Page 76 of Boiling Point
“I’m heading there now,” I said, brushing back a stray lock of hair that had fallen across my forehead. “His appointment is scheduled for one, but Jackson is…eager.”
“That’s one word for it.” Bill chuckled and then looked me over, his round face lit with curiosity. “Everything okay, Cal? You look a little less put-together than usual.”
Heat flushed beneath my collar as images of Gabrielle in the underground bunker played fast and reckless—breathless laughter, rumpled clothes, her taste on my lips. I shoved them back.
“Brisk walk over lunch,” I said, straightening my tie like that could undo what I’d just done.
Bill gave me a look of amused disbelief but didn’t press. “There’s something different about you lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” He squinted at me like a scientist peering through a microscope. “You seem less…brooding. More pep in your step.”
I barked a laugh, slightly ragged. “That won’t do. I have a reputation to uphold.”
He shook his head, all friendly exasperation. “Whatever it is, it suits you. It’s nice to see you happy.” Bill clapped me on the shoulder, then gestured down the hall toward Jackson, who sat cross-legged on the floor, consumed by his phone. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
“Thanks for the message.” I straightened, the scholar’s armor sliding back into place as I turned toward my office.
That was close.
I made it through the meeting with my composure mostly intact. Jackson left a little after three—freshly annotated proposal in hand, an ambitious glint in his eye, and no idea my attention had been…divided the entire time.
I sank back in my chair and let out a long breath. My shirt clung to the small of my back. The air felt too warm, too tight.
I didn’t know how long I stared at the same corner of my desk before pulling out my phone.
Did you make it to your afternoon class on time?
Her reply came a minute later.
Barely, but yes. Physically present anyway. Mentally, I was still with you.
Heat flushed under my collar again, but it was different this time—lower, deeper—slow and consuming. I hesitated only briefly before typing:
Can I pop by tonight? I’ve got something for you.
A beat. Then another. Then?—
More than you already gave me today? Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow…
I laughed, silent and helpless, dropping my forehead to the edge of my desk. God help me…
Another message followed:
Yes, of course you can come over. I was going to order Chinese. But fair warning—I won’t share my egg rolls unless you bring dessert.
I stared at the screen, grinning like a fool, the day’s weight slipping off my shoulders one scandalous message at a time. I typed and deleted a dozen responses before landing on something that wouldn’t get me arrested. Or fired. Or both.
I’ll be there at seven. And I never arrive empty-handed.
I knocked once on Gabrielle’s door, briefcase slung over one shoulder and a brown paper bag in my hand.
“It’s open,” she called.
I stepped inside and shut the door. Gabrielle stood barefoot in leggings and an oversized tee, her hair piled up in a way that was somehow more dangerous than formalwear. She looked at me and smiled like I was the only thing she’d been waiting for all day.
“You made it,” she said, padding over to kiss my cheek. “And with dessert. You’re officially welcome.”
“I was promised egg rolls,” I said, shrugging off my coat and setting my briefcase by the sofa. “And as I said, I don’t arrive empty-handed.”
“So, what’d you bring me?”
