“Type on that so fast,” Blair said. “Ethan can type on his phone, his keyboard or a laptop, but give him a tablet and he might throw it against the wall.”
“Oh,” she said, shrugging. “I just tell myself it’s a quiet keyboard. It really only is. Mind over matter.”
“Hear that, Ethan? Mind over matter,” Blair said. “Remember that.”
The look Blair gave him told him he might be in trouble. Somehow his assistant might have just figured out he at least had his eye on her replacement in more than a work capacity.
11
IT WAS ALL OVER
Her hand reached for her phone on Saturday morning, pushing the stop button on her alarm.
As much as she wanted to sleep in, the weekend was going to be when she could fit in the long runs she’d been enjoying along the Harborwalk.
She threw the covers back, walked the few feet to her bathroom, did her business, brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face and then grabbed her workout gear from her dresser.
Her six-hundred-foot apartment was damn close to a studio, just giving her a wall separating her bedroom from the living room. One dresser and a small closet were the only storage she had for clothing.
Good thing she only came with a bed, a couch, and a tiny table, because that was about all that could fit in the place.
She guzzled water quickly standing in her tiny kitchen that took up one wall, then put her phone on her armband, turned on her music, popped in her earbuds and laced up her sneakers.
Out the door in less than ten minutes, her two-block walk to the trail part of her warmup, then she took off on a jog past the Congress Street Bridge she walked over to work, then under theSeaport Bridge and around Fan Pier Park where there weren’t many out at seven in the morning.
A few dedicated walking or doing yoga on the grass. Later in the day there’d be public classes, but she wasn’t confident enough in her flexibility to join in that.
She looked at her watch, saw she’d been running for twenty minutes, then turned at the Boston Fish Pier and headed back on Seaport Boulevard, admiring the condos that she’d never be able to afford, before turning back to the Harborwalk for her run home.
She kept her eyes ahead, watching for traffic, not daring to glance sideways.
Until she did.
Like there was some magnetic pull she couldn’t resist.
A runner had just stepped onto the trail with a slow, easy jog, baseball cap low, earbuds in, tuned out from the world exactly like her.
Tall. Muscular. A fitted gray T-shirt clinging to broad shoulders, black shorts loose around strong thighs, red and white sneakers catching the sunlight with every step.
Her pulse stuttered. Her body quietly hummed.
His head turned as if he’d felt her watching.
She should have looked away.
She didn’t.
Because those light blue eyes found her instantly. Her boss’s eyes. Not the ones from Monday through Friday, but the ones that watched her in the casino over a month ago.
And when his grin broke wide, it was all over.
He jogged up beside her, tapping his earbud to mute his music. She did the same.
“Fancy seeing you out this early,” he said, his breath even. “Mind if I join you? Though it looks like you’ve been at it for a while.”
“Did the sweat running down my face give it away?” she asked between breaths.
Talking and jogging were not her thing. She usually let her playlist set the rhythm. Harder runs on bad days, lighter ones when she needed air. Faster tempo with the music and her feet matching it. Forty minutes, but the intensity could change.
