Page 20 of Unless It's You
Unless she is thinking about that night right now? Nah, definitely not. But...
“I like how it’s balanced.” I need to stay focused. “Makes it really clear there are two pillars of the new charity: sports and mentoring.”
Tessa makes an agreeing murmur, then opens her mouth to say something. But Stella chimes in.
“Unless we have them tossing a rugby ballduringthe hike,” Stella suggests. She emphasized the wordunless. “Or kicking a soccer ball off the mountain.” There are a few chuckles around the table.
“That might be a bit dangerous,” Graham adds.
But I’m not chuckling with the rest of them. I’m staring at Stella, and she’s staring at me.
“Unless we throw in a cricket bat along with the rugby and soccer balls,” I add, my mouth involuntarily turned up in a smile. The group laughs.
Stella raises her eyebrows and throws a full-blown smile at me. Fucking hell. It’s like being blinded by the sun.
“Best to stay focused on rugby for this spot, I’d think.” Tessa gets us back on track and the group chats more about some of the adjustments to the storyboard, but everything goes smoothly. The creative team is going to revise the boards in record time, and I’ll come in tomorrow late afternoon for a second meeting.
The rest of the team files out of the room, but I stay rooted to my chair. So does Stella.
“Coming, Stella? Ethan?” Tessa pauses at the door, glancing back and forth between us, an inquisitive look on her face.
“I just have another quick topic to discuss with Ethan,” Stella says.
“Right. Let me know if you need me.” With that, Tessa leaves the room, and it’s just me and Stella.
Silence settles around us.
“Listen, Ethan, I know you’ve never quite liked me.”
I blink about a billion times. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“Hart. That’s not true.” But I’m clenching my jaw, and her gaze flits down to my mouth.
“Can we be honest with each other? Since we have to work together?”
We’re on the verge of talking about that night, which is something I never want to do. My mind whirls and I try to come up with something to stop this conversation from happening.
“Unless we call a truce.” It’s all I can come up with.
The corner of her mouth twitches.
“A truce? Well, I suppose we can pretend to get along.” She bites her lip, and my chest stirs. “Unless you can’t handle being nice to me and you completely screw it up.”
“Unless you can’t handle my wit and charm...”
She cackles.
“What? You don’t find me witty or charming?”
“I mean, not to me, anyway, not after...”
“Okay, okay. It’s a truce.”
I cut her off before she can talk about the first night we met, before the memory of pressing my lips against hers overwhelms me.
And with that, Stella Hart and I have a truce.
9
