“Archibald.”
My fingers tightened uselessly at my sides, like that would do anything about the way my chest felt hollow without him there.
“I’m pulling it up,” I mumbled, fumbling for my phone. My fingers slipped once before I got a grip on it.
Smooth.
I unlocked it and scrolled, my thumb slipping past the email. An irritated noise left me when I had to scroll back.
“Archie, baby.”
I looked up.
Henry stepped in, close enough that my hand stalled mid-scroll. His fingers closed over mine, stopping the movement, the pad of his thumb pressing against the side of my phone as he turned it out of my grip.
I didn’t even argue.
My hand just… opened.
His other hand closed over my cheek again, palm settling firmly against my face while his fingers slid back into my hair at my temple.
My next breath hit his chest instead of open air.
And—fuck.
He smelled good.
For half a second, I wanted to lean in and just….restthere. Bury my face in it and breathe until everything else shut the hell up.
Ohmygod.
Rhys was right—I’m a goddamn Victorian maiden.
“I’m going to read this,” he murmured, “and then I’m going to fix it.”
“That’s not how this works. They don’t just… reverse things because someone walks in and?—”
“Rabbit.”
My fingers curled at my sides, then lifted, then hovered uselessly between us before dropping again.
“I already scheduled the interview,” I said lamely. “I can’t just?—”
His thumb pressed in against my cheekbone, not hard, but enough that the rest of the sentence stalled out in my throat.
“You can,” he said.
I shook my head, but his hand held it in place. “It’s in less than an hour. I already confirmed. They’re expecting me.”
“They’ll survive the disappointment.”
“That’s not—” I exhaled, frustration slipping in. “I need the money, Henry. That part doesn’t change just because you’re?—”
“Here?”
My mouth snapped shut.
“Cancel it. Go get something to eat that isn’t designed to keep you alive out of spite.”
