Page 89 of Boardroom Mask

“Well, I hope we’ve been giving you plenty to write about.” He smiles easily, pleasantly, and above all, indifferently. Zero heat. He could be meeting me for the first time and you’d never know the difference.

Thornton claps a hand on Kir’s shoulder. “Come on, let me show you the corner office. We just renovated.”

Kir holds my eyes for one more beat. Then he nods and peels himself away. “Lead the way, Rick.”

They turn and head toward the glass-walled office at the far end of the floor. I stand there with my hand still half-extended, watching them go.

Just before they round the corner, Kir glances back over his shoulder.

He winks.

Then he’s gone, striding after Thornton with his hands in his pockets and not a care in the world.

35

JILLIAN

“Turn out the light switch / We’ve been awake for days / And no one’s coming ’round here no more”

— “Cold Contagious” by Bush

I stand there for way too long. Long enough that Weston has to clear his throat a few times before I register the sound and turn to look at him.

“You okay?” he asks. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I’m groovy,” I say, a word I’ve never used before in my entire natural life.

I walk back to my desk on autopilot and sit down. The zoning filing is still open on my screen. I scroll down a line and then back up. I highlight a sentence and unhighlight it. Meanwhile, through the glass wall of the corner office, I can see Kir and Thornton sitting across from each other. Kir’s ankle is resting on his knee. He’s gesturing with one hand while Thornton nods along, and every few seconds, they both laugh about something.

My pulse won’t come down. I keep replaying the handshake and the total blankness in his face. I was just another stop on the tour, no different than Cheryl or Deborah or Intern Priyanka.

And then that wink. Nobody else saw it; he’d never be that careless. ButIdid. Another little gift for me and me alone.

My thighs press together under my desk. I hate him. I really, truly hate him.

Except for the fact that I don’t hate him at all.

Thirty minutes later, the corner office door opens and Kir steps out with Thornton right behind him. More handshakes, more laughing, moreRick thisandbuddy that. Then Kir turns to Thornton’s assistant, Linda, and asks, loud enough for half the floor to hear, “Excuse me, could you point me toward the restroom?”

Linda gives him directions. Kir thanks her with that same thousand-watt smile and saunters down the corridor past the copy room.

I know what this is.

An invitation.

But I’m not going after him. Absolutely not. I have a deadline to meet and also, you know, a shred of professional dignity left to protect. I’m not going to get up from my desk and follow Kir Lazarev to the bathroom of my own newsroom in the middle of a workday simply because he winked at me and it lit a new fire in my belly.

I’m not doing that…

… until I push my chair back and stand up.

Weston looks over. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” I say.

“You just went, like, half an hour ago.”

“Bladder problems. Mind your business, Weston.”