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“The next time you want a spotlight piece in The Times, don’t expect me to have anything to do with it,” she says once we’re alone.
I frown. “I didn’t arrange that interview. The reporter came to me.”
“Of course she did.” Her catty tone confuses me.
“I don’t have time to figure out your point here, Jill, so can you please just enlighten me?”
She glowers at me, but somewhere in that look is hurt too. I know that look well, even if I don’t understand where it comes from half the time. “You made me feel beneath you yesterday, Owen. You sat there laughing and flirting with that reporter, talking about all your accomplishments while barely acknowledging mine.” She pauses, swallowing like she does when she’s close to tears. “I gave up my life to help you build this company. It would be nice if you at least acknowledged that.”
Before I can respond, she turns and walks out of the conference room.
I file through my memory of the interview, trying to pinpoint the behavior of mine that Jill thinks was flirting. I know damn well I didn’t intend for anything to be construed as flirting. Not when the only woman I’m interested in doing that with is Charlize. And sure as hell not when the only woman I’m actually looking at is Charlize.
I didn’t flirt with that reporter.
I engaged with her.
I laughed with her.
I shared stories with her.
But not once did I make advances on her.
However, the important part of what Jill said is that she doesn’t believe I’ve acknowledged what she gave up to help me build our company.
Fuck.
I run my hand down my face.
This isn’t something new between us, but I thought we’d covered it in therapy. The fact we haven’t is troubling. And hell if I know how to fix it.
“Owen.” Charlize’s voice instantly registers in my body as she enters the conference room and comes my way. “Jill asked me to give you this.” She hands me a folder.
I quickly glance at the contents, noting signed documents. Looking back up at her, I say, “These three weeks are going to be some of the longest weeks of my life.”
She nods and I wish I could see her throat because I know that when she nods it causes a delicate ripple of skin there. I’ve watched it enough times now for it to be lodged in my memory. “Mine too.”
Fuck, I want her.
Even just one touch would suffice.
“How’s your day going?” I don’t want to let her go yet.
“Let’s just say that I don’t understand Jill’s moods. My day is as up and down as those moods. And I’m totally about to break my rule of no caffeine after two p.m.”
“Rules are meant to be broken.”
“I don’t know you well enough yet to know for sure, but I feel like you might be a rule-following kind of guy.”
I drop my gaze to the red ribbon. “I have only one rule and that is to make my own decisions as to which rules to follow and which to break.” I find her eyes again. “Most rules are bullshit, and I think I’ve found a kindred spirit in you on that.”
“You’re right. You have.” She moves a step closer to me. “I was getting rules mixed up with values. I think you’re a values kind of guy.”
A text hits my phone, and then another, interrupting our conversation.
“Sorry.” I eye my phone. “I have an appointment to get to.” I pause and run my eyes over her face again, my mind circling on her assessment that values are important to me. They are. “Jill’s moods don’t have anything to do with you. She’s impressed with your work.” I take a step toward the door before stopping and adding, “This blouse is hell on a man, Charlize. I’ll do up all my buttons for three weeks if you refrain from wearing it again.”
* * *
