Strictly Unprofessional

Chapter Two

At 12:28 p.m. she watched Kade leave for his 12:30 lunch with N.

He'd changed his tie. She noticed because it was her job to notice things about him. The new tie was navy, which he only wore to meetings he wanted to go well. The original had been grey, which was his boardroom tie, his serious-people tie.

Navy was personal.

She closed the Henderson file and opened the budget variance.

N was not her business.

At 1:47 p.m. her desk phone rang.

"Mercer's office, Vivienne speaking."

"Viv." His voice through the phone always sounded different. Lower. Like the glass and the distance stripped the professional layer off it somehow. "Can you push my two-thirty with Chen? Something came up."

"How long do you need?"

"Twenty minutes should cover it."

"I'll move Chen to two-fifty and send him a courtesy reschedule." She was already typing. "Is everything alright?"

A pause. Short, but she knew his pauses.

"Yeah," he said. "Fine."

She moved Chen to two-fifty. She sent the courtesy reschedule. She did not ask what something that came up meant, because she was a professional and it was not her place and she did not want to know if it had anything to do with a navy tie and a capital-letter L.

Her phone lit up.

DAMIEN [1:48 PM]: okay so the woman he had lunch with

DAMIEN [1:48 PM]: i saw her leaving the building

DAMIEN [1:48 PM]: viv.

DAMIEN [1:48 PM]: VIV.

DAMIEN [1:49 PM]: she was stunning. like criminally. like whoever she is she has cheekbones that should be studied by scientists.

VIV [1:49 PM]: Why are you telling me this

DAMIEN [1:49 PM]: because you need to be PREPARED

DAMIEN [1:49 PM]: also he didn't look happy when he came back so

DAMIEN [1:50 PM]: i'm just. keeping you informed. as your best friend. as someone who loves you.

VIV [1:50 PM]: I need you to mind your business.

DAMIEN [1:51 PM]: my business IS your business. that's what best friends are FOR.

DAMIEN [1:51 PM]: also he looked at you again when he walked back through the floor

DAMIEN [1:51 PM]: just so you know

DAMIEN [1:51 PM]: navy tie btw. interesting choice for a lunch that apparently went badly.

She put her phone face-down again.

She stared at her screen.

She thought about the tie for exactly four seconds, decided she did not care, and went back to the budget variance.

Past tense. She was past tense. She was completely, entirely, professionally past tense and the fact that her heart had done something ridiculous when she heard his voice say something came up was purely a physiological response that meant nothing.

She was Vivienne Calloway.

She had a system.

The system was working.

At 5:58 p.m., when most of the floor had gone quiet and she was doing the final pass on tomorrow's prep, his office door opened.

He leaned in the doorframe. Jacket back on. The navy tie loosened. He looked like the end of a long day and somehow that was, infuriatingly, the most attractive version of him.

She was going to have a serious conversation with her own nervous system.

"You're still here," he said.

"So are you."

"I'm the boss. It's different."

"You pay me through six-thirty on Mondays." She didn't look up from the screen. "I have twelve minutes."

She heard him walk into the outer office. Not toward the elevator. Toward her. He stopped at the edge of her desk and she felt rather than saw him look at whatever was on her monitor.

"Henderson's counter-brief," she said. "They sent it at four. I've flagged the three sections you'll want to read before tomorrow."

"Of course you have."

There was something in his voice she couldn't place. She filed it under not her problem and kept her eyes on the screen.

"Calloway."

"Mercer."

"Look at me for a second."

She looked up.

He was closer than she'd clocked. Standing at the corner of her desk, one hand in his pocket, looking at her with the grey eyes that she had specifically, deliberately, permanently decided not to have feelings about.

"You doing okay?" he asked.

The question was so simple and so unexpected that for a moment she didn't have an answer ready.

"I'm fine," she said. "Why?"

"You just seem..." He tilted his head. The small furrow between his brows that meant he was working something out. "Different lately."

"I'm exactly the same as I've always been."

"No," he said, quietly, like he was talking more to himself than to her. "You're not."

She held his gaze. Her face was neutral. Her chest was doing something she was going to address privately and at length later.

"I'll have the Henderson summary on your desk before nine tomorrow," she said.

He looked at her for one more second. Two. Then something shifted and the corner of his mouth pulled up in that small, sideways way that she hated because it was involuntary and real and nothing like the smile he gave the rest of the world.

"Goodnight, Calloway."

"Goodnight."

He walked out. The elevator dinged. The doors closed.

Vivienne Calloway sat at her desk for a solid thirty seconds and did absolutely nothing.

Then she picked up her phone.

VIV [6:01 PM]: I might have a small problem.

DAMIEN [6:01 PM]: CALLED IT

DAMIEN [6:01 PM]: I CALLED IT

DAMIEN [6:01 PM]: what did he do

DAMIEN [6:01 PM]: VIV WHAT DID HE DO

She stared at the message. Then she typed back.

VIV [6:02 PM]: He noticed.

DAMIEN [6:02 PM]: ...

DAMIEN [6:02 PM]: noticed WHAT exactly

VIV [6:03 PM]: That I stopped.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then:

DAMIEN [6:03 PM]: oh honey.

DAMIEN [6:03 PM]: oh HONEY.

DAMIEN [6:04 PM]: we are getting wine tonight. we are getting a LOT of wine. do not move.

She locked her phone and stared at the dark monitor.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan was doing what it always did at 6 p.m. on a Monday. Moving. Glittering. Entirely indifferent to the fact that Vivienne Calloway's very carefully constructed system had just developed its first visible crack.

She gathered her things.

She was fine.

(She was absolutely not fine.)