Page 68 of Mr. Big Shot

There’s no note, which I find incredibly annoying because they could be from anyone. My mom and dad? Jasper? (Ew.) Hudson? (More ew.)

Kendra’s no help, of course. I ask if she saw who delivered them.

“No” is the only response I get, and there’s a lot of attitude infused in that single syllable.

Because I don’t yet know if they’re the embodiment of good or evil, I put the flowers on the floor in the corner. I can’t throw them away, but I also can’t look at them all day.

At 2:00 p.m., I have to join Kendra and a few other associates for a conference call with one of our clients. McNealand is a large shipping company interested in acquiring an equally large maritime manufacturing company. If they pursue the deal, we’ll all be part of the acquisition team.

Hudson is already sitting at the head of the conference table talking to Bethany and Sophie when I walk in. I claim a seat far away from him.

“You won’t be able to hear way over there.”

Hudson’s voice sends a cascade of goose bumps down my spine.

My initial instinct is to argue, and for the record, I do have about ten comebacks on the tip of my tongue, but then I dutifully scoot down a few chairs and take a seat in the middle of the conference table instead. Kendra—who walked in behind me—steals the spot beside Sophie and strikes up a conversation like she’s the nicest person in the world. Who is she really? This person? Or the vile being I have to deal with day in and day out?

As I stay perfectly still, my attention down on my hands, a few more senior associates trickle in and the conference table fills up. A guy named Nathan, who I’ve met on a few occasions and seems harmless enough, sits beside me and accidentally nudges my elbow with his chair as he sits down.

“Sorry.”

I smile. “No, it’s fine.”

A second later he curses and thunks the table with his fingers. “Damn. I forgot my coffee.”

I hesitate for a moment. Then, “How are you ever going to survive?”

He chuckles, and Hudson clears his throat. I roll my eyes. We haven’t started yet; it’s not like the conference room is dead quiet.

I peer up to see Hudson looking at me. Navy suit. Matching tie. Crisp white shirt. Annoyed expression. Perfect lips. Scruff.

I wish he’d shave.

I wish he’d stop looking at me like that.

Like I’ve done something wrong.

I mouth, “Stop,” and his expression only darkens.

“How are you settling in?” Nathan asks me.

I turn away from Hudson and smile at my seatmate. He has to be in his early thirties, but he’s still hanging on to a perpetual baby face, ruddy cheeks and all. “Oh…fine, I suppose. How long have you been here?”

His brows shoot up when he realizes the answer. “Eight years.”

“Was your first year rough?”

He laughs as he remembers it. “It was the hardest year of my life. I gained like ten pounds and broke up with my girlfriend and nearly got fired a few times.”

“But you survived,” I point out with a supportive smile.

He nods and smooths his hand down his tie. “And you will too.”

His encouragement makes me feel a little lighter right up until Hudson takes charge of the meeting, and for the better part of an hour, I’m forced to listen to his discussions with our client. Everyone in the room is furiously taking notes, and I do the same. Even in the current circumstances, the acquisition sounds exciting, and I won’t slack off. I have to separate my work from my real life.

I wish I could avoid Hudson altogether, but he’s the one talking, the one in charge. It’d be weird if I kept my head down the whole time, so I brace myself then peer down the conference table. Getting to look at him for so long, uninterrupted, makes me elated and enraged all at once. It would be satisfying to find him tired and pale, a shadow of his usual self. But he’s so healthy-looking, robust and strong, like he could withstand anything. In certain moments, when his jaw tics or his hand brushes his lips absentmindedly—despite trying my hardest not to—I can’t help but recall blips of Saturday night, fleeting memories that carry so much emotion with them. Each one makes me wince and fidget in my chair.

Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, Hudson meets my gaze on one such occasion. He looks so frustrated now, but I know what he looks like when he’s drugged with lust, soothed and sensual. I know how those lips turn up at the sides in moments of joy, how that mouth feels between my legs.

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