Page 58 of Feel It in the Air

I stop, not really sure how much I should be saying. And not because she’s my direct report. This is the kind of thing that I shouldn’t be talking about with anyone within the company. Although, as my girlfriend…

“Say no more.” Margeaux holds up her hand, same way we did as kids on the playground telling each other to talk to the hand, ’cause the face ain’t listening. Concern ripples over her face and I know she gets it. “Not the time or the place. Or the person.”

I flex my hand against her back, both loving and hating that she understands this so well. It’s no longer just an urge to kiss her. My entire body is in on it, my dick stiffening, wishing I could pull her into my lap and hold her close. I have no idea what I did to deserve this woman, but I am so grateful for her.

Leaning in, she whispers, “That said, should you want to tell your girlfriend later, behind closed doors, she’s a vault. An e-commerce experienced, MBA wielding, law-degree toting vault.”

I bark out a laugh, startling the entire table. Yeah, I abso-fucking-lutely do not deserve this woman.

“Have you eaten yet?” I ask, once again fighting the urge to kiss her. “Or can I buy your MBA wielding, law-degree toting, adorable self dinner?”

“I haven’t. I was waiting for you.”

A quick scan of our surroundings shows that everyone is deep in their own conversation, so I quickly press my lips to her temple. It’s not near enough—from a time or contact perspective—but it’ll have to do. For now. It does make that semi I’m already sporting even more distinct, and I’m going to have to find a way to discreetly adjust myself when we stand up, but that’s a small price to pay for being able to kiss Margeaux. Even if it was the most chaste kiss ever.

“Saw that,” Hux mutters.

“Oh, Huxley,” Margeaux croons, pushing up from the table, using my brother’s shoulder for leverage. “That’s so kind of you to offer to clear our empty glasses for us. Such a gentleman.”

I manage to suppress a laugh, but can’t hide my smirk as Hux grunts, rolling his eyes at her comment. Dolly giggles across the table, quickly finishing off the last of her beer and holding up her glass.

“Oh, look at how cute this one is!” she exclaims, holding out her phone for Hux to see with her other hand as he takes her glass.

“Add it to the file.”

I shake my head, automatically knowing that it’s a little white house, with some sort of porch—probably a wraparound—in some super idyllic setting. If I were a betting man, I might even go all in on there being a porch swing.

“Oh, that is cute,” Margeaux comments.

“I have this thing about little white houses,” Dolly says, turning the device to give Margeaux a better look. Sure enough, the little square house sits in the middle of lush green grass with beautiful gardens around it, winding paths leading up to the front, and even a pool designed to look like a pond in front. And what do you know, a porch swing. It is beautiful, although this one looks as though it might be computer generated. “Hux has been promising to build me one since we were kids, so I have this file for whenever I find one I like.”

“We can buy a house,” Jeff mutters. “There are plenty that are just fine already.”

Flexing my hand against the small of Margeaux’s back, we leave them be, not wanting any part of wherever this conversation might lead. Nothing good can come from that. I lead Margeaux over to the food truck, joining the short line, ready for a moment alone with her. The brightly colored truck looks like Mardi Gras exploded all over it, the greens and purples almost clashing with each other behind large yellow letters reading The Ragin’ Cajun.

“How original. Never heard that cliché,” Margeaux grumbles.

“So, not what we call Papa Duck?”

“Only if you want to meet his butcher knife.”

Noted…

I turn to study the chalkboard menu, wondering what a Cajun restaurant on wheels could be serving. Admittedly, my knowledge of the cuisine is pretty basic, but they seem to have everything one would suspect. And from what I could smell, it was going to be good.

“They’ve got hush puppies, so you can tell how they⁠—”

“Hey Margeaux!”

Aaron’s voice cuts us off, sending a chill down my spine. It’s a quick, instinctual reaction. One that has nothing to do with being caught red-handed. No, it has everything to do with being territorial.

Because I know that tone. It hasn’t changed since we were teenagers. That’s not Aaron’s “I’m just being friendly” tone. That’s his “I’m interested” tone.

And what he’s interested in is mine.

“Aaron,” Margeaux greets.

I turn around slowly, trying to maintain my composure. Steeling my expression, I look him directly in the eye, all my emotions simmering under the surface.