Page 61 of Based on You

"Mr. Beckett." I set the printed agenda on his desk. "You have a strategy meeting in fifteen minutes. Devika's team. It's the app testing update."

He glanced down at the agenda. "Are you coming in with me?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be sitting in and taking notes."

What I didn't say was that I also wanted to hear the V.M. Ashby update, the corporate search I'd been secretly running for myself, just to know how close they were getting to the truth.

He looked across the desk at me, dropping his chin, one corner of his mouth holding something back.

"When it's time," he said quietly, "we go in together."

I nodded and retreated to my desk.

The strategy meeting convened at eleven in the small, glass-walled conference room. Devika ran through the current app testing status, then transitioned to the V.M. Ashby update. I kept my eyes locked on my open notebook and wrote down every single thing she said.

The corporate outreach was ongoing. No confirmed identification yet. The fan account back-channel had yielded the promised birthday dedication and the initial email agreement, but Ashby hadn't signed the legal contract, and the editor was still waiting.

I wrote it all down.

I was sharply aware of him across the polished table.

At some point I felt the weight of his gaze and looked up. He wasn't looking at his copy of the agenda. He was staring at me. Not glancing at my notes. At me, with his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his hand, nothing professional in his open expression at all.

The conference room was full of people.

Devika cleared her throat, a pointed little sound.

"Simon." She set her pen down with a click. "The testing timeline."

He turned to face her. "My apologies, Devika. Please go ahead." He cleared his own throat. "Violet, can you run and get me a fresh coffee?"

I stood, excused myself, and all but fled to the kitchenette. I took my time pouring it. I needed the thirty seconds to catch my breath.

When I brought the steaming mug back and set it on the table in front of him, his hand closed over mine on the ceramic handle for a fleeting moment before he took it, his warm thumb sweeping across my knuckles. And then the forbidden moment was done, I was back in my seat, and the meeting went on as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the afternoon felt long.

We left the building together at the end of the day. Manuel pulled the town car into the underground garage, and we got in. The heavy door closed with a thud.

The second it did, Simon reached across the seat and pulled me hard into him.

I laughed, surprised, already pushing weakly back against his solid chest. "You have a serious problem."

"I know," he agreed, and kissed my cheek.

"I'm being serious, Simon. You need to learn some control."

"It's impossible." He pulled back just enough to look at my face, his hand anchored at my waist. "You're far too distracting."

I looked at him with an unconvinced sidelong glance. "Did you have this control problem before we got together?"

He considered the accusation with far more seriousness than the question deserved. "I had a version of it. It's different now, though."

"Different how?"

"Before, I was managing it. Now, I know there's nothing left to manage."

I held his gaze a long moment. "Since when are we together?"