More perfect

DH and I returned safely from our Ashland trip, which was incredibly fun. The plays at OSF were beyond amazing, we ate at the delicious Greenleaf Restaurant, and we walked everywhere. It was everything I'd hoped it would be.

And more.

Because during the intermission of our last play, I checked my email and saw that I had received my cover art. I wish I had enough words to gush over it, but to be honest, even a few days later, I don't. I'd known Escape would do Red Moon justice, and they did beyond my wildest dreams. It's rare for me to not know what to say, to have the words stolen from me by the sight I saw (and that you will see this Friday...), so I went to one of my favorite books, Norman MacLean's A River Runs Through It, and found the section that expresses my current emotion far better than I ever could:

When I was young, a teacher had forbidden me to say "more perfect" because she said if a thing is perfect it can't be more so. But by now I had seen enough of life to have regained my confidence in it...However I may have violated grammar, I was feeling more perfect...

Business Solution, Part 4 (Final Installment)

“Thanks for seeing me home,” she said as she let Robert help her out of the cab.

“Trust me, it’s out of my own selfish desires,” he fired back with another one of his knee-weakening grins.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Because if I walk you to your door, I get the chance to kiss you good night.”

There was something charming about his devil-may-care attitude. It wasn't like so many of the other men she’d met, where their confidence was overbearing. Robert’s was off-the-cuff, relaxed, and he acted as if he didn't care if his lines worked on her or not.

They’d made it to the apartment building’s stoop, and she was aware of his warmth, his shape pressed in beside her on the narrow concrete step. He was watching her carefully, and she tilted up her face just a little so she could meet his gaze.

She decided to play the game. “Who says I’m going to let you kiss me good night?”

“You just did,” he answered softly, and met her lips with his own.

When he finally pulled back, Janelle understood what it meant when those romance authors she loved to read described fireworks shooting through the bloodstream. “Wow,” she whispered.

Robert shook his head a little and dropped his hands from her face. She had no idea when he’d reached for her, but she really didn't care.

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the waiting cab. “I—uh—I should go.”

Part of her wanted to ask him to stay. But the rational part of her brain was reminding her that they were both so close to the freedom they craved. It seemed foolish to jump into something right now—whatever that something may be—when she could be getting a new job, and he went on to...whatever it was he was planning.

But the sight of him standing down on the sidewalk, looking up at her like she’d always dreamed a man would look at her, still had her asking, “Do you want to—”

“Yes,” he answered automatically. He took a small step forward, but stopped. “But I really shouldn't.”

“No?”

He sighed deeply. “If I did, you wouldn't get to your interview on time, I’d lose track of everything, and I know that’s not what you want.”

She gave a tremulous smile. “Not meant to be, huh?”

“Not tonight.”

“Can I call you?”

His voice was husky. “Please.”

They traded numbers, and he looked back one final time before getting back to the waiting cab. Janelle let herself into the apartment, and tried to ignore its emptiness. It would be okay. Right now, not getting involved with Robert was for the best.

* * *

I cannot believe that I fucked up so badly, Robert mentally berated himself for the billionth time in the last few hours.

He’d gotten swamped with work, and hadn't been able to call Janelle as soon as he’d wanted. When he finally had, he’d been thrilled to hear that she’d gotten the job. Unfortunately, their celebratory dinner date had to be cancelled due to his father’s unexpected need to review the notes on Robert’s final project. And their reschedule dinner date got put off because her new job whisked her away for a week to a conference or something. It seemed like fate had decreed her off limits.

At least his desperate attempts to meet her had distracted him from the disheartening task of cutting off ties to his father. The old man had tried to play his cards, coax Robert into more indentured servitude, but he’d held firm. And now he was finally where he’d wanted to be for nearly a year: the corner office of Literate Solutions, his baby and the one good thing he had going in his life at the moment.

“Good to see you back, Robert!”

Robert greeted Don Magley with a hug. He’d coaxed his old tutor out of retirement to help him with the business, and he’d always be in the man’s debt.

“How’s it been going?”

“We got a bunch of new hires started,” Don began as they strode through the offices, “and I’d say they’re working out just fine.” He shot Robert a bemused glance. “Ever get a hold of your mystery girl?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

The optimism wasn't feigned. It couldn't be in a place like this. Robert watched the variety of work spaces, the open interchange of ideas between colleagues, and the light atmosphere in amazement.

Don chuckled. “Hard to believe it’s real?”

