him.
But right now, with those blue eyes trained on me…
He kissed me.
And it was…
It was everything.
Why is he…
Why are we…
UGH.
"This is thorough." Ryan's eyes meet mine. "You're good at this."
"Maybe." It's weird, accepting a compliment about my intellect. But Ryan is always straightforward. If he's saying this, he means it.
"These are projections, Em. Good ones. You forget I went to college?"
Yeah, actually.
