Alfie says it so easily, like it’s a switch he can just flip off.
I slump back in my chair. “Yeah.”
His fingers tap once against his coffee cup. A single, fleeting movement.
“So.” His voice is steady. Practiced. “We do our sixty hours, and we forget it ever happened.”
I nod.
But my mind doesn’t.
Because right now, it’s very much remembering—his hands tangled in my hair, the way he’d smiled against mylips when I whispered something about wanting his tongue on mine. Not very creative, I’ll admit, but it was effective.
He clears his throat.
“We should figure out our schedule.”
I latch onto that topic like a lifeline.
“Right,” I say quickly. “Schedule. Good. Very professional.”
His lips twitch.
Oh no.
I cannot be attracted to a twitch.
We agree to start this week, as soon as possible.
I offer to email Janine for us to organize meeting her.
“I should go,” I say, grabbing my bag.
Alfie nods.
“Wait.”
I pause.
He stands, looming over me (of course, he does), and steps closer.
Too close.
Dangerously close.
His hand lifts—slow, deliberate.
My breath catches as his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
“Crumbs.”
The touch is barely there, but it might as well be a lightning strike.
My pulse rockets.
His eyes flicker—just for a second—then drop to my lips.
My stomach tightens.
