Lydia reaches the door, pulls it open, and I dart through. She follows, shutting the door behind us, leaving Payton alone in the rose garden, shouting into a video call with her fiance. The receptionist looks up, sees it’s us, and looks back down at her computer.
“I don’t think we’re having a wedding this weekend,” Lydia says.* * *Two hours later, I walk into my office to find Eli sitting at my chair, behind my desk.
“This place is cute,” he says. He’s sitting sideways, his legs out, lounging in my chair and looking at something on the screen.
“Don’t look at my computer,” I say. “And especially don’t look at the folder labeled ‘Plotting Eli’s Downfall.’”
I don’t actually care if he looks at my work computer. What’s he gonna find, seating charts? I’m not dumb or crazy enough to keep anything remotely interesting on there.
“I don’t see that one,” he drawls. “I just see this one called ‘Very hot porn,’ and it’s… all drawings of me, naked?”
“Dammit,” I hiss, glancing at the door.
“It’s nearly six, everyone’s gone,” he says, lowering his voice.
“Still,” I say, and come around my desk to see what he’s looking at.
It’s the listing for the lake cabin. The dream house, with the high ceilings and lots of light and subway tiles over the farmhouse sink.
“You thinking of buying a place?” he asks, idly flipping through the pictures.
I reach over and use the keyboard to close the window.
“I live in a trailer, of course I’m thinking of buying a place,” I say. “I’m always thinking of ways to get out of there.”
“That one’s got a nice kitchen,” he says thoughtfully. “Wasted on you, obviously, but…”
Eli shrugs, trails off like there’s something he thought better of saying.
“But what? Get out of my chair,” I say, shooing him.
“But I’d know how to use it,” he says, not moving.
He makes a sit on my lap gesture.
I give him my fuck no, we’re still at work face.
He rolls his eyes playfully and stands up, ceding my chair back to me. I sit, flipping through my one thousand open windows, saving and closing and making a few last-minute notes for tomorrow.
I don’t think Saturday’s wedding is going to go well, which is probably the understatement of the century. Having worked here for a few years, I’ve witnessed more than a few weddings that nearly blew up in the days before, and every single one of them was deeply unpleasant as an employee.
“Nine?” he asks.
I write one last note — ranunculus! — And stick it to my desk, then look up at him. It’s been over a month since of our arrangement, and somehow, every time he asks me about coming over my heart still beats faster.
“Nine sounds good.”
“I promised my mom and Daniel I’d make them dinner tonight,” he says, keeping his voice low.
“They still think that you’re getting drunk every night and sleeping on some coworker’s couch?” I tease.
“That was a good story once,” he says defensively.
“And how many times have you used it, now?” I ask.
Eli nudges a giant box in the corner of my office with his foot.
“That’s beside the point. Please tell me this mechanical bull is for a rodeo-themed wedding this weekend.”
“This weekend’s wedding is hell-on-earth themed,” I tell him. “And I think the mechanical bull is punishment for something terrible I did in a past life.”
“Bonus drink floats?” he says, crouching to inspect the box. “This mechanical bull floats?”
“I don’t know,” I say, warding off any questions. “Whoever stole my wallet bought it, but it got shipped here anyway.”
“So whoever stole your wallet was more fun than you,” Eli says, standing.
I come around my desk and stand right in front of him. We’re much closer than coworkers should be standing.
“I’m not fun?” I tease him.
Eli takes his time, letting his eyes wander down my face, pausing on my lips, that familiar light coming into his eyes.
“Now who’s getting us in trouble at work?” he finally says.
“I’m doing no such thing, Eli Loveless,” I murmur, looking at him through my eyelashes. “We’re having a completely professional interaction right now.”
I still hate how much I want him, for the record. I also hate that, at least once a day, I have to shake myself out of the dirtiest daydreams I’ve ever had.
One hundred percent Eli’s fault. He’s distracting.
“Well, do you need me to carry your mechanical bull to your car for you, Miss Tulane?” he offers.
“No, Mister Loveless, I’m leaving it here because I need to return it anyway,” I say.
“There goes my excuse to walk you out.”
“You could just be a gentleman.”
He gives me that half-hitched smile. It does things to me, just like it does every damn time.
“Who’d believe that?”
I lean one millimeter closer. I swear Eli has his own gravity field, like he’s the earth and I’m a meteor, circling inward until I crash and burn.