“Remember when you told me that I’d pass my GED, and I told you you were—”

“Full of shit? Yes, I seem to recall that conversation.”

“But I did pass. And every time I came back to you, you always told me the same thing: don’t give up on a good thing.”

Don slapped Robert’s back and gave a bark of laughter. “I’m not Yoda, young Jedi. You deserve some of the credit for putting this scheme into action.”

Robert shook his head, and tried to refocus. It was hard when he saw his dream as a reality, but it would be necessary if he were to start stepping into the day-to-day running of the company. “What are we working on today?”

“Last week’s conference was enlightening,” Don shared as he led Robert toward the conference room. “Tons of new ideas from it, and we've got a real firestarter who should help keep us on the cutting edge.”

“Can’t wait to meet him.”

“Her, actually. We were damn lucky to get her, too.”

Don opened the doors to the room, and Robert stepped in, excited to meet the new employee. And the sight before him froze him in his tracks.

“Robert?” Janelle asked, clearly stunned. “What are you doing here?” She was holding the clicker in her hand, and already had her presentation up on the board. But he’d always known she was good at her job.

Don was standing by the door, a gently quizzical expression on his face. Robert turned to him. “We’ll do this later, okay, Don? I need to take your advice again.”

Understanding crossed Don’s face and he closed the door softly behind him.

Robert turned back to Janelle. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She still looked confused.

“So you work here?”

“Yes. How did you—”

“Trust me, I couldn't have planned this.” He stepped closer. “Tell you what...let’s have you present this after we go to lunch.”

“Present...” Comprehension dawned. “Oh, my God, I’m that girl. I’m screwing my boss.”

He extracted her clicker and set it down on the table, then took her hand and led her toward the door. “Not yet. Currently you’re just dating your boss. We’ll see what happens about the other later.”

She snorted. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”

“I hope so.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it means you've got a plan of how we’re supposed to go. And if I’m in the plan, that’s all that matters.”

They’d made to the elevator and she was still holding his hand. The door opened, but in a split-second of doubt, he turned to her. “I am in the plan, right?”

She squeezed his hand and stepped into the elevator. “Let’s go, Mr. Jones. Maybe after work I’ll let you walk me home.”

And he did.

THE END

Vacation time!

One of the best things about romance novels is their ability to let us escape. Stories written in exotic locales have been popular forever, because in reality, who doesn't want to imagine she's on a beautiful yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean with a handsome, mysterious, and slightly dangerous French soccer player who's trying to escape the press and his willowy-thin, slightly psychotic, model ex, in the process meeting this incredibly smart, sassy, funny, and voluptuous woman who steals his heart?

I'm pretty sure I could manage to stand that fantasy for a little while...

Yep, that'll do it.

My point is, vacations give us a chance to recharge and pull ourselves back together. And when you're coming from Alaska, vacations are necessary too. In fact, it's been one year since I left the Kenai Peninsula, specifically the towns of Soldotna and Kenai.

I know it sounds crazy to some people out there, but it really does make sense.

It costs a lot to get a plane fare to or from Alaska. Our local airlines offer great discounts to hop between Fairbanks, Anchorage, Juneau, and other towns, but that's often money that could be saved for other things. Like mosquito repellent, a necessary evil right now during these humid summer days when baby mosquitoes hatch in droves.

Even during the winter, the DH and I don't travel much, because when winter hits, it really hits. The Kenai Peninsula is attached to the rest of Alaska by the Sterling and Seward Highways, a combined stretch of about 130 miles that take you from the Peninsula's valley up through the imposing mountain passes, past the Cook Inlet, and into the central hub that is Anchorage. In the winter, this road is icy and sometimes dangerous, with unexpected white-out conditions, avalanches, and other messy surprises.

I personally find the highways more dangerous in the summer because of all the tourists who are driving. Many fish from dawn until dusk (or whatever is closest to that), which leaves about 3 hours of sleep before getting up and starting the process over, or they drive RVs or campers along a winding highway where impatient, irritated people defy life and limb to pass and find themselves stuck behind the next caravan. I've seen far more accidents in the summer than the winter, and know that taking that highway into Anchorage will be the most nerve-wracking part of our trip.

Despite that, I'm excited to go down to visit family. I feel like it's the night before visiting Disneyland; I'm excited and nervous and jumping around all over the place. DH works tomorrow before we head out, so he's currently napping, but I'm sure that deep inside, he's just as excited as me.

