I shake my head. “There’s a reason I haven’t acted on how I feel.”
There are a million reasons, actually. Protecting my heart is one of them.
Molly reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Because you’re scared.”
“I, well—” Damn. “Of course I’m scared,” I sputter back. The thing is, I’m not alone in crushing on Locke. Every woman in the office between ages eighteen and sixty has probably ogled him at one time or another. Between his big heart and soulful eyes, he’s a freaking catch. It’s just that Locke seems to know it too. I’ve caught enough glimpses at his personal calendar to know how date nights and happy hours fill his weekends. And I can’t be another woman in the rotation. If something ever happened to our friendship, my heart couldn’t handle losing him.
“We have a good thing going,” I explain to Molly. “And I see him every day. Why would I want to ruin it?”
She frowns at me. “First of all, not every relationship you have is doomed to fail.”
“Need I remind you that my current ex is now my boss?” I sigh, and my voice comes out a little shaky. “I feel like I lucked into almost everything in my life. My job”—I throw a smile her way—“my kick-ass roommate. What if relationships are the one place I’m not as lucky?”
Molly frowns at me. “No, don’t do that, Greer.”
“Do what?”
“Believe that you don’t deserve every happiness. You absolutely do.” She waves another tortilla chip at me. “Did you ever consider that Locke feels the same way about you?”
I shut my mouth. Wishing for it to be true and having it be true aren’t the same thing. I know better than to get my hopes up.
“Another drink, ladies?” Brad, the bartender, interrupts, giving me a second to collect my thoughts.
I place a hand over my glass and shake my head. “I’m going to call it,” I say with a smile. The more I drink, the more Locke’s proposal seems like a good idea.
When Brad spins back to the other patrons, I turn to Molly. “This isn’t even real. It’s just two friends helping each other out.”
She nods sagely. “All the more reason to do it.”
“Or it could be a fast track to misunderstandings and a ruined friendship.”
Molly sighs and squeezes my hand. “You are one amazing woman, Greer Lively. This will be a safe way to show Locke just what he’s missing.”
When she puts it like that, it almost makes sense.
4 Locke
Damien Price leans on the podium at the front of WanderWell’s largest meeting room, his all-American hair swept back from his face as he rallies the crowd for our all-hands kickoff meeting. After the last fifty minutes of describing the company Kool-Aide, he’s now vigorously petitioning the design team to drink it with him.
“The integration of the writing team into Design is a step toward creating products that are inherently stronger, meaning less reliance on our customer support center and help articles. The goal is to drive a reduced support cost and increase customer satisfaction within the product.”
“See?” I nudge Greer’s side, breathing in the smell of her perfume. “It’s actually a really good move for us. They’re elevating our importance.”
She nods, but she looks even more pale than when we entered the room.
“Starting immediately, my ask is for the designers and engineers to pull your partner writers in earlier in the product planning process. This goes for Wanda and services alike.”
Damien cuts a glance in our direction, and something in his cool gaze makes me bristle. Greer’s assessment yesterday wasn’t wrong—for the amount of time I’ve put in at WanderWell, I’d love to be considered for a management role. Not only would it help solidify my impact at the company, it would also give me a chance to travel more since managers represent the company at conferences around the world. The five years I’ve been at WanderWell have been the longest I’ve stayed at one place in my career, and a little fresh air would do me good.
My slight bitterness about the manager role makes me want to compare everything Damien does to the way I would do it if I were in his shoes. I can’t help disliking him just a little, but it’s also possible I feel that way because of his past with Greer.
You can’t blame me either way.
“On that note,” Damien concludes, “I’d like to thank all of you for coming. I look forward to what we can create together.”
A round of applause ends the meeting, then murmurs fill the room as people share their thoughts and turn the discussion toward lunch.
Beside me, Greer stands and stretches her arms over her head. Her soft gray sweater rises an inch to reveal a tempting flash of midriff close enough to touch.
I swallow hard and try not to look.
“Lunch?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She waves at the dwindling crowd. “Let’s give it thirty minutes so we’re not fighting for a seat.”
“Deal.”
I motion for her to walk first, and we follow our colleagues out of the room. Greer seems lost in thought and I don’t want to interrupt, so we walk in comfortable silence while the rest of the crowd does the talking for us.
As we exit the room and make our way back toward our desks, Greer tilts her head at me and asks, “What would it look like?” She says it so quietly that I almost miss her question in the noise of the crowd.
Greer hasn’t said anything more about my fake date idea since I mentioned it, and it takes me a second to realize what she’s asking. Then it takes everything in me not to smile.
I nod my head toward the stairwell, and we duck inside the quiet space. My ears ring in the silence, but I can finally hear myself think. Which means I
