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“Fuck this,” I breathe, resting my hand on the glass door. If I just willed myself strongly enough, could I pass through?
“Bold statement.”
I jump at the deep voice behind me, whirling around in a panic even as my brain eventually catches up to my body. Declan. I’d know that voice anywhere.
It’s a terrible moment to realize that I’m on the verge of frustrated tears. “The door’s locked,” I say, as if that’s going to explain everything away.
He nods like I’ve uttered the wisest words he has ever heard. “Yes. They do that after business hours. There’s nothing to be upset about.”
“I need to get in.” I swallow hard, fighting to get control of myself.
“That makes two of us.” He taps out a code on the pad next to the door, unlocking it. “Let’s go.”
Declan holds the door open for me and I step inside the silent lobby, hyper aware of the beating of my own heart. I definitely didn’t expect him to be here tonight. But I’m glad he’s here and interested in solving problems instead of causing them.
“Always so quiet in this building late at night,” he muses, looking around as we cross the dim expanse toward the elevator. “A ghost town. Like no one works here at all.”
“Just think of how much work you could do when there’s no one around to distract you,” I say, even as the number one cause of my distraction at work joins me in the elevator, a dark eyebrow raised.
“Is this your way of negotiating a night shift position?” he asks, amused. “Being the example, and all?”
“No way,” I say with a smile. “I’m too much of a morning person to ever want to work the night shift. I’d be a zombie.”
“Interesting. The zombie shift. Endless stamina, but there’s the whole brains thing.”
I snort a laugh. “There’s probably a Dynasty social media campaign there. For Halloween, at the very least.”
This feels almost normal, and yet it’s the first time in a while that we’ve directly interacted. This is the Declan I like. The one who banters easily and who’s not all twisted up in directions I can’t seem to follow.
The Declan I would one hundred percent fall for if he’d only stay like this all the time. Maybe it’s for the best that his moods are so volatile. Especially since we both agree that this whole workplace romance is going nowhere.
I glance up at him and his gray eyes burn me for a moment before he redirects his gaze. I realize, belatedly, that I’m a little more dressed up than I usually am for the office. And that Declan notices. My cheeks heat helplessly, and I’m grateful for the cool air temperature of our floor, where we part ways.
I’m so thankful I’m able to make the corrections to my presentation—and amazed that I even thought about it while on my date with David—that I don’t really feel guilty for bailing on him anymore. The relief is too great. I’ve been preparing for this moment, and I need everything within my power to go perfectly.
I’m heading back toward the elevator when I stop. Before I know it, I’m heading toward Declan’s office instead of back to the ground floor. I’ve done what I came here to do, and now I could easily slip out of the building and away into the night.
That’s not what I want to do though. Declan saved my ass tonight, and I want to make sure to thank him. I just hope I’m not making a mistake. I don’t want to run into mean Declan. I’d like to remember Declan as he was earlier—friendly. Himself. The way I like him.
I lean in, knocking on his open door. He’s not at his desk. He’s instead sitting in one of the plush leather chairs, looking deep into the amber liquid inside a decanter he’s picked up from what I assume is a secret wet bar in one of the cabinets lining the wall.
I’m about to make an ill-advised joke about drinking on the job when he uncorks the decanter and pours some of the liquor into a nearby glass. A second glass. One of them already has what I’m assuming is whiskey in it.
Two glasses.
He knew I was going to come in here.
Chapter 20
Sophie
My stomach flutters as my mind races. Does he want me in here? Do I want to be here? It’s seeming like a worse idea by the moment, but my feet, almost of their own accord, take me into the office. I sit down in another one of those opulent chairs. And I take the glass from him, our fingers brushing.
I raise the glass to my lips less because I want to drink it and more to hide the flush spreading across my cheeks. But once I take my first sip, my eyes close. My tongue seeks out the balance of flavors—oak and smoke from the barrel. Caramel. A hint of something else sweet. Vanilla.
“Mm,” I say, blinking at Declan, surprised. “That is really, really good whiskey.”
The dark brow is arched at me again. “You like whiskey?”
