Page 98 of Sick of You

Which was kind of where Davis and I were now. Appropriate.

We continued down a hallway and to an office. Luke opened the door for me, and I braced myself to step inside, but the room was empty except for a desk with a purple mug, a single manila folder and a potted plant.

Phil.

I walked over to trace my fingers down his striped leaves. Man, I’d missed this plant.

Well. I’d missed something. Someone.

“Hey, you.”

I froze. The warm baritone behind me made me forget how to breathe. I turned around, but I kept my fingertips on the desk to keep myself grounded to this spot so I didn’t... dash across the room and throw myself into his arms or something.

Davis stood there, tall and handsome as ever, his dark hair a little more rakish than he’d worn it at work—our old work, I supposed. His dark blue button-down’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, somehow perfectly displaying both “business” and “casual.” The fashion industry probably coined the term by looking at Davis Freaking Hardcastle.

He’d called me here. He wanted this. He knew I wanted it.

But he also knew I couldn’t handle him picking fights. I had to be sure of that before there’d be any running or throwing or kissing. Much as I hoped there would be kissing.

“Hey, Hardcastle,” I finally said. “Nice office.” I gestured at Phil.

“The plant says you’re hired. Since your letter said you were seeking a position with him.”

“I’m sure he’ll make a great boss. Very attentive, hardly ever micromanages.”

“Good listener,” Davis added to my list.

“Looks like you’ve taken good care of him.” I gestured at his healthy green foliage, his newest leaf just beginning to uncurl.

“I’ve tried. Usually have him under a light in my office.”

Suddenly the chasm between conversation and kissing felt colossal. I couldn’t be sure this was what he wanted. I was here for a job, after all. He’d have to bring up anything else. “So... I don’t think I read the job description closely,” I said. “What does it entail? Aside from donut-dealing and Phil-fondness.”

“And alliteration.”

“Absolutely.”

He listed completing the literature review he’d started on the effects of loneliness, helping to make sure their matching system was... medically sound, I guess, and consulting on the medical language of marketing materials.

And none of that was my actual concern. “How about the company culture?”

“We’re actively seeking to change our culture to minimize conflict.” His blue eyes were filled with honesty, weighty and sincere.

“Not all conflict is bad.” I clasped my hands in front of me. “I wouldn’t want us to avoid addressing potential problems.”

“Most assuredly.”

“After all,” I continued, fighting back a smile at the alliteration, “I might never have realized how wrong I was without a little pushback.”

Davis winced. “There are reasonable limits to everything.”

“Sure.” I hated to do it, but I had to be sure: it was time for a test. “And how are things with your brother?”

It was a bid for connection, for him to let me in. Every other time I’d brought up his brother, he’d shut me out or picked a fight.

He drew a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t always want to talk about him.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s a boundary I can respect. There are reasonable limits to everything.”

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