Whatever moment we just shared is over. I’ve broken it, and maybe I’ve saved myself just in time.
14
Locke
Monday is my new favorite day of the week because it’s the day I get to stop waiting to see Greer and get to actually see her. Especially after this weekend. I kick off the cold and stomp into the WanderWell building early on Monday morning, the bright walls snapping away the last traces of my exhaustion. The crisp air dissolves on my skin the moment I enter the heat and the hum of the third-floor offices.
My mind buzzes with thoughts of Greer and the way she looked as she fell asleep on my couch last week, even though I know I need to focus on the day in front of me. I checked my work calendar last night to prepare for the week ahead, but when I rouse my computer now, a new entry appears on my schedule. A nine a.m. one-on-one with Damien Price. Beautiful.
I groan inwardly as Damien materializes behind Greer’s empty desk chair. He places his large hands on her chair as I imagine he must have placed them on her shoulders to rub her neck.
I would have. I would have loved her and held her and watched her melt into putty beneath my palms. I would never have let her go.
My jaw tightens, and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to kiss the woman who’s dominated my thoughts for the last year. It’s not like the idea hasn’t crossed my mind before, but the desire’s changed shape and become a real possibility. One that I wish I could act on now instead of facing down the man who had that same privilege before me.
“You ready for our meeting?” Damien asks.
Do I have a choice? “Sure.”
“Let’s use the team room.”
Because the open offices aren’t conducive to privacy, WanderWell scattered a few private meeting rooms throughout the floor. I follow Damien toward a room in the back corner of our floor, then climb onto one of the modern, wire-framed stools pulled to the counter-height table. An abstract mural splashes over the back wall of the room, and the fluorescent light whines overhead.
Damien arranges himself across from me, not so much sitting in his chair as leaning himself against it. Is the move a power play?
I keep my thoughts to myself and make small talk for a minute because, despite my growing distaste for my new boss, I do still want to keep my job. But then Damien palms his spiral-bound notebook and flips to a page of notes.
“So, Locke.”
“Yes?” I try not to grit my teeth.
“The San Francisco team wants you.” It’s a statement more than a question, and I freeze as I wait for him to continue. “I’ve talked to David and Curt about the opportunity there. As far as I can tell, you’re the frontrunner in the race. I think you should seriously pursue it.”
“Oh yeah?” My body tenses with suspicion. Why’s Damien suddenly on Team Locke?
“I don’t want to lose you from the group here, but you’ve got the right credentials, and San Francisco could use you.” He lifts his gaze from the notebook to meet mine. I can’t read the expression flickering in the depths of his icy eyes. “There are no other internal candidates, Locke. No one with your history at WanderWell. I’ll be happy to put in a recommendation for you. Tip the scales in your favor.”
It’s hard to breathe for a minute, the opportunity materializing in front of me, more and more solid. “That would be great,” I say quickly. “Thank you.”
He nods and flips his notebook closed. “Anything else we need to discuss this morning?”
Nothing I can say without getting fired. “Let me think on it and get back to you.”
We stand to leave the room, and Damien beats me to the door. He holds it open for me, and as I walk through, he tosses off a question so casually contrived that I stop in my tracks. “Did Greer make it home safely last week?”
Seriously? My hands curl into fists by my sides. That’s what this is about. Not my job or my life or what’s best for the company. It’s about keeping me away from Greer. Who he dumped.
The unfairness of it stings. He doesn’t want her for himself, but he’s perfectly content to keep everyone else away from her too.
Asshole.
I can see exactly why Greer didn’t want to show weakness in front of him—why she took me up on this fake date agreement—and I hate that he made her feel like she wasn’t enough.
Slow down, Locke.
I force myself to take a deep breath. I’m letting myself to speculate and get worked up, but I can’t afford to lose control around him.
I smooth on a smile and nod as I sail past. “She’s perfect.”
She’s also here, and the sight of the back of her head makes my chest feel a little lighter. Today she’s wearing a pale pink sweater with elaborate knitwork down the sleeves, and her hair is back to its usual glossy shine.
Instead of returning to my desk, I approach Greer’s chair. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” I call softly.
Greer looks up at me and pantomimes sleeping and snoring, and I drop my shoulders in relief. She bolted on Friday after she fell face-first into my lap, and I spent the last two days worried that I’d somehow done something wrong.
“Top of the morning to you,” Greer returns. Her cheerful volley reveals that whatever awkwardness transpired is behind us. We’re still cool.
I work my wallet out of my front pocket and slide out a photograph, which I present to her with a flourish. “For you.”
Her eyes light as she inspects the image, and a smile creeps across her gorgeous lips. “You got it printed?”
I lean close to her and look over her shoulder at the photograph of me
