Page 82 of Wells

Cera places her papers on a table with several servers lined up and then turns to face me.

"We should probably talk about how this works."

I wait.

"I overheard someone at lunch commenting on how you smile now and never used to, about how much time we spend together. I didn't have to hear the whole conversation to know what they were implying."

"So?"

"So, I guess I just want to know what we're doing here at the office. Are we keeping this under wraps for now, or what?"

Her expression shifts, and she does that thing where she bites the top of her lip.

"I'm fine either way," I reply. "What do you want?"

"Honestly, I think we keep our private life private for now."

"So you're saying I can't pull you into me in the hall and sniff you?"

"Yep. Save it for after work. Consider it foreplay."

I don't answer right away, putting my hands in my pockets and studying her. She picks up the stack of papers.

"So, are we on the same page?"

"If that's what you want, Cera, then yes. We're on the same page."

The relief in her voice catches me before I can brace for it. She needed me to agree without making it complicated, and I just handed her exactly what she asked for.

I keep everything locked down by instinct. I tell Ridge what he needs to know. I tell no one else anything unless silence becomes a liability. A relationship that lives in the dark asks nothing of me that I don't already do.

But there's something different about her. I don't care who sees, who knows, or what they say.

"I appreciate you not making this a thing."

"It is not a thing. You're right."

She smiles, and the warmth in it feels like trust I have not earned.

She walks to the door, pauses, and glances back.

"And Wells? Doesn't mean I can't tell you how fucking hot you look in that tailored suit. In private." She winks and walks out.

I stand in the empty conference room and stare at the door. The conversation went exactly as it should have. Cera feels respected, her work stays untangled from the rumor mill, and I now have a boner that I'll have to deal with.

It's nearly the end of the day for most when people start clearing out. It's nowhere close to the end of the day for me. Someone knocks, and I glance up.

Cera leans in.

"Quick question on the Jakarta slide."

I gesture to the chair across from me. She crosses the room and sits, setting her phone face up on the edge of my desk while she pulls up the file on her tablet.

"You flagged the time zone conversion, but I can't tell if you want it displayed in local or GMT."

"Local. The council won't convert it themselves."

"That's what I thought."