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“I’ve never…”
“I figured.” This earns me a glare, though don’t ask me why.
I settle back in my seat, pretending for all I’m worth that I hadn’t been about to suggest screwing in the back seat like teenagers. Putting the car in gear, I navigate back to the office.
“You’re not seriously going back to work,” Finn says.
“I just need to take these files up to the office. I’ll drop you at home first.” Something sours in my stomach. “I won’t keep you from your plans.”
I can’t say her name. I can’t.
“I don’t have any plans,” says Finn, his tone dark. “You work too fucking much.”
I guess we’re not talking about it then, not talking about her.
“I spend exactly an average amount of time in the office,” I say, parking inelegantly. Finn slams his door, following me into the building. I nod to Carl, the weekend security guy, and head straight for the elevator, Finn right on my heels.
“You forget, I know exactly how much time you spend at your office,” he says. The tension in the elevator is unbearable. No small part of it has to do with the erection I can see straining at the front of his pants. “I also know you’re prone to taking your work home with you. Even when you’re giving back to the community, you’re working.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I didn’t realize you had something against productivity. Or is it the steady employment that bothers you so much?”
The snotty tone was a mistake. Finn moves fast, pinning me up against the wall of the elevator before I can even consider taking it back.
His mouth is right there. Right. There.
The elevator door slides open.
“Um. Guys?”
Natalie stands there, both hands clutching her purse, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
16
NATALIE
Finn’s hands fall to his sides. Nic shoves past him, stalking out of the elevator.
“What are you doing here?” asks Finn, clearly discomfited. He runs a hand through his hair, following Nic more slowly.
“I left my phone in the office,” I say, confused. “We must have been in the elevators at the same time. What are you guys doing here?”
“Dropping off files,” says Nic, fishing out a key from his pocket as he walks down the hall. Finn and I line up behind him, heading toward the office like it’s any other day, only it’s past dinnertime on a Friday night. And the way they were standing in the elevator… a curl of heat unwinds in my core. I shut that train of thought right down.
“Right,” I say. “Legal Aid night. But in the elevator, you?—”
I bump straight into Nic, who’s stopped just short of the door. Finn manages not to crush me, but it’s close.
The door is already open, lying askew, its hinges ripped from the wall.
“What. The. Fuck.” Nic says what we’re all thinking as we get a good look at the office we left less than three hours ago.
The room is absolutely wrecked. Books torn from the shelves, dumped everywhere, plenty of them having been thrown across the room. My desk is covered with stuff I didn’t put there, as though someone emptied every single drawer over the top of it. The couch cushions are all over the place, torn and emptied of their stuffing.
Nic makes a beeline for his private office, but Finn gets there first, stopping him with an arm out, pistol already drawn. It startles me at first; somehow, I always forget he’s wearing it.
However bad the outer office is, Nic’s private office is worse.
“Jesus Christ.” Finn looks around and holsters his weapon. “You need to call the police.”
