I was so screwed.
***
After lunch, I became so wrapped up in writing and researching my 1920s story that I stopped worrying about the Jennys and their undoubtedly devious plans to force Sebastian and me into some kind of staged interaction. So at a quarter to five, when Jenny S. approached my work station with a stack of files in her arms and said that Angela wanted me to bring them down to the billing offices on the fourth floor before I went home for the night, I thought nothing of it.
“Thanks, Lux!” Jenny S. called, bouncing away with a pleased look on her face. I chalked it up to the fact that it was nearly happy hour and went back to my story.
That was my first mistake.
My second mistake was waiting until after five to complete her task. I figured I’d simply stop at billing on my way down to the lobby, rather than make two trips but, as usual, I lost track of time, so it was closer to five thirty when I actually made it into the elevator with the stack of files in hand. The building had already begun to empty out, as most people had a tendency to race for the exits as soon as possible, especially on a Friday. So, when I stepped out of the elevator onto the fourth floor, I found the billing offices completely deserted.
“Hello?” I called, looking for signs of life. The only sound I heard was the dull clicking of my heels against the smooth marble floors as I crossed to an empty secretary’s desk. From the looks of it, everyone had already gone home for the weekend.
“Anyone here?” I walked further into the office, thinking perhaps someone in the back was still lingering to finish up paperwork or a final report. When no one answered, I reached into my purse with my free hand and began rooting around for my cellphone. I’d have to call Jenny S. and ask where to leave the files. Hopefully they weren’t time sensitive.
“Ms. Kincaid.”
The unexpected sound of a man’s voice breaking the quiet of the office startled me and my phone slipped from my grasp, landing hard against the shiny floor and rattling to a stop beneath a nearby desk. My hand flew up to clutch my chest while my head whipped around to get a look at the man who’d just appeared from the back office.
I was going to murder the Jennys. Preferably with some kind of slow, painfully archaic torture device that gave them an eternity to reflect on their poor matchmaking decisions before they finally succumbed to the darkness.
“Hi,” I blurted, staring at him. He looked wonderful, even dressed casually in dark jeans and a fitted henley. A little more informal than usual, perhaps, but it suited him. He’d never been one for suits or ties. I had to curl my hands into fists to keep them from smoothing out the wrinkles on my dress or fidgeting with the tendrils of hair that had escaped my clip.
Sebastian cleared his throat and my eyes flew back to his face. I was sure my cheeks were on fire — inappropriately checking out your boss’ chest muscles was a definite no-no, especially when he was the ex-boyfriend you were supposed to hate.
“Files,” I said dumbly, gesturing toward the stack still clutched in my right hand.
Sebastian’s browsrose but otherwise he didn’t move, standing with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets in a relaxed fashion.
“These are, um…” I swallowed, trying to clear the nervous lump that was lodged in my throat. “They’re, um… files… Obviously.”
I knew I was rambling and not making any sense whatsoever. But he was looking at me and still not saying anything and, well, I couldn’t concentrate worth a damn. He left me totally unbalanced, reeling like a wind vane in a storm. I gulped again, worried my airway might seal permanently if I didn’t take a breath soon.
“I was supposed to drop these, um…” I trailed off like the babbling, incoherent idiot I’d evidently become, at an utter loss for words. “Um…”
“Files,” Sebastian supplied, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.
“Right, of course, they’re files,” I agreed, cringing internally. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball of embarrassment and die rather than continue this conversation. “I was supposed to drop them off here tonight. So, um…”
Grimacing at my total lack of social grace, I edged backwards slightly so I was next to the secretary’s desk, and piled the files in her wire inbox basket. With a fleeting glance back at Sebastian, I bobbed my head and turned to go. “Okay… have a good weekend, then, Bas—Seb—” I cleared my throat, blushing furiously. “I mean, Mr. Covington.”
Fuck, shit, damn. Could Ibeanymore awkward if I tried?
I made it about three steps toward the elevator before Sebastian finally spoke again.
“Ms. Kincaid,” he called softly.
So close, I thought, staring longingly at the elevator doors. I sighed and turned to face him. He was standing a bit closer now, and in one hand he held my battered phone.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, slapping my forehead with one palm. “Completely forgot about that.”
I approached him, trying to walk with confidence even though I was shaking like a leaf. His silence was terrifying, but the possibility of what he might say when he finally broke it was infinitely more so. My fingers trembled visibly as I reached out into the air between us, and he watched their progress with the intense gaze of a predator stalking his prey.
Our hands brushed as I removed the phone from his palm and, in what was quite possibly a figment of my overactive imagination, I swear I felt a jolt of electricity shoot up my arm straight to my heart. Yanking my hand backwards, I lifted my gaze to meet his.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered back.