Page 13 of Ms. Lead

I suppress a smile I shouldn’t even feel. I’m hiding a lot at the moment.

“Her partner Pamela is a writer as well. She used to represent her before they tied the knot a few years ago.”

Bianca’s shoulders drop in relief, and I can’t help but laugh out loud, but I’m able to turn it into a brief fake coughing fit. She is just too adorable for words and such an open book with her emotions. I wish she could see the look on her own face because I know she would laugh too.

“Are you okay?” She pours water from the carafe on the table into a glass and slides it toward me. “Here, drink this.”

Her sincerity and concern only add to the pile of guilt I’m constantly wading through when it comes to her. I hate this. My head is starting to hurt again, and now my right foot is tingling from out of nowhere. Not good.

“Thank you. I’m fine now.” I compose myself as best I can.

Our waiter comes by and takes our orders, and once he leaves, silence falls over us. I notice that our hands are close together on top of the tablecloth, and I am so tempted to reach those few inches to take her hand into mine. I also see that she’s staring at our hands, and I get the feeling she’s contemplating the same thing.

Neither of us moves a muscle.

It's unsettling how easily I can read her mind or sense what she’s feeling without her telling me. I feel so attuned to her when she’s near, as though we are connected somehow. Like right now, I bet we could power the entire Vegas strip with the energy sparking between us. It’s not even entirely sexual energy, either.

And this is now utterly ludicrous. I’ve seriously lost it. I imagine a connection that isn’t even there. But she did ask about it, so that’s not true either.

I lift my hand from the table and away from Bianca’s. This breaks the spell we’re both under for the time being.

We continue our conversation through the meal, with Bianca asking all the questions and me giving short answers. Of course, we have almost everything in common, from our love of auto racing to our confusion at Australian Rules Football. We enjoy the same fiction authors and hate the same movies. Our taste in food varies, but I like that we have that cultural difference to learn from each other. The same musicians are in our respective playlists, and neither of us has an artsy bone in our bodies. We even share the same guilty pleasure of watching trivia game shows.

The desire to let loose and foster this relationship grows stronger whenever we have a similarity. At the same time, I’m forced to dig deeper into myself to keep up my mental and emotional armor. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain these defenses the more I get to know Bianca.

It’s clear. No, it’s been clear that she is absolutely the woman of my dreams. There’s no way around it. I knew it when I first saw her, and even more now that I’ve gotten to know her better.

But I. Can’t. Do. This.

As soon as we finish eating, I get up, ready to see her to her car. She’s surprised at my abruptness but goes along with it. I beg off with more jet lag bullshit even I wouldn’t believe. She’s gracious as usual and follows me back to the valet.

“Thank you for dinner,” she mutters, awkwardly looking anywhere but at me. “It was nice of you to offer.”

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for coming.”

I’m equally awkward and also avoid direct eye contact. If our eyes meet, I swear I will pull her into the most passionate kiss we have ever experienced. I need to be careful not to let that happen in these last few minutes.

We’re silent again for a long minute before Bianca says, “I’ll be back to pick you up in the morning around 9:30 if that works for you. I can meet you right here if you like.”

I nod, looking around anxiously for her car, which is taking forever.

“That will be fine. Thanks.”

She’s got her head down and is looking at her shoes. My heart craters, knowing that this should be going so differently. This could go differently if I let it. If I let her in. But that would be entirely selfish of me to do to her. Any relationship with Bianca outside of professional would be mind-blowing, soul-filling, and life-altering. But it would also be highly disappointing, heartbreaking, and burdensome for her.

I couldn’t do that. I won’t do that.

Her car arrives, and we give each other small waves and smiles. It suits because right now, I feel small. Minute. Insignificant. Nothing.

Chapter Eight

BIANCA

CAN’T BREAK WHAT’S BROKEN

Driving home, I can’t help but replay the entire evening in my mind, minute by minute, trying to figure out what actually happened. A huge part of me wants to believe that I saw something in Oliver, proving he does feel the same way about me. He gets the same weird déjà vu that I do. But why would he lie about it? Because it sounds absolutely crazy? I have to agree with that much. I believe in it, though, because I feel it, and I just know he does too.

How strange that when I was with Colin, he could hide his feelings for someone else from me, and with Oliver, he’s hiding his feelings for me. The difference now is that I didn’t know Colin was hiding something. I do know that Oliver is. At least, I think I know that. I want to.

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