Page 22 of Take What Hurts

It was fiery and passionate, and it clawed and tugged harder on the attraction that Elliott was fighting so hard to keep locked in that spot where she’d put it that first day in the conference room.

She took a breath and managed to laugh. “He probably would have waited and invited a male colleague to line up with him.”

Mackenzie stared for a moment, then snorted out a laugh, and Elliott was struck by how that sound wrapped around her like a hug and settled in her chest. “You’re right. He would have.”

Elliott smiled. “Somehow, just walking in on it was, like—” She sighed, eyes lifting to the ceiling. “Somehow better? Like, at least I didn’t have to tell him I didn’t want to join him.”

Mackenzie snorted again. “And have him think you’re weak or something?”

Elliott nodded. “Exactly.”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “Right again.” She sighed. “Don’t think you’re alone in this.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table again. “I haven’t had that happen, but I have been slapped on the ass and groped at by crusty old men, as well as some less crusty ones—” She paused, picking at her muffin some more. “More times than I care to remember, at more than one Christmas party.”

Elliott fiddled with the handle on her abandoned coffee and fought the urge to reach across the table and squeeze Mackenzie’s hand.

“Now I just go and make an appearance”—Mackenzie huffed a laugh—“and then go home. To avoid the whole part where everyone gets drunk and handsy.”

Elliott frowned. She’d been on the receiving end of more than one leering look, but nobody had ever gone the extra step in actually touching her. Elliott shuddered, and, for the second time, her hand itched to cross the table and rest on Mackenzie’s. She fought the urge again.

Elliott had a plethora of gripes with, particularly, her male colleagues. But the major problem arose when she supervised the less experienced ones. They were usually the children of the managing partners or other rich-asshole types, and they routinely believed that their work was without fault. They would bring their work for her to review, and anxiety would skyrocket. She would review their work with a rock-hard pit in her chest as she red-lined the deficiencies. She’d break into a cold sweat when she called them into the office to discuss her amendments. And as they left, she would squeeze her eyes closed and try not to hear them utter the word bitch or worse, breathed into the air like poison.

She watched Mackenzie pull small pieces off her muffin and place them on the paper bag beside it. She was slightly wan as she stared at a blueberry, and this time Elliott couldn’t stop herself. She reached across the table and brushed her fingers lightly over Mackenzie’s.

And Elliott felt it everywhere.

The brush of her skin over Mackenzie’s warm fingertips was akin to striking a match in the dark, and when Mackenzie’s head snapped up with the touch, Elliott’s heart stuttered at Mackenzie’s sharp inhale of breath through parted lips. If Elliott didn’t know better, she’d think that Mackenzie was as affected by the touch as Elliott was. But more likely Elliott had just startled her. So despite the shard of want that snapped through her, Elliott yanked her hand back across to her side of the table and swallowed hard before she spoke, she thought, somewhat evenly. “I’m so sorry, Mackenzie. I can’t even imagine.”

Mackenzie was still, eyes locked on Elliott’s hand where it sat between them.

Heat coursing through her at what appeared now to be a complete and utter fuck-up, Elliott went to move the offending hand into her lap, but before she could, Mackenzie reached out and wrapped long fingers around Elliott’s.

Elliott’s heart leapt, and she flipped her hand over to feel the pleasant warmth of Mackenzie’s palm against her own.

I’m holding Mackenzie’s hand.

I’m holding Mackenzie’s hand!

Oblivious to the way Elliott’s brain was falling over itself at the feel of the soft skin of Mackenzie’s palm, Mackenzie gave a hard swallow before she spoke. “You can, though. Every woman has their own experience with the men in this profession. Just comes in different shapes and sizes.” She gave Elliott’s hand a sympathetic squeeze before she pulled it away, Elliott’s bones aching with the loss. Of course—it was a comfort thing. Nothing remotely romantic about that. Dragging her brain back to the conversation at hand, Elliott nodded in acquiescence, because Mackenzie wasn’t wrong.

Then they sat there, Elliott’s hands twisting in her lap, fingers pulling at skin, Mackenzie playing absently with the small pieces of muffin on the paper bag. And Elliott was lost—entirely drawn in by the large, dark pupils that had overwhelmed the sapphire blue and that stared openly back at Elliott. And Elliott was lost in the way her own eyes roamed greedily over every crease, every line on Mackenzie’s gorgeous face. The slight upturn of her nose. The small furrow of her brow. Elliott’s insides vibrated at the proximity, and she clenched a fist against the urge to reconnect their hands across the table.

Because they’d moved past the point of needing to comfort each other over their mutual difficulties with their male colleagues, and retaking her hand would be… inadvisable. Nevertheless, the attraction that had been clawed at and pulled and enticed out of its hiding place roared in her ears at her to do something. Her brain screamed in unison to not do anything.

Then Mackenzie tore her eyes away down to her wrist where her watch lit up with a phone call. She grimaced and sighed and Elliott fell back into her chair—loose, like she’d been picked up and shaken. “I’m late for a meeting,” Mackenzie murmured, lifting her eyes back to Elliott, cheeks tinged pink as she swallowed. “I’d like to do this again.”

Direct. Matter of fact. No bullshit. A surge of adrenaline made Elliott’s head spin. “I’d like that.”

“Okay, that’s—” Another hard swallow. A sharp nod that made Elliott’s lips turn up in a smile. “Good. That’s good.” More of that hesitation. It looked good on her. Mackenzie pushed herself up out of the chair, wrapping the muffin pieces in the paper bag as she brushed past Elliott on her way to the door—close enough that Mackenzie’s coat brushed at Elliott’s sleeve. She shivered with the touch. “I’ll text you.”

Elliott nodded and lifted a hand to wave and watched Mackenzie turn as she got to the door—one hand braced on the glass—and paused, tugging the corner of her lips up. And then she pushed open the door and was gone.

THIRTEEN

MACKENZIE

“So, let me get this straight.” Mackenzie bit around the cream and chocolate erupting out of her second éclair of the day and gave Frankie a sideways look. They were winding their way through the hordes of people crowding the food stalls at the Fremont Sunday Market, on their way toward their favorite Vietnamese spot for a banh mi, as was their Sunday-morning tradition. They’d missed several get-togethers recently, with Frankie having been caught up at work and Mackenzie having been, well, moping.

Moping about her mother. About the turn the Jenkins matter had taken. About what that meant for her hopes of making partner in the immediate future. And mostly, she was moping about Elliott. Because their interaction at the coffee shop the previous week had left Mackenzie feeling more invigorated and enthusiastic about life than she had in a long time. And, well, the brush of Elliott’s lightly calloused fingers on her hand had shot straight through her and settled specifically between her legs. And the way Elliott had blushed and coyly pulled her hand away—like she didn’t think Mackenzie had wanted her touch—well, taking Elliott’s hand back had been the only logical next step.