Hillary
I make my way toward Ben’s office, my heart scraping against my ribs with every step. What does he even want—to yell at me more?
Asswipe.
Or maybe he’s suddenly sorry and wants to slam me against his wall and claim my mouth in a ferocious, breath-stealing kiss.
Or maybe he wants you to do something—like your actual job.
Yeah. Of course. Thank you, subconscious.
I tap a quiet knock on his door and walk in.
“Hi,” I say.
He doesn’t look at me. He’s standing behind his desk, clearing the table like I’m invisible air.
“Let me help with that,” I murmur, stepping beside him.
Our hands brush—barely—and he jerks away instantly, like my skin burned him.
“Where were you?” he asks, voice flat but sharp enough to slice.
“Uhm… I had lunch with Georgia,” I say.
“I can tell when yo
