I close the phone, pop into the coffee shop for a latte, and bump into Isaac in line.
“You look happy today, Bryn,” he says.
His voice is warm, but I’m frozen. Chills wrap my body.
Stuffing my phone in my purse like it contains state secrets, I try to answer, but I can’t form words. My skin prickles with my guilty conscience. Am I wearing the evidence of that text conversation all over my face?
Yes.
And I need to wipe it off. Right the fuck now.
I conduct a full facial expression erase and draw on my store of grade A cool, composed lady boss. “It’s a sunny day, and the Yankees won last night. Ergo . . .” I give him a need I say more shrug and a stiff, too-perfect grin.
“Indeed.” He chuckles, impossible to read. “Those are excellent reasons.” We shuffle closer to the counter. “So, how are you adjusting to the new ownership?”
“It’s like nothing’s changed,” I say, all cheery and peppy.
“Excellent. That’s what I like to hear.”
I clear my throat. “So, how about that infield fly last night?”
He’s a fan too, so we slide into baseball talk the rest of our time in line, and I spend the rest of my morning at the office setting that conversation behind me.
Because there’s no reason I should feel squicky about talking to the HR director mere seconds after texting with the CEO.
Who I’ve seen naked.
That’s not awkward at all.
Later that day, I remind myself that it’s not weird to be meeting with Logan.
It’s not weird, and there was nothing inappropriate about our texts earlier. They weren’t risqué at all.
They were fun. Light. Professional.
And because I’m a professional, I want to make sure I look good before I see the boss.
I leave my office five minutes before three and stop by the women’s room. I brush my teeth. Because coffee breath isn’t nice to inflict on anyone. I touch up my lip gloss, smacking my lips. Because I don’t want cracked or dry lips at a meeting. I consider my reflection. Maybe a tiny bit of powder on the nose. I don’t want to look shiny before I see the boss.
I turn, considering the side view.
Yes, this red sheath dress looks excellent and professional. “You’ve got this,” I tell my reflection.
The door swings open. Teagan’s blue eyes sweep over my frame. “Ooh la la. Sexy lady boss is in the house.”
I snap my gaze to her, a little indignant. “Who? I don’t see anyone fitting that description.”
“Oh, please. Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Take a look.” She waves a hand breezily at my reflection.
“Are you saying I don’t look professional?”
She rolls her eyes as she saunters into a stall. “I’m saying you look professional and also hot. Like, if I were into girls, I’d have a lady boner for you,” she says as she pees.
I groan. “You did not just say that.”
“Pot. Kettle. You sent me that video of Stanley Tucci making a Negroni and said it gave you a lady boner.”
“He has good arms!”
“Exactly. All of the internet has a lady boner for him.”
“Even the men?” I toss back.
“If any man could elicit a lady boner from a dude, it’d be Stanley Tucci making a cocktail.”
“He is sort of inexplicably hot,” I admit.
She laughs before the toilet flushing briefly masks the sound. “Exactly. But does it need to be understandable to be sexy? I say no.” She pops out, heads to the sink, and turns on the water. “Speaking of unsolved mysteries, are you seeing the boss today?” She wiggles her brows.
“Yes.” I meet her gaze in the mirror. Anticipation zips through me, chased by nerves. Is it obvious? “Why are you asking? Am I wearing a billboard that says I’m meeting the boss man?”
She grins salaciously at my reflection. “The dress was a giveaway.”
My hands fly to smooth the red sheath. “But this is professional. I picked it even before the meeting was arranged. And I’ve worn it to meet with content partners.”
“And I bet you’d like to partner with his content,” she says.
