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“You’re very good at your job,” I say.
Annie raises her brows. Smirks. “Well, at least there’s that.”
“I didn’t mean it like—”
“I know,” she cuts me off, still smiling.
“I’m sure you’re good at a lot of things.”
I did not just say that. Did not just lay out the most thickly innuendo-laden statement of all time to my freaking employee.
“Like, um, Sudoku,” I clarify quickly. “You look like a Sudoku fan.”
What am I talking about?
I glance sideways at her, just in time to see that darned grin slip back onto her face. “Oh yeah? What does a Sudoku fan look like?”
Hot.
But I can’t say that. For obvious reasons. I need to change the subject, fast.
Say something, Liam. Anything at all.
“So your mom’s into pirate porn, huh?”
Anything butthat,dumbass.
* * *
Our business dinner that is definitelynota date is going just fine.
And by “fine,” I mean that we make it all the way to dessert without me making any further comments about adult movies or number puzzles.
We talk about how she’s finding her time at SITL so far, about the office and what might change if we secure the Wiseman investment and roll out V2 of the app with all the bells and whistles. It’s small talk, of sorts, but I find I don’t mind it one bit.
It’s nice, being here with Annie, though this is a pretty intimate, romantic setting (Luke totally picked this place on purpose, the jackass). But it feels somewhat comfortable—still within the bounds of the rules, still above-board.
And as long as I don’t let my eyes linger on her face—illuminated and glowing under soft candlelight—everything will be okay.
Or, I think it’s going to be. Until she flips the script on me and lets her eyes linger onmyface for a moment too long.
She nods at my cheek. “How did you get that scar?”
My hand automatically moves to touch the small white ridge that intersects my cheekbone. I remember it like it was yesterday—I was six and cutting up magazines at my dad’s house to make him a birthday card. I got a little too snip-happy though, and cut a tuft of the living room rug off.
Scared that my father was going to get mad, I sprinted down the hallway in search of my big brother. Luke always knew what to do in those types of situations.
Unfortunately, I slipped, faceplanting on the floor. The scissors, still in my hand, ended up embedded in my cheek.
Six stitches.
Mom was furious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry with Dad. Most of the time, she just seemed exhausted around him.
I look at Annie, who’s watching me curiously, waiting for my answer.
“Nobody taught me not to run with scissors,” I finally say with a shrug.
She blinks, like I’ve surprised her. Then, she smiles and it’s like the whole world lights up. Monochrome becomes technicolor. “Liam?”
