Page 44 of Ricardo

I will take it.

“Tomorrow, then,” I say.

Her brows rise. “You’re agreeing?”

“You asked for something small.”

“I didn’t realize you would take that literally.”

“I am a very literal man when it suits me.”

“That, I believe.”

I stand first and offer her my hand. She looks at it, then at me, and the pause between us is brief but charged.

Then she takes it.

Her fingers slide into my palm, and I close my hand around hers carefully. She rises more slowly this time, the towel still in her other hand and her heels dangling from two fingers. When she is steady, I release her because continuing to hold her would be too easy.

Pulling her in would be easier.

“Head?” I ask.

“Sore. Ego worse.”

“Your ego will recover.”

“I’m less sure about Mario’s carafe.”

“I will replace it.”

Her eyes narrow. “I can manage that.”

“I will take care of it.”

She looks like she’s going to argue, then just sighs. “Fine. Thank you.”

She walks to her desk, slower than usual but with her spine straight, and I follow at a distance that gives her room. She shuts down her computer and stacks the folders in neat order. Even after this kind of night, she cannot leave disorder behind her.

I understand that.

I also wish she would let herself leave one thing unfinished without treating it like a personal failure.

She slips her feet back into her heels and winces slightly.

“You should take something for the headache when you get home,” I say.

“I will.”

“And if you feel dizzy—”

“I’ll call someone.”

I nod. “Good.”

She reaches for her bag, but I take it first and hand it to her.

“Thank you,” she says.