We'll be visiting California before heading up to Ashland, Oregon for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. It's a family tradition, and one of my favorite parts of the summer. I'll be sure to share pictures of the trip when there's time.

So as I head off to pack, I'm curious...is there a particular vacation you take regularly? What makes it so special for you?

Business Solutions, Part 3

“Wow. This is totally different than I’d imagined.”

Robert looked up from his fries and gave her a lopsided grin. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Good, I think.”

The restaurant was definitely not what she’d imagined Richard Jones’s son taking her to. Instead of a stuffy formal environment, he took her to Cinematic Burgers. It was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant where the burgers were huge, fries fresh, and clientele migrated regularly from table to table to watch the assorted films that were playing on nearly fifty different TVs throughout the restaurant.

They’d sat down at a table that was playing Katherine Hepburn’s Pride and Prejudice, and the few people who stopped by to watch in quickly changed to other, more exciting tables. Janelle didn't mind. She loved the movie, didn't mind the lack of company, and was finding herself more and more fascinated by the man sitting across from her.

“So, this new company you’re gunning for—”

She smiled at him. “Can we just not talk about work right now?”

He wiped his fingers off on a napkin, looking a little nervous. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

She dipped another fry in ketchup and took him in. Her mind instantly went back to the Christmas party, and to her everlasting horror, she was suddenly asking, “If I hadn't freaked out, would you have kissed me at the party?”

He choked a little on his soda.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking back toward the TV, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Don’t be. I just—Sorry. It was just a surprise.” He looked around the restaurant, then leaned across the table toward her.

“And the answer is yes. I would have kissed you.”

She sneaked a peek at him from the corner of her eye. He looked so adorably genuine, his expression earnest, his hands pressed down on the table. “You would?”

“Definitely. And it probably would have been one of the stupidest things I could have done.”

* * *

He had her full attention now. She was looking at him, and she seemed genuinely curious.

“Why would it have been stupid?”

“Because my father could have seen.”

“So?”

“He has a habit of destroying things I care about.”

“You thought he’d take it out on me?”

He tried not to swell with pride when he heard the disbelief in her tone. Like she couldn't believe a man was actually standing up for her. Clark Kent, that’s me.

“I don’t know if he would have.”

She shook her head. “He’s...”

He gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Okay, I won’t lie. He’s a bastard, but I can’t believe he’s really that bad.”

He shrugged. “You may not see him that way, but I’m only going off of personal experience.”

“What did he do that was so awful?”

It would be crazy to tell her. But for some reason, the words were already flowing out of his mouth, even when he wished he could shut himself up. “When he divorced my mom, his lawyers made sure she didn't get anything. A few months later, we found out she had cancer. The treatments were expensive. I dropped out of high school, but I couldn't cover the costs. I went to him for help.”

“He knew I was good with computers, so he made a deal. I would provide his company with new tech products and services, and he’d pay off the hospital bill each month.”

Her face showed shock, her tone even more so. “He wouldn't just pay off the amount? Is that trade even legal?”

“Nope, and probably not. He wouldn't pay a lump sum because he claimed I might try to get out of the deal. But I was young and stupid and desperate and signed the papers.” He shrugged. “Regardless, in two weeks, the final bill gets paid, and I’m free of the devil.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

She said it so softy, he almost didn't catch it. But the fact that that was her main concern touched him deeply. “Remission for over eight years now. We caught it early and I made sure that we went to the best doctors. If I was going to sell my soul, I wanted my money’s worth.”

“So, in two weeks, you’ll be out of a job too?”

“Sort of.”

“Do you have anything planned?”

He couldn't help smiling at the thought of what awaited him once these last torturous weeks were done. “I've been working on a few things. Nothing he could take from, either. I made sure to play my cards right this time.”

“I don’t know how you’re still standing,” she admitted. “It seems like an awful lot to give up.”

“Worth the cost.”

“So when you asked if I was going somewhere better—”

He shifted in his seat. It was hard to explain what had really been running through his head. “I wanted to know that you weren't getting screwed in an attempt to escape my father’s clutches.”

“I can promise I’m not.” Her smile really did light up the room, but it dimmed when she glanced down at her watch. “I’m sorry, Robert, but I've got an interview tomorrow morning and I should be getting home—”

“Let me take you,” he offered, already standing.

“It’s not that far,” she protested. “I can catch a cab.”

“I insist,” he said, bussing their table with a casual familiarity that tugged at her heart. He really wasn't what she’d been expecting. And that was nicer than she cared to admit.

