The reminder of our age difference should feel wrong. Should make this attraction seem inappropriate.
Instead, it just makes me want him more.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "Pull up a chair."
He grabs one of the leather chairs from the other side of the desk, rolls it around to sit beside me. Our shoulders brush. I pretend not to notice the way my skin heats at the contact.
"Show me what you're stuck on," he says, leaning closer to see the screen.
I point to the construction company. "This one. The losses are too consistent. It looks suspicious."
"Mm. You need to vary it more. Some years profit, some years loss. Make it look like they're actually trying to run a business instead of just moving money." His hand reaches past me to take the mouse, and his arm presses against mine. "Here. Watch."
He starts typing, explaining as he goes. I'm trying to pay attention, trying to focus on the numbers and the explanations, but all I can think about is how close he is. How his voice sounds lower when it's just the two of us. How his fingers move across the keyboard with the same deft precision they use on my body.
"Are you listening?" he asks, glancing at me.
"Yes." I'm not.
"What did I just say?"
"Something about... varying profit margins?"
He smirks. "You're not listening at all."
"I'm distracted."
"By what?"
You. Always you.
"The numbers," I lie. "They all start blending together after a while."
"Take a break then." He leans back in the chair, studies me with those dark eyes that see too much. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Dinner."
"That was six hours ago."
"I'm fine."
"Aurora." His voice drops into that tone that makes my stomach flip. "When's the last time you actually took care of yourself instead of burying yourself in work?"
I don't have an answer to that.
He sighs, runs a hand through his silver hair. "You're going to burn out."
"I'm handling it."
"Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, you look exhausted. You've got dark circles under your eyes. You're not eating enough. And you're working yourself to death trying to avoid thinking about everything that's happening."
"What else am I supposed to do?" The words come out sharper than I intended. "Leo's watching us like he knows something. You told me why you want to end the engagement, but nothing's been resolved. I'm still in limbo."
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "For all of it. I know this must be hard.”
"Do you? Do you know what it's like to want something you can't have? To see you every day and not be able to—" I stop myself again, but it's too late.
His eyes darken. "To not be able to what?"
