Page 39 of Handle with Care
He gives me a curious look, and who knows what my expression is doing. I cough, find my water bottle, and take a drink. If I’m drinking water, I’m not talking, and that’s a win for keeping words falling out of my mouth that I’d rather not say. Or admit to. Like how weirdly happy I am to see him today?
Keep it professional. Focus on work.
“I went and collected an exhibit yesterday. I updated the spreadsheet if you want to look. It was the rucksack prototype.”
He nods and focuses on his computer again. Thank God. I probably had another three seconds before saying something stupid again if he kept looking at me like that. I’m going to need some serious avoidance strategies. Or something.
After a few minutes, he looks up at me. He smiles. “I missed your nonsense too.”
And the asshole goes back to work after dropping that. I do my best to avoid gawping and instead pretend I’m studying the exhibition spreadsheet without my heart beating into next week.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” I say as casually as I can muster as my heart thunders in my mouth. Holy shit, what did he say?
He missed my nonsense.
“Only the wind, I think.”
“We should speak to facilities about the draft in here.” I tug at my collar.
“Excellent plan. I’ll make a note of it.” Will’s eyes glimmer before we both get back to work, for real this time. I’m smiling. And, as luck would have it, when I glance up from my laptop, he’s smiling, too, and showing no sign of stopping either.
Maybe Raj is right: maybe there’s a chance we can be friends after all. Because being friends hurts nothing, right?
Just friends.
Chapter Sixteen
We go about being at least friendly acquaintances over the next week, if not outright friends. After all, we’ve gone from essential being rivals—or mortal enemies, as far as I had been concerned after the splashdown—from truce to a new, uncertain peace.
At work, Will’s practically cordial. When he offers to make tea for Nancy and Sylvie and me, the three of us freeze in a tableau. Sylvie does a double take despite herself but recovers quickly and says yes. He helps Carine distribute parcels one morning when we’re in the office. She blinks at me when she hears me call him Will rather than Mr. McLaren when he’s not around. I offer no explanation.
Increasingly, we’re spending more time out gathering items rather than sitting in the office, trying to figure out a plan. We’ve already figured out a plan, and it’s working, at least so far, and Lily is in support. Toward the end of each workday, we get ourselves back to the office to plan the route for pickups for the next day, send a few emails, and check in with Lily after we deposit everything we’ve gathered and hand over the paperwork to her.
Neither of us is bold enough to talk about what happened in the hotel room. It’s like it didn’t happen. We don’t mention sharing a bed. Or Will’s migraine—or his missing leg. Of course, I’m curious, but I don’t want to pry, especially as he didn’t explain what happened. Fair enough, he wasn’t up for explanations at the time. He hasn’t offered since, and I haven’t asked.
We definitely, definitely don’t talk about making out in bed together. That’s the fast track to madness.
Instead, we’re a bit too polite around each other. Like today. We’re out doing a pickup of some bespoke handmade shoes on loan from a London designer, purchasing a selection of premium design magazines, and picking up a limited-edition print from an artist. We started at shoes, progressed to magazines, and are now on the artwork phase. It’s kind of like going from first to third base. Except I shouldn’t think about third base either.
At about that moment, Will glances at me, as if he can read my mind. His gaze lingers a moment too long on mine. Till he coughs and looks away, and I flush.
“Sorry,” he says smoothly, “my colleague Dylan will sign the paperwork.”
“Oh no, go right ahead. Please.” I pass the clipboard to him. Our fingers brush, and I shiver.
His gaze meets mine again. I look away first this time.
The sun streams through the studio window. Tessa smiles at Will and takes the clipboard once Will signs the document. Together, they sort out the transfer receipts. Which gives me a moment to appreciate Will’s profile, the way his hair falls over his brow, the pull of fabric across his biceps and his err?—
“Thank you again. I’m so honored to be part of the exhibition,” Tessa says, bringing me back from my unquenched thirsting.
“Of course you’ll come to the private view.” Will’s smile is entirely charming.
“I’d be delighted.” In turn, Tessa’s smile is broad, and I don’t think she’s only smiling about the private view. I’m sure she’s caught on to the growing awkwardness—or attraction—between Will and me.
“I’ll arrange for tickets to be sent to you.” Will gives his most charismatic smile, and I suspect both Tessa and I die a little inside as I do my solemn best not to swoon. “With a plus-one, naturally.”
“That’s very kind,” she says. “Thank you. I can’t wait to see the show and to see Lily again.”
