Page 69 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

"Hierarchy, remember?"

"Can we add Nathan to the call and get his take?" Vivi asked, going for bold.

"He's in Boston for the week. How about when he gets back? And if this goes well, maybe we can talk about you running the new celebrity line."

"Really?"

"I'll put in a good word."

"Thanks—"

But Peter was already gone.

She slammed her laptop shut and opened her phone. "Hey, Glow. What's today's glow-up exercise?"

"Today's glow-up exercise is to walk in someone else's shoes. Literally. Walk up to someone you admire, put on their shoes, and go for a stroll," the chipper voice said.

Vivi ran out of the kitchen and into the office, where she found Boone leaning over paperwork at the desk.

He looked handsome in a way that made her inner monologue trail off mid-sentence and her body go absolutely haywire. The reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose only made it worse because he looked impressively controlled, with a quiet intensity that made her heart kick sideways.

His shirt, soft blue cotton, clung to his massive shoulders and chiseled chest she now had and up-close-and-personal knowledge of. The sleeves pulled tight across his biceps in a way that made her palms itch. And the way he looked at her over the rims of those glasses? Heat simmering just below the surface like a banked fire that knew exactly how long it could wait.

Her stomach did something structurally unsound and she was fairly certain her lady parts accepted whatever invitation those eyes were offering.

"Give me your boots," she said.

"What?"

"Your boots. Hand them over."

"Can I ask why?"

She snapped her fingers. "You can ask while you're doing it."

He held her gaze for one beat, then reached down and pulled them off, revealing the ridiculous little cows stitched into his socks.

"Cows?" she asked, laughter threatening.

"You want the boots or not?"

"Fine." She wiggled her fingers and he handed them over one at a time, unhurried, the brush of his fingers against hers entirely deliberate.

"My boss just took credit for a project I've been working on for months," she said. "And I let him."

"Why?"

She threw her hands in the air. "Because I am a professional doormat."

"Not with me." His tone was low and just possessive enough to make her legs quiver.

"I know. Which I find refreshing."

"I don't," he muttered—but the look in his eyes said otherwise. He liked her fire and had absolutely no intention of admitting it.

"I asked my life coach for help. " She held the boots. "She said I needed to walk in someone else's shoes. Hence your boots."

She kicked off her sneakers and slid her feet into his massive shitkickers, wiggling her toes, then started pacing back and forth. The too-big boots clomped and slipped with every step, making her feel taller, stronger, and a hell of a lot bolder.