Page 31 of True Colors

“Don’t get me wrong, Luther is fair.” Just saying his name makes something flutter under my ribs.

Stupid.

For the past few weeks, he’s been nice to me, and to my horror, I am…crushing on him.

How dumb is that?

Finn studies me and then blinks, like his brain needs a reboot. “You like this guy.”

This is the problem with having someone who knows you so well that they see right through you. “Wh-what? N-no.” I am not convincing.

Finn scowls. “This is the guy who made you feel like you had to apologize just to finish a sentence?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“The guy is an asshole, Annie.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“It’s…just a cr-crush.”

Finn groans. “You’re stuttering as soon as you talk about him.”

“N-no, I’m not,” I object, stuttering.

Excellent, Anouk, very believable.

Finn narrows his eyes like he’s trying to decide whether I’ve been brainwashed.

“He’s gotten better,” I offer.

“Uh-huh. So, tell me, how is he better?”

I drain my beer. “He’s stopped looking at me like I’m incompetent?”

Granted, it’s probably because I’m a good data analyst, and he wants to make sure I help the Novagene project succeed. But still….

Finn scoffs and is about to speak when something in his line of sight changes his expression entirely—from annoyed to annoyed and surprised.

“What?” I ask, twisting in my chair.

Finn makes a warning sound in his throat, like a dog spotting an intruder. “Did you just manifest the son of a bitch?”

I freeze.

What does he mean? Not the obvious, right?

I turn and see a man walking toward us on the pier, looking perfectly CEO-ish in dark jeans and a crisp black Henley.

Luther Grant.

And next to him—glossy blonde hair, long legs, effortless confidence—is Erin.

Finn has seen pictures of everyone on my team—I walked him through my new project and showed him who’s who on the company intranet.

“He’s Luther, isn’t he?” Finn keeps his voice low.

“And Erin,” I whisper back.