Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
His eyes slip away from mine. He doesn’t reply verbally, but he doesn’t have to.
“Ah,” I say lightly, understanding. “It hasn’t clicked.”
He tugs at the knot of his tie, then drops his hand as though it’s a nervous habit he’s trying to break.
“I like the company. The team. I just have this constant nagging feeling that it’s not where I’m supposed to be.” He drops his chin towards his chest with a laugh. “And I definitely shouldn’t be sharing this with you.”
“Because I’m on your team?”
He nods, and when his gaze lifts again, he seems less vulnerable, less open, as though he’s tucked a part of himself away.
I’m surprised by the stab of regret, the urge to coax that part of him back out again.
Thomas looks at his watch. “We have eight minutes until nine o’clock. Let’s use them to discuss Jon and Collette’s party?”
“Yes!” I rub my hands together. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Since I’m thinking you’re thinking strippers—no.”
“Oh, come on. It’s a classic!”
“It’s a cliché,” he says, though he’s smiling. “And Jon’s made it clear he doesn’t want one.”
“Yeah, Collette too,” I say with an exaggerated sad sigh. “It’s almost enough to make me regret I’m never getting married. At least then I’d know I’d get a proper bachelorette experience once in my life.”
He looks curious. “Never?”
I shake my head. “That whole to have and to hold thing isn’t my jam. And don’t look at me like that,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Like what?”
“All skeptical. Like I can’t possibly know what the future holds.”
“Well. Can you?”
“On this? Yeah. I know what I want out of my life, and it’s not to be bored to death with one guy until I die.”
“You also didn’t think you’d still be at Elodie for this long . . .”
I glance over my shoulder at my computer screen. “Four minutes until we shift conversation to work . . .”
“Right. Right. So the party. Any ideas?” he asks.
“Actually . . . yes. What about Vermont?” I say.
He blinks. “Vermont?”
“Well, neither of them are Vegas people, so that’s out. Collette’s not into the beach, so that rules out the Hamptons. And Collette loves all things fall—it’s why she chose an October wedding date. I found this little resort up in Vermont that’s supposedly great for groups. There’s a spa on-site for the girls. Whisky-tasting and wine-tasting are nearby. There’s even a boozy foliage tour, where you can rent a fancy bus and they drive you around and let you sip Champagne while taking in the changing leaves.”
“Too girly?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything. “Because the resort also has a game room you can rent, the guys could do like a poker night—”
“No, that actually sounds pretty great,” he says.
“Don’t get too impressed,” I say. “Aside from calling to see if they had room for us, the extent of my planning so far is creeping on their Instagram.”
Thomas reaches into his bag and pulls out a sleek black notebook, then the ever-present fountain pen out of his suit.
“Name of the place?” he says, opening the book.
“The Chestnut Inn. Cute, right?”
He makes a noncommittal noise as he writes, then shuts the notebook.
“I’ll make sure we get the rooms reserved. For the rest of it, I’ll come up with a project plan by the weekend.”
“Do you ever not have a plan?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He caps his pen and considers my question in all seriousness. “Rarely. Do you ever have a plan?”
“Rarely.”
“The way you like it.” He says it as a statement, not a question.
“You’re a quick learner, Decker, I’ll give you that.” I push back my chair and stand. “Coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Splash of milk, right? And don’t look so surprised,” I say, noting his expression. “I listen.”
He’d mentioned his coffee preference that morning I’d had the hangover.
“And you take yours with sugar, cream, and the tiniest splash of coffee.”
I frown down at him on my way out of the office. “How do you know that?”
He gives me a cocky grin. “I saw you in the kitchen a couple times last week. I watch.”
“Yikes. Creepy, boss. Very, very creepy.”
But also? A little flattering too.
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, September 26
The rest of the morning passes with surprising ease between us. Thomas spends most of it on the phone, coordinating next steps with the agency and senior leadership, while I go back and forth with Stevie and Sadie on the landing page for the spring campaign until I get orders on what to do next.
At noon, I turn off my go-to work playlist (eighties rock anthems) and pull off my headphones. I’m about to ask if Thomas wants to grab lunch—in the name of workplace camaraderie, of course—but Thomas has other plans because he tells me he’ll see me in an hour, and leaves.
Oh. Okay then. I try really hard not to wonder if he’s gone off to meet Anna for some sort of midday tryst. I try, and fail, because now it’s all I can think about. Him, with her, and . . .