"The presentation?" I interject quickly, aware of the glass walls surrounding us. "Absolutely. Jenna says the council moved it up to nine."
He accepts the deflection with a slight nod. "I've been reviewing the community commitment slides. I think we need to emphasize the local hiring initiatives more prominently."
"Good idea." I move to his side, setting down the pastry box to look at the screen. "We should also highlight the partnership with Spencer's team, it shows we're supporting existing businesses rather than bringing in outside contractors."
We fall into our familiar rhythm, passing ideas back and forth, making adjustments to the presentation. This is what we've always done best, working as a seamless team, anticipating each other's thoughts, building on each other's ideas. It's comfortable. Safe.
Except now there's a new undercurrent, an awareness that hums between us with every accidental brush of hands, every moment our eyes meet. I'm conscious of his proximity, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way he wets his lips when he's concentrating.
"What's in the envelope?" he asks suddenly, nodding toward my pocket.
"I don't know yet. Your minion Callum delivered it rather mysteriously." I pull it out, turning it over in my hands. "Should I open it now?"
A hint of nervousness flashes across his face. "If you want."
Curious, I slide my finger under the seal and extract a heavy card stock invitation. My eyes widen as I read: "The Charity Auction Committee cordially invites Ms. Sloane Parker to attend as the special guest of Mr. Atticus Morgan."
Below, handwritten in Atticus's precise script:Claiming my prize. Dress will be delivered this afternoon. No arguments.
"You didn't," I breathe, looking up at him.
The corner of his mouth lifts in that half-smile I find unfairly attractive. "I believe the terms of our bet were clear. Loser wears whatever the winner chooses."
"I was thinking flannel for you. Not..." I wave the invitation. "Whatever this is."
"You'll find out this afternoon." His confidence would be infuriating if it wasn't so damned appealing. "Consider it my way of showing commitment to Hope Peak's social calendar."
"How generous of you."
"I'm a giver." The teasing glint in his eyes makes my pulse quicken.
Before I can respond, Jenna appears at the conference room door. "Sorry to interrupt, but the council representatives just arrived. They're early."
Atticus straightens, corporate mask sliding back into place. "We're ready. Show them in."
As Jenna leaves, I move to gather my notes, but Atticus catches my wrist. "Sloane."
I look up, caught in the intensity of his gaze. "Yes?"
"After the presentation...” He pauses, seeming to search for words. "My office. We need to talk."
The simple request sends heat spiraling through me. "About?"
His thumb brushes over my pulse point, a small gesture that feels shockingly intimate. "You know what about."
Then he releases me, stepping back as the conference room door opens to admit Levi Voss and the other council representatives. The moment breaks, and we seamlessly shift into professional mode, greeting the council with practiced smiles.
The presentation goes flawlessly. Atticus is at his charismatic best, outlining Blackwood's commitment to sustainable development, local partnerships, and community preservation. I handle the questions about specific integration initiatives, emphasizing our intention to enhance rather than transform Hope Peak's character.
By the time the council leaves, visibly impressed with our plans, it's nearly eleven. The marketing team is waiting for their review session, and I know our promised conversation will have to wait.
"Mr. Morgan," Marcus appears at the door. "Your twelve o'clock conference call with the board has been moved up. They're waiting on line one."
Atticus's jaw tightens briefly before he nods. "Thank you, Marcus." He turns to me, regret clear in his eyes. "Rain check on that talk?"
"Of course." I keep my tone professional, aware of Marcus hovering nearby. "The board takes priority."
"No," he says, surprising me with his definitiveness. "But some conversations deserve privacy and time we don't have right now." His voice drops lower. "Check your messages later."
