Page 23 of Based on You

"I'm just curious," she cut in, a wicked glint in her eye. "Scientifically speaking."

"Sloane, we are leaving⁠—"

Before I could finish, she reached to her left without looking and picked up three heavy hardcovers from the display table. She set them down again, hard, positioning them two inches too far off the edge.

They slid off the table together.

The sound they made crashing onto the hardwood floor was not small.

I closed my eyes for one long second.

When I opened them, Simon Beckett was looking right at me from the far end of the store.

"Violet?" he called.

He said my name with his dark brows drawn together, his chin tipped forward. He started down the aisle toward us right away, Olivia trailing beside him.

"Hello, Mr. Beckett." I forced out a bright smile. "What a huge coincidence."

He nodded, stopping a polite few feet away. "It is. What are you doing here?"

"Just browsing with my friend." I gestured awkwardly to Sloane, who gave a cheerful wave.

"Hi. I'm Sloane."

"Hi." He reached out to shake her hand. "Simon. Her boss."

Sloane nodded, chin up, her smile sized to land just right. "That's easy to believe. When she told me she worked for the CEO, I pictured a wrinkled old man in suspenders."

Simon chuckled, amused. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, I'm very pleased," Sloane purred.

He grinned. Then he turned and laid a gentle hand on the teenager's shoulder. "This is my niece, Olivia. I'm sure you remember her from the service."

Olivia hung just behind his shoulder, her gaze flicking to me and away. I nodded and held out my hand. She took it with a small, polite grip.

"Of course," I said. "It's nice to see you again."

"Olivia, your jacket is killer." Sloane was already half a step toward the girl. "Where's it from?"

Olivia looked down at her oversized denim jacket, then back up at Sloane with a warming smile. "Thank you. It's vintage."

"I want to know everything about it. Do you like books? What genres are you into? Come on, I'm looking for cover inspiration—" Sloane waved toward the next aisle, and to my horror, Olivia followed her, eager. In seconds, they were gone.

I watched them disappear around the corner, my jaw locking tight.

I turned back to face Simon.

He looked my outfit up and down, then met my eyes, a teasing glint in his own. "So this is how my highly professional assistant dresses when she's not at work."

I looked down at myself in horror. Black baggy sweatpants, a plain white tank top. I'd all but fled the apartment in a rush. "What?"

He gestured at my getup.

"Oh." I glanced at his outfit, defensive. Black linen pants, tailored clean, and a dark linen shirt left open at the collar. No jacket. Infuriatingly simple. He looked unreasonably good in simple, and I wasn't going to say so out loud. "Well, we're obviously not matching today."

"Unfortunately," he deadpanned.