The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society) - Page 32

“It is,” I confirm, trying to sound nonchalant.

I fail.

“You didn’t say you were sharing an office with him for four weeks.”

I want to say you didn’t ask, but I’m trying not to be bitchy for the next five minutes, so I shrug. He looks back at the picture like he’s got a question that he doesn’t quite want to ask.

“That’s Olivia,” I say, still not nonchalant. “They’re dating.”

“I see.”

“She’s very nice.”

“I’m sure.”

“She’s twenty-four and works in real estate.”

“He cheat on you with her?”

I sigh and look out the window, because I knew we’d get here but was hoping we wouldn’t.

“Not just her,” I admit, and it doesn’t feel quite as bad to say aloud as I expected.

“Goddamn bastard,” Silas says, and my eyebrows go up. The picture goes back on the desk, face-down. “And now he’s gonna be in your office for a month?”

“It’s his job to integrate newly acquired concerns into the B&L corporate culture,” I say. “I’m a bonus.”

Silas gives me a long, studied look, and it’s not sexual but it’s not platonic, either. It’s assessing. Considering. Curious. I look at him until he meets my eyes again, half a smile on his lips.

“If I had to spend a month in an office with a woman I wronged I don’t think I’d call it a bonus,” he finally says. “Especially if you were the woman.”

“Thank you,” I say, the words so sharp they’ve got blades. “But you’re not him. You wouldn’t expect me to still be pining away for you a year later. Or maybe you would. I don’t know what your opinion of yourself is like.”

“Pretty high, but not that high.”

“Especially with me?”

“You don’t strike me as the pining sort, for starters.”

Despite myself, I glance at the roses, ridiculously red in their vase on my otherwise very white desk, like the interior of a particularly maudlin Hallmark card.

“I’m not,” I say, and shrug. “If anything, I’m ruthlessly pragmatic and no-nonsense. Which leads me to why I asked you to stop by, actually.”

I walk around my desk, open a drawer, and grab some papers from a folder. Silas says something under his breath that sounds like it might be oh goodie, and I ignore it.

“Here,” I say, and hand him one set of papers. “The guidelines.”

Across the top is written FAKE DATING RULES AND REGULATIONS, and when he reads it, Silas gives me a look.

“Hurrah,” he says.

Tags: Roxie Noir Romance
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