He cocks his head to one side. “Do you want me to appear on TV, Antonia?”
“No.” My cheeks heat. He looks solid. “It was an observation.”
He nods, then returns to his paperwork. A few more minutes pass. The air is charged. Me in my nightwear. Him in his suit. Both of us fighting fires.
“Anna Collins is responding well to Lunavax,” he says. It’s my turn to glance up. “She’s had more time than she would have otherwise. You did that.”
I blink. The simple comment is a surprise. His smile widens from professional to pride. “I only fixed the system,” I mutter, looking anywhere but at him.
“Take the compliment, Antonia. Then return to looking for the gap.”
Two in the morning flashes up on my phone. I set an alarm before leaving home to remind me I still need to sleep, and since I have no sofa to crash on here, I need to go home.
I push myself up to stand as Ben emerges from whatever paperwork he’s scouring. There is a list of numbers scribbled on the notepad next to him. He twirls the pen again, and my focus lands on the wedding ring on his right hand, still in the position he moved it to for the interview.
He follows my line of sight but doesn’t comment.
“Where’s the gap?” he says.
“Huh?” The unrelated topic to where we’re both looking catches me off guard. “The funding gap.”
I tap the screen of my still open laptop lightly with my index finger. He rises and comes around the desk to stand beside me as we both stare at the screen.
“Increased contractor costs due to change of supplier.”
I expect him to blame me. It was at my insistence that we changed. Back then, I was more concerned about timescales than budgets. Assuming Opengate wouldn’t fall on hard times, that any inflation we could cover without issue. Today, the situation is different.
“What’s the shortfall?” he asks, his voice as level as it was in the interview. No hint of panic that I’ve just admitted we can’t afford what I promised him.
“Six figures. Mid-six figures.”
In my world, that’s not catastrophic. But it’s enough to cause a pause in forward motion.
“And Opengate can’t absorb it?”
I shake my head. “Not without sacrificing something else. I need to prioritize business before—”
“Of course,” he says, cutting in before I get as far as an apology. “We’ll just have to find it elsewhere.”
Everything stills. He’s close, closer than we’ve been all night. He leans toward the screen, and our shoulders brush. His sleeve grazes my fleece, and static skitters over my skin. I’ve not had a man so close in years. Not one that makes my stomach flip.
I clear my throat. The excitement of the physical touch wanes as I try to recenter myself.
“We can’t just conjure six figures of cash flow,” I half-mutter.
He turns fully then, dark eyes sweeping over my face. I bite my lip unconsciously, then immediately release it. My breath catches. He’s far too close.
“I didn’t suggest casting a spell,” he says, almost under his breath.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I take a step back just as his fingers skim my arm.
I freeze.
“All I’m saying is,” his words come slowly, bordering on enchanting, “people often remember who stood beside them in a crisis. Tell me how much we need, and I’ll make a few calls.”
He’s touching my elbow, but his hand moves lower until our fingers brush. Neither of us moves away.
“You’re…” he murmurs. “Natural tonight. Less like you’re wearing armor.”