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She still won’t look at me, but the furrow in her brow softens as she gently steps out of my grip, fiddling more with her camera bag. “Good. I woke up craving those roasted eggplant and red pepper pesto sandwiches.”
After a beat of silence, watching her, I tell her, “You rely heavily on your calendar to organize your commitments and keep you on time, I bet.”
Kate throws me another sharp glance, all pricked pride andfire. “Yes. Which is generally the reason one has a calendar. It just bites me in the ass when I rely on something I’ve entered inaccurately, but that’s my brain for you. I’m sorry about today, okay?”
“Kate, it’s all right.”
She stares up at me, searching my eyes, quiet for a long, drawn-out minute.
“What is it?” I’m starting to get uneasy with the intensity of her examination.
She sighs bleakly. “I’m finding it hard to despise you right now, and I resent that.”
I smile, wide and genuine. “Well, Iamsupremely likable.”
Rolling her eyes, she drags her camera bag higher on her shoulder. “The moment’s passed. You killed it real quick.”
A soft laugh leaves me, earning her attention. Kate meets my eyes, a faint uptick at the corner of her mouth—the closest I’ve come to earning her smile.
She steps away from the conference table, backtracking steadily. I can’t stop my gaze from finally raking down her body.
Jesus. H. Christ.
Her jumpsuit has wide legs, soft, fluttery sleeves, a fabric belt cinched tight at her waist. Shoulders, hips, and legs for miles.
Heat rushes through me as the memory of last night’s dream floods my mind’s eye—long legs straddling my waist, lean, strong arms outstretched, hands planted on my chest, hips riding me hard and fast—
I clench my teeth and beg my brain to recall with vivid detail the photo on my desk featuring middle school Kate in her orthodontic headgear, hoping it’s enough to douse the fire coursing through me.
It doesn’t work.
If Kate notices I’m suffering, she doesn’t let on, and given how much she seems to delight in my suffering, I don’t think she’snoticed. She points her thumb over her shoulder, then says, “I’m going to use that small southwest-facing meeting room for the photos, if that’s all right. It’ll be the best light.”
I stare at her, managing only a silent nod.
Finally, she seems to notice that I’m looking at her differently.
She arches an eyebrow. “Just wait for it. Business in the front. Revolution in the back.”
And with that cryptic statement hanging in the air, she spins and wrenches open the door.
My eyes snag on the back of her jumpsuit, spotting the classic Rosie the Riveter icon printed across the top, except in this version, Rosie holds a sledgehammer in her raised arm; below her reads, the letters cracked and compressed like shattered rock,smash the patriarchy.
When the door slips shut, I let out the laugh I’ve been holding in.
•NINETEEN•
Kate
“Saving the best for last?” Christopher eases the door to the meeting room closed behind him.
“You caught me,” I deadpan.
As the door shuts, the hairs on my neck stand on end. I glance over my shoulder and catch his gaze on me, then darting away. Christopher clears his throat and rakes a hand through his hair.
“I see you’ve noticed Rosie,” I tell him, assuming that’s where his eyes were.
He gives me a wry smile that makes my insides fizz like a just-popped bottle of champagne. “If you were hoping to scandalize me or anyone here with your fuck-the-patriarchy sentiments, Katerina, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