And a partridge in a pear tree...

I got fantastic news tonight; Escape Publishing will be the home of Lace & Lead, the novella I recently wrote. I'm ecstatic for two reasons: I love Escape (they have been a dream to work with), and I love this story.

I've never really worked with novellas before, but for some reason, this story came together in 30,000 words in a far more organic way than I'm used to. I liked being able to keep its pacing up, loved my characters (Taggart, that cheeky devil, really stole my heart), and had fun creating the world the story is set in. Which is part of the problem now.

I've begun working on all of the paperwork that comes with an acceptance, including the cover brief and the book's blurb. And as I have to think of how to describe the world so it makes sense to someone who won't have time to read the book, I'm discovering how difficult that is.

I still stand by my earlier post that L&L is like Gears of War meets Victorian England, but I forgot to mention that it's also set in the Republic, in the city of Monterrey, and that the closest thing I can think of to it is a dystopian/steampunk/Western/sci-fi barrio, surrounded by monied estates in the outlying areas. How can I write a story and have it makes sense within the novel, and blubber my way around its description, which should be simpler? *sigh*

Speaking of Gears...

If you understand this, we should be friends.

Welcome Tara Chevrestt!

It is my sincere pleasure to welcome fellow Escape artist Tara Chevrestt to my blog to share more about her new release, the contemporary romance Plotting to Win. I've seen romances set in all sorts of places and situations, but this one is brand new: writers competing in a reality TV show. It can't get better than that!

Blurb:

In New York City, seven writers compete for a hundred thousand dollars, a publishing contract with Bright House, and the title of the next bestseller. One is Felicity James. One is Victor Guzman.

Drama, plagiarism, and trash talk play out to enthralled audiences across the country as all seven contestants compete against each other in a range of heated challenges, with tensions reaching breaking point. As Felicity and Victor start up a show‐mance, their relationship burns up the ratings.

Will this sizzling fling escalate into a vicious battle for money and fame, or will these two authors manage to write their own happy ending?

Excerpt:

“A head-hop is a sudden point of view switch.”

“What?” Felicity glanced up from the book she was reading — one of Nicole Roberts’s. She’d actually packed it, having no foresight whatsoever that the woman she’d long admired was going to be judging her.

Victor sat on the edge of her bed, turning his body just enough to face her where she was propped against the headboard. “Like, if you are in Mookie’s point of view and you’re telling us how Mookie feels … that Mookie desires Dookie with a fierce passion he’s never felt before and then you suddenly switch over and tell us what Dookie is feeling … you’re switching POV. It can be jarring to a reader. Some publishers allow it. Some don’t. It’s something to watch for in your genre of writing.” He watched her intently as though waiting for her response.

Her book discarded in her lap, Felicity didn’t know what to say. She was unnerved by his sudden kindness and also by the fact he was on her bed, next to her, and he looked good enough to … no, no.

He blinked at her and apparently assumed she didn’t comprehend, because he continued, “Mookie and Dookie are … are eating sandwiches. Mookie is thinking his salami tastes too peppery and doesn’t Dookie look funny with her hair all messed up? And then suddenly Dookie is thinking Mookie looks like he’s tasted something bad. Basically, you have to choose one point of view, Mookie’s or Dookie’s, and stick with it. Say you choose Mookie. If Mookie can’t see it, hear it, taste it, feel it, touch it, he can’t tell us about it.”

Throughout his explanation, his hands moved animatedly, pantomiming different things: eating a sandwich, having messy hair, the act of hearing, but Felicity couldn’t get past one thing.

“Where the hell do you come up with your character names?” She chortled with laughter. Her insides hurt she laughed so hard, and her spirits lifted. Tears ran down her face. He looked bewildered momentarily and soon joined in, his dimples flashing.

“I mean, those names are sooo unromantic. I have no words,” she finally gasped out when she got control of her wits.

“Well, I don’t know. I’m a guy.” He spread his hands out, palms up.

Felicity turned serious, thinking about what he’d said. “So, the five senses? Like, if I’m narrating a scene and you don’t convey something, I can’t know what you’re thinking, unless you say it aloud or something in your body language tells me. I have to hear it or see it myself to tell the reader about it.”

“Exactly.” And suddenly, before she could react, he reached out and tenderly touched her cheek, brushing away an escaped tear.

Felicity held her breath. His touched burned a trail on her face. She fought the urge to close her eyes and just savor it, this second of … of … whatever was between her and this guy. If she could capture the moment and bottle it, she would. She’d dab the feeling all over her body every day.

