Page 32 of So That Happened

Who in their right mind okays construction on a major artery during Monday rush-hour traffic?

By the time I finally arrive at the office, I’m officially late for the morning staff meeting and in half a mind to lodge a complaint with the City.

I open the door to the boardroom at 8:04am.

They haven’t started yet. Everyone’s standing around drinking coffee and engaging in inane small talk (the exact reason my usual habit is to enter the boardroom at 7.59am), but the way Vanessa from HR is looking at me, you’d think I blew off the entire meeting.

“Mr. Donovan, there you are,” she says in this high-pitched, breathy voice. “I was beginning to worry.”

“Traffic,” I mutter quickly. The eternal cover-all excuse that requires no further explanation. I look away, tugging on my shirt collar.

“Flustered,” Luke mouths at me from where he’s sitting on the boardroom table, chatting to Jamal and Todd, our developers.

I give him a stony glare in return. He knows I’m giving him the middle finger in my head.

“Before we start,” Vanessa rocks back on her red leather heels and looks at me in that coy, head-tilted-down, pouty way that I’ve often seen women do and never understood. It just makes them look constipated. “I need to introduce you to someone.”

Ah, yes. The new data analyst.

Vanessa gestures towards a quiet presence hovering beside her. I was so flustered—dammit, Luke—I didn’t even notice her there. I turn to her almost eagerly…

My heart stops.

The blood drains from my face.

Because the person looking back at me with saucer eyes, face pale as a ghost’s, is the very same person I shared a very small bed with this weekend. The same person I left alone in a hotel room after cuddling her all night.

It’s definitely, unmistakably her.

Annie’s dressed less like a children’s entertainer today, but she still has that same cute, quirky look. Her bright red and yellow, poppy-patterned sundress, fastened at the waist with a thick leather belt, wouldn’t be classified as “typical office attire,” and yet, it works. Her wild auburn hair has been straightened and tamed into a neat ponytail.

I preferred the wild hair.

The thought comes to me unbidden, coupled with a workplace-inappropriate flashback of wild-haired Annie wearing little more than my t-shirt. The way her breathing slowed as she fell asleep. The sighs she made every time she rolled over in bed next to me. The way I held her close…

I swallow hard.

This is a freaking HR nightmare if I ever saw one.

We stare at each other for one second. Two. Three.

Say something, Liam!

“H-hello,” I finally choke out.

Annie blinks, like a spell’s been broken, and her red-lipsticked mouth stretches into a sudden smile.

“Hi.” She glances at her wristwatch, and then—I kid you not—she says, “glad you could finally join us.”

9

ANNIE

Of all the things I could’ve said, did I really have to say THAT?

My foot-in-mouth syndrome always flares up when I’m nervous. It’s a super helpful, special feature that I’ve been blessed with.

Not.

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