Page 22 of Unless It's You
I nod and concentrate on my breathing.
“Thanks for the work on the storyboards.” Ethan’s voice interrupts my one-minute meditation, andmy eyes fly open.
Ethan’s standing there talking to Graham. They chat for a minute about the storyboard idea, then Graham turns back to me.
“Stella? Advisor?”
Shit, shit, shit.Ethan’s eyebrows raise and he watches me. He knows exactly what I was talking to Graham about. Heat warms my cheeks from pure embarrassment. Ethan and I might have had a little moment back there, but that doesn’t mean I want to reveal my piles of dirty laundry to him.
“No, that’s not what I said. Or meant to say, anyway.” My brain whirls. What could I ask Graham for? I think about the list and when I get to the Skye item, my brain lights up. “Oh, I just need a quick photoshopping job in the next week or so, if you have a few minutes. No big deal if you can’t, though.”
The thing I really can’t do in the next twenty-five days is go to the Isle of Skye. But Graham can help me with that. He’s a Photoshop genius. That can be my evidence.
Guilt twists at me like a knife in the gut.I’ll go to Skye, Aunt Evelyn, I swear.But I can’t do it this month.
“Of course. What kind of photoshopping job?”
“I’ll send you an email of what I need.” Graham frowns, and I’m sure he’s wondering why I didn’t just do that to begin with. “Thank you!” I sound way too cheery.
Graham walks away with a lift of his hand.
I turn to Ethan, who is staring at me, leaning against his desk with his hands linked in front of him, a knowing smile on his face.
“What, are we friends now?” I cross my arms and try to appear confident and calm, not floundering and flustered like I feel. “I agreed to a truce, not being BFFs.”
He presses his lips together.
I hate that I think he’s so cute. As a male human being, Ethan Fraser does not disappoint. He reaches up and pulls at his beard. I bet if I kissed him, it would rub my chin raw. The crazy beard is a new thing. It was there, but much tidier a year and a half ago when we... no.
Inappropriate thoughts. And I’ll never know how his crazy beard feels rubbing against my chin, because I have no intention of kissing this man ever again, andoh Jesus, why am I even thinking of that?
“So. Graham’s not going to be your advisor?”
I shake my head.
“And you already asked Gemma. And Tessa.”
A groan escapes my throat. “You are quite the eavesdropper.” Why is there a smile creeping onto my face?
“Is there coffee in this place, Hart?”
“You want coffee?”
He nods.
“Yeah, okay. Come on.” I open and close my hands and push back my chair, thinking too hard about the motions my body is going through to get from sitting at my desk to walking down the hall. Why does this man make me feel so self-conscious? I’m hyper aware of my four-inch heels and Ethan’s large, muscular frame behind me. With the shoes, I reach a respectable five-foot-seven, but even then, Ethan’s easily seven or eight inches taller than me.
He and Ben are an incredible contrast. My ex is tall, too, but not as tall as Ethan, and not nearly as muscular. Ben had never broken a bone playing rugby, and he told me it’s because he ran so fast as a wing, nobody ever caught him. No tattoos. Clean shaven. Open, clear smile and bright blue eyes. Objectively attractive.
I have a brief flash from That Night of touching Ethan’s chest and sliding my hands up to connect around his neck. Four-inch heels were no problem at all. They got me to just where I needed to be on his body.
And as much as I absolutely hate to admit it, I might enjoy doing that again. Climbing him like a tree.
Seriously? Someone save me from myself.
I pivot into the kitchen and gesture to the stack of cups next to the hulking coffee machine offering black coffee, lattes, cappuccinos, and various additives like flavored syrup and creamer.
Ethan presses the plain coffee button, and we stand awkwardly while London’s slowest coffee machine spits out dark liquid.