She cleared her throat as his finger left her face. “Why are you helping me?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was strained, tired. His expression was one of bewilderment. What was going on behind the brown depths of his gaze? “But I’m not in cahoots with Tiffani. I want to just get that out of your pretty head right now.”

He thinks I’m pretty? Aloud, she said, “Then what was that about? Yesterday? What Tiffani said?” She crossed her arms over her chest, the only barrier she had at the moment, but what was she protecting? Her pride? Her heart?

He sighed and stared at the floor next to her bed. “I was a fool and ended up hurting myself more than you. The extent of our corroboration is switching beds. I thought my nearness — yes, arrogant ass, I know — would throw you off your game, ’cause, frankly, I see you as the biggest threat.”

“Um…” He’d managed to insult her and compliment her at the same time. Felicity couldn’t stop the wrinkle marring her brow. “Okay, well, ‘thank you’ and ‘what the fuck’ both come to mind.” She released an uncomfortable laugh and fingered the pages of her novel. They’d all be dog-eared by the time she was done. Hopefully, Ms. Roberts wouldn’t see it.

He offered a sheepish grin.

“So you thought my game could be thrown off as easily as that? I’m not some high school girl. I’m a grown-ass thirty-year-old woman, and I’m not easily sidetracked.” Well … she bit her lips to stop the smile that threatened to emerge.

His t-shirt pulled against taut muscles as he pushed himself off the bed. The urge to reach out and grab him, to pull him down until his long body covered hers almost overwhelmed her. Hot fire built in her lower belly, and she was grateful for her dark skin. If she’d been a pale woman, the heat and desire within her would be evident as it burned through her flesh.

“I realize that now.” His voice was low and husky. He had his hands in his pockets as he turned away from her bed.

“Wait,” she called after him. “How did you end up hurting yourself?”

“You snore,” he said over his shoulder. “I can’t sleep a wink with all that racket.”

“What?” Felicity gaped at his retreating back and before he got too far away, she hefted her pillow and threw it in his direction. It landed on the floor next to him, and he laughed all the way out of the room, great, shoulder-moving gusts of laughter.

Available for purchase on Amazon, AllRomance, Escape, Barnes & Noble, & Kobo

Author Biography:

Tara Chevrestt is a deaf woman, former aviation mechanic, dog mom, writer, and editor. You’ll never see her without her Kindle or a book within reach. As a child, she would often take a flashlight under the covers to finish the recent Nancy Drew novel when she was supposed to be sleeping.

Tara is addicted to Law & Order: SVU, has a crush on Cary Grant, laughs at her own jokes, and is constantly modifying recipes and experimenting in the kitchen. Her theme is Strong is Sexy. She writes about strong women facing obstacles—in the military, with their handicaps, or just learning to accept themselves. Her heroines can stand alone and take care of themselves, but they often find love in the process.

You can connect with her on Facebook or follow her blog.

Business Solutions, Part 2

What the hell is wrong with me? Robert asked himself again as he listened to his father drone on about the company’s progress. Why did I ask her all those questions?

Replaying his awkward conversation with Janelle was painful. He’d never been good with women, and even he knew the importance of having some tact. But her news had blindsided him and left him scrambling for answers.

He didn't

want her to go.

He hated coming here to Jones & Co., but it was a necessary evil and he’d resigned himself to his fate. One day he’d walked in, greeting everyone as he always did — an easy way of delaying the inevitable conflict with his father — and he’d seen her.

A new young woman, diligently working on her computer. The stack of books on the corner of her desk had been ridiculously intimidating, but the focus on her face was too intriguing to resist. He’d gone over and introduced himself by asking, “Do you get a lot of time to read on this job?”

She’d jumped a little and immediately reached out to grab the stack and move it out of sight. “I’m sorry,” she’d said. “I just got out of class and didn't have time to drop them off before coming here.”

Her pretty brown eyes had taken him in, and she’d asked, “Who are you?”

“Robert Jones.”

“Related to Mr. Jones?”

“He’s my father.”

They’d chatted briefly, until his father came out to harp on her for talking instead of working, and to remind Robert of his duty. He’d fought with his father that day, told him off for treating a new hire that way. Richard Jones had been too surprised by his son’s vehemence to really respond at the time, although Robert’s next visit had been particularly unpleasant thanks to his heroism.

