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Seeing the way she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes from sliding over me, though, had been very, very grounding. Perhaps I was grounded in the evidence that she was, in fact, still attracted to me, even if she had been avoiding me.
She’d been avoiding me so thoroughly, in fact, that she’d completely changed her schedule. She was long gone before I even made it into the building. No light banter in the hallway. No walks home. And certainly no intimacy in my studio.
I tried to be understanding. She was in a position of power at KPRN. If it got around that she was sleeping with someone on the payroll, there would be all sorts of speculation. And, in the Alpha Mindset guys’ case, some pretty sexist rhetoric.
No one wanted to have to put up with that.
Then there was whatever the higher-ups might think should the information get back to them. It was no wonder she was removing temptation by simply avoiding me.
That said, some part of me had been concerned I’d overstepped or that she had regrets.
Her reaction to seeing me slightly less dressed only confirmed that it wasn’t about us per se, just the circumstances we found ourselves in.
Because regret didn’t look like flushed skin, shallow breaths, and that glassy, wide-eyed look she had as her gaze traced the muscles of my chest and stomach.
“Oh, this.” She sucked in a deep breath, and I tried not to notice how doing so made her breasts swell up out of the square bodice of her top, giving an understated impersonation of that bodice-ripper she’d had on her desk the last time I’d visited.
“That good?” I asked when she hesitated.
“It’s just that Mr. Lane basically expects me to have you sign this, no problem. And I have the feeling that you are not going to want to.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a contract for Clout Circuit.”
“I can tell by the way you so haltingly delivered that news that the name is meant to mean something to me. Unfortunately, it does not.”
“Right. Yeah. I forgot. You’re one of the founding members of the Luddite movement,” she teased. “So, Clout Circuit is one of many events meant for influencers, streamers, podcasters… basically anyone with a platform and followers.”
“I have no platform or followers.”
“Yes, well, that is another argument we need to have.” She shot me a bemused smile. “But I guess Mr. Lane thinks you have made waves big enough to warrant you showing up at Clout Circuit this year.”
“Even if that were so, why would that require a contract?”
“That’s… yeah, that’s a good question,” she admitted. “I’m going to level with you. Mr. Lane basically threw this at me and demanded I go to you immediately to sign it. Aside from seeing the brochure, I have no idea what the contract says.”
“May I?” I asked, gesturing toward the folder.
She turned the folder to face me and reached for her coffee instead, sniffing it tentatively.
“I used the vanilla grounds for yours,” I told her. “I, unfortunately, don’t have sugar or creamer.”
“I’m tired enough that I don’t care,” she admitted.
I hadn’t noticed it right away, what with how I’d been focusing on the desire. But she did look tired—heavy-lidded, pale, her overall demeanor seeming diminished.
“Have you not been sleeping?”
“Not much.”
No elaboration as she blew on the coffee and took a tentative sip. At my silent question, she shrugged. “It’s not horrible.”
“Considering I know what you think is good coffee, I will take that as a compliment,” I said as I scanned the document.
“Wow. That’s weird.”
“What is?”
