Page 59 of Playing Mr. Perfect

I pace, reminding myself that I’m the one who ended it. Clay would be happy to continue our fling. Until he gets bored or it’s football season again, which is another reason I need to protect my heart. I stop pacing and look in the mirror, struck for the umpteenth time since returning from Paris by the woman staring back at me. Something about me is different. It’s like I left an invisible piece of myself behind, and it changed the way I see myself.

My sisters would have a field day with that.

There’s no room in my life for these kinds of distractions. I have a business to run, and the bottom line is, I don’t make good decisions when I’m with Clay. I don’t regret staying in Paris with him. That was the happiest day of my life, but it wasn’t the smartest decision. I was so jet-lagged when I got home last week, it took me three days to catch up, and I was less than my best at the kickoff meeting. I can’t afford to not be on top of my game.

I draw my shoulders back, shoving all those feelings down deep for the hundredth time in the last week. It takes an enormous amount of effort to force my thoughts away from Clay and back to work.

Feeling a little more in control, I leave the bathroom in search of my staff, because if I return to my office, the precarious lid I put on those feelings might pop off.

I find Ravi shutting down a computer in the lab where we work on prototypes and simulations. Unlike Chris, Ravi has impeccable taste, and he’s always well put together. Today he’s wearing a fitted dress shirt and slacks that show off his lean runner’s frame. With thick black hair, a peppering of manicured scruff, and coal-dark eyes, Ravi is strikingly handsome and a dead ringer for the actor Manish Dayal. But his good looks are background noise to me. When I look at him, I see the friend who has been there for me through the hardest and the best times in my life. The lanky teen who, like me, wanted to see what all the hype was about and treated sex like an experiment. I see my best friend and the perfect distraction from the fissure in my chest.

He looks up as I walk in, his pearly whites gleaming against his dark skin. “Hey, Pep. What’s up?”

“I thought I’d come check on things. Did you reach Dr. Bowry?” Dr. Bowry is a neurologist consulting on one of our projects.

“Yes. We have a meeting scheduled with him Friday afternoon. I put it on the group calendar.”

“Great. I’ll be ready. Was Min able to help with the coding issue you were trying to work out?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I’d like to see this week’s progress report before—”

“Before we submit it. I know.” He looks amused and slightly annoyed, which is par for the course when I ask to review data before it’s given to our funding sources.

I look around the lab, filling with pride as my gaze skates over the worktables, computers, and neatly organized supply shelves.

“Nothing is out of place,” Ravi says with exasperation as he steps beside me.

“I wasn’t looking at that.”

He arches a brow. “You’ve been extra neurotic since you got back from Paris.”

“I have not. We just have a lot going on.”

“We always have a lot going on. Maybe you should go see Clay for a little stress relief.”

I roll my eyes, regretting divulging our fling to him, but Ravi was a big part of the reason I went on the trip in the first place. We had a lot going on at work, and I almost canceled my trip, but he refused to let me. “I never should have told you about that.”

“You were dying to tell someone, and you knew your dirty little secret would be safe with me.”

That is true. Ravi knows more of my secrets than Sable does. In fact, Sable doesn’t know about what happened between me and Clay yet. She and I haven’t spoken since we saw each other in Paris. Her tour was extended, and I’m trying desperately not to think about Clay. Hopefully she’s doing better with the tour than I am with my efforts.

Ravi nudges me. “So? Any more gifts from your hot European fling?”

“No, but he’s texted a few times,” I say more casually than I feel.

“And?” he asks eagerly.

“I told him the same thing I told you. I don’t have time for whatever it is he’s looking for. Why are we talking about him anyway? We’ve got work to do.”

“We’ve been here until after nine every night since the kickoff. My eyes feel like sandpaper. I’m heading out to grab some dinner. Come with me. Min and Chris already left, so there are no more whips to crack.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I didn’t eat lunch until after three. I want to look for a few more employment sites where I can list the receptionist job, and I want to go over the data files Chris is working on, and a few other things.”

“You can do all of that in the comfort of your own home after we eat dinner.”

Yes, but I think about Clay even more when I’m home. At least in the office I’ve got visual cues applying silent pressure to focus on business. “It’s easier here.”