Page 72 of Think Outside the Boss

Someone cuts in, and then I recognize Quentin’s voice. “Please come save me from having to talk to any more strangers. I’m all strangered out.”

“Did you hear that?” Toby asks. “Quentin said please! Where are you?”

“In my hotel room.”

“What? Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m not—”

“Good! Either you’re joining us or we’re coming to get you!”

“I’ll be right there,” I hear myself saying, reaching for my discarded dress on the floor. “Buy me a drink.”

Toby hoots. “The bar next to the hotel. We’ll save you a seat!”

“See you soon.” I click off and scramble in search of my underwear. Toby and Quentin’s voices in my ear were like a slap of reality, a cold bucket of water. The entire conference center, not to mention the hotel, is crawling with people we know. People who are all too eager to put two and two together and arrive at twenty-eight.

“Heading out?” Tristan asks. He’s lying on the bed, an arm behind his head and a knee bent, like nothing bothers him. But his face is unreadable again.

Have I jeopardized everything? Not just my job, but the two of us, too. The budding friendship, the way he looked at me in my apartment just a few days ago. That look is gone at the moment.

“Yes,” I say. “We can’t have people knowing about this.”

“They’re not in this hotel room with us.”

“No, but they are in the hotel.” I shimmy into my dress, and he watches me struggle with the zipper in silence. Why on earth had I decided to do this at a work conference?

Had people seen me following him up to the roof?

He watches me search for my panties. He’d tossed them to the side, but the carpet is infuriatingly panty-free.

“Over there,” he mutters, pointing to the chairs in the corner. My bright-red lace panties hang off the edge of one. A blush creeps up my cheeks as I shimmy them up my legs and beneath my dress.

“I’m sorry I have to run so fast,” I tell him. “I just, I don’t…”

“You don’t want them to suspect anything,” he finishes. “I get it. We’ll talk later.”

I give him my widest smile, but even I can hear the faint panic that flavors my voice. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Go.”

So I do, the door shutting behind me with a solid thud. The corridor is still empty, and nobody sees me race for the elevators in an attempt to get off a floor I have no business being on.

18

Tristan

“We could get Grandma another set of knitting needles. She likes that,” Joshua comments. He kicks at a stray lump of snow on the sidewalk, one of the final remnants from last weekend’s weather.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I say. “Perhaps a pattern book. String, too, maybe. Or is it yarn?”

“You’re just making stuff up, Dad. You have no idea how to knit.”

I grip his shoulder, giving him a playful shake. “Who made you an expert, huh?”

He laughs and pushes away from me, grinning under the thick head of curls. “I know a ton of things. Like I know I’ll get another sweater from her!”

“Oh, you sure will. Makes sense, too, since we’re going somewhere cold for Christmas.”

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