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It would be almost indecent if she wasn’t wearing about twenty-five tons of fabric on her petite, curvaceous frame. Baggy, parachute-style pants, coupled with a strange, white, multi-layered top. Like she’s a human wedding cake.
She chews on the lid of her pen as she flips through the pages, making notes here and there. She’s piled that wild auburn hair into a topknot.
I find myself watching her, wondering if she might pull at her purple scrunchie and let those waves loose around her face.
Not because I like the look of her hair down or anything. But because the moment she does, she’ll be shedding all over the carpet.
“What is it?” Annie asks as she picks up her pastry and takes a huge bite. Her lips are red, as usual. Chaotic as she may seem, when it comes to her lipstick, Annie is a creature of habit.
The thought of a shred of common ground between us pleases me.
I avert my eyes, striding over to my desk while giving her a wide berth. “Sorry?”
We don’t usually do a lot of talking. Well, I don’t do a lot of talking (and Annie does enough for both of us). One, because I hate small talk. Two, because it’s awkward as all hell to dance around the elephant in the room.
Plus, there’s the whole “Mr. Donovan” weirdness.
It’s too late to insist that she call me Liam. I have no idea why I made it seem I wanted to be called anything other than my given name, and now I’m in the slightly precarious position of not wanting to callherby her given name, thus creating another kind of power imbalance between us.
I swear, if anyone’s going to win the award for “worst communicator,” it would be me. Thank goodness we have Trevor in Communications for all of that.
“You were looking at me like you needed something?” Annie’s voice brings me back to the present. She tilts her head and wipes her sticky fingers on her pants. I try not to wince.
I grasp at mental straws until I remember what Luke and Ijustspoke about. And it’s work related. Which is what’s actually important here.
Not her lipstick, or her wild hair, or the fact that she has a consistent (almost endearing) habit of speaking before her brain fully engages.
Now that my head is focused again, I clear my throat. All business and perfectly professional. “Are you free tonight?”
Her eyebrows raise, and surprise flashes in her eyes.
Crap. As per usual, I’ve said the wrong thing. “For work,” I tack on quickly, my voice gruff.
Annie seems to relax a little. “Better check my calendar. Since moving back in with my parents, I have a glittering social life.”
I nod once. “Luke and I want to get an elementary outline of some V2 upgrades over to Wiseman’s office tomorrow, and I’d like to dig into your findings a bit more before we do.” I run my teeth along my bottom lip, strangely nervous. “Is there any way you could stay late?”
“Fine by me. My current, action-packed Thursday night plans involve watchingMurder, She Wrotewith the olds and finishing the scarf I’m knitting.”
I glance towards the window, where warm, golden sunshine is pouring in.
She follows my gaze. “I started working on it before I knew I was leaving Boston.”
“Why’d you leave?” I instantly regret my question. I’m not one to pry, but I can’t help being curious about the woman. I backtrack quickly. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“I don’t mind.” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “Needed a change. New location, new me. You know?”
Judging by how she looks away, a shadow crossing her expression, I have a feeling there’s a lot more to the story. Maybe something to do with that slimeball ex of hers. But I remind myself of my boundaries—I don’t need to know anything more than this.
Especially given the… unconventional way we started our working relationship.
I’ll admit that I’d like to know how she feels about it all, but I can’t very well bring it up. I plan to stick to my Bruno rule.
Best not to talk about it. Any of it.
“I get it,” I say. Professionally.
Annie faces me and crosses her legs. “No, you don’t.”