Since that first meeting, Robert had looked forward to seeing her. She was so different from the other employees; she had fire, and he appreciated that, even if his father didn't. He hated the thought that he wouldn't see her again.

He threw a furtive glance at his watch. She was leaving in half an hour. How much longer could his father drone on?

“Are you even listening to me?”

He looked up. “Yes.”

“For Chrissake, pull your head out of your ass. We have a board meeting in a week, and you still haven’t come up with the final project.”

Robert fought down his anger. This is worth it, he promised himself. You’re almost done, and everything will be okay in two more weeks.

Calm, refocused, he nodded. “I’ll have it ready for you to present by the meeting.”

“You’d better.”

And his father was quizzing him again for information about the newest product launch. Thirty-two minutes later, Robert hurried from his father’s office, already scanning for Janelle. But her desk was cleaned out, her computer off, paperwork stacked neatly for the temp.

“Tim?”

The night custodian looked up and gave Robert a smile. “Need something, Mr. Jones?”

“Have you seen Miss Rosen? I wanted to talk to her before she left.”

Tim shook his head sadly. “Gonna miss that girl. She was heading to the elevator with her box. She parks on the third level of the garage.”

“Thanks!”

Robert hurried away. The elevator’s lights were lit up like a Christmas tree; there’d be lots of stops before reaching the parking garage’s causeway. But no one ever took the stairs. He’d never been the most athletic guy, but he worked out. Sometimes. Stairs wouldn't be a problem.

*             *             *

Ten flights down, he realized this had probably been a bad idea. His knees were wobbly, and he knew he was sweating. But he might catch her before she left –

God, if I reach her in time, I swear I will do more squats at the gym. I’ll do more cardio. I’ll stop ordering take-out, he bargained as he barreled down two more flights. One more and he’d be at the causeway.

He staggered through the door and paused long enough to rest his hands on his knees, sucking in huge gulps of air. It always looked so easy to pull crap like this when it was up on a screen. Reality: gamers weren't cut out for this shit. A quick glance behind him showed the elevator had already passed the floor.

“Fuck!”

He cranked his head to look toward the garage. And there, just a faint outline, he could see her. Janelle, juggling a box filled with her personal items, headed toward her car.

He ignored the ache in his legs, the burning sensation at his sternum, and sprinted after her. “Janelle!”

She didn't turn around.

He could see her fumbling with her purse, getting out her car keys, putting the box in the trunk. She started toward the driver’s door, and there was so much damn distance between them —

“Janelle!” he bellowed one more time, desperation giving the call the strength it needed.

She turned, a funny look on her face, and waited as he ran up to her, gasping for air. He held up an index finger while he tried to get enough air to talk. She leaned back against her car, a bemused smile on her face as she took him in.

“Did you need something, Mr. Jones?”

He nodded. She waited. Finally, he was able to straighten and ask with only minimal wheezing, “Do you have plans for dinner?”

“What?”

He wasn't about to give up now. He’d made his mind up. All or nothing. “I want to take you to dinner.”

She shifted a little and wouldn't quite look at him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You’re not working for my dad anymore. I hate his guts anyway.”

She wasn't convinced, so he kept going.

“And you can’t forget the Christmas party.”

There it was – a slight flush creeping into her cheeks as she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. She may not have been looking at him, but he knew where her mind had gone.

His had gone there over and over for months.

Heading out of the main party toward one of the quieter offices. Breathing a sigh of relief when he was away from the chaos outside. Only to turn and find her there, sitting quietly in a chair, reading some huge book.

She’d gasped when she saw him, nearly spilling her drink.

“Sorry!” he’d apologized.

“I – I just needed –“ She trailed off, looking embarrassed.

“Somewhere quiet? Me too.”

They’d talked for the next hour, and before he knew it, he was sitting across from her on the desk, taking in the way her face tilted up to his when she spoke, the way her eyes lit up with excitement as she talked about her plans for the future. He’d been stupid, short sighted.

But at that moment, leaning forward to kiss her had been the only logical option.

Just like now. Except this time, she didn't pull away. Didn't stammer out an excuse of why they shouldn't. Didn't rush from the room like he’d tried to ravage her at his father’s office party.

This time, she just looked at him nervously, eyes widening just a bit as he placed a gentle hand against the side of her face, curling his fingers around the back of her head, drawing her closer to him. This time, she made the noise he’d imagined she would as their lips met, a soft sigh.

And when he finally pulled back and asked, “Dinner?” again, she just nodded.