Page 11 of Breathe for Me

“Nils Olsen.” She’s looking at me now, staring hard, and I desperately want to recognize the name, but… I’ve got nothing. The mist on my neck is cold, the stone wall suddenly hard and uncomfortable.

“I don’t recognize the name,” I confess, and when Georgina’s eyes dim, I hurry to add, “but I’ll look him up when we get back, I promise.”

“Don’t bother.” My assistant scowls as she tears off scraps of her wrap, tossing bread to the pigeons pecking near our feet. “He does something else these days. In education.”

“That’s great.” Isn’t it?

She shrugs.

And just like that, our lunch in the sun has gone cold. We’re both stiff and tired, and there are a million things to do waiting for us back at Ignis. Even the kids whooping with laughter over on the grass are suddenly too loud, too shrill.

“Come on.” My back aches as I push to my feet, scrunching my lunch wrapper into a ball. “Let’s go see what else has imploded since we left the office. Bet the fire alarm’s rung again.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Georgina says, and though she smiles, it looks wobbly. I take her hand and pull her gently to her feet.

“You could take the day off,” I say as we weave between pigeons. Two of them are scrapping over a big piece of Georgina’s flatbread, yanking with their beaks and letting out angry coos. “For the cramps, I mean. Go home and try an ice pack or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” she repeats, shaking her head. But as we walk along the stone path, the backs of our wrists brush, and without a word, we each move closer—then tangle our hands together, like two people on a date andnotan assistant and boss. “Tell me, Levi. Why are smart men always so clueless about women?”

Lord. I wish I knew.

* * *

For once, nothing has broken or gone horribly wrong all morning. There have been no rat sightings; no meetings canceled at the last minute. No lost paperwork or phone calls from irate suppliers. When we arrive back in the Ignis lobby, the elevator even pings and slides open. Yes! Finally, a win! I could cheer.

“Oh, look.” I nudge my silent assistant. We stopped holding hands two blocks ago, unlacing our fingers by tacit agreement as we got closer to the office. “They must have fixed it already. Good job.”

Georgina grunts. She trails me into the mirrored elevator, and she doesn’t say a single word as we rise through the building. At least we’re not panting up those stairs.

And it’s odd, seeing our reflections side by side. We look… good. Like a matched pair. My brown hair beside her blonde; my tall, angular frame next to her curves.

“You really can go home,” I say when the doors slide open and Georgina stomps to her desk. “I won’t mark it as a sick day. Take it as a freebie.”

“I don’t need your pity, Mr Laurent.” I pause at my own office door, taken aback by her cold tone. Have I done something wrong? Georgina throws herself down into the chair with a sigh, and she won’t look at me.

Fuck. I’ve made her uncomfortable.

Why did I take her hand like that? Did she hate it the whole time? If she let me touch her for that whole walk from the park, secretly wishing I’d back off…

I swallow hard. I couldn’t bear that.

“Georgina…”

“You have a phone call from the Tribune at two fifteen. Better prepare, Mr Laurent.”

Okay, okay. She wants me to leave. And it may be my company, my office, my whole damn building, but I can give her that much.

My office is cool and empty, and every sound I make as I get settled behind my desk echoes in my ears. My lips are numb. What is this phone call about? What are these contracts for? Christ, I can’t think. There’s a buzzing sound in my brain.

Tick… tock…

The clock on the wall counts down the seconds, and it’s like time has slowed. My blood is thick and soupy in my veins.

This is torture. Where did I go wrong?

The door opens softly, and I suck in a harsh breath as Georgina slips inside. She begins walking slowly, then strides faster, then runs, her wind-tousled braid streaming behind her.

“Oof.” My assistant barrels into my chest, wrapping her arms around my neck, my desk chair rolling back with a clatter. What the hell? I snatch her onto my lap, and I have no idea what just happened, but as long as she’s with me, it’s okay. “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

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