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Though she was doing her best to forget about his camera and relax, she couldn’t seem to stop sneaking glances at him.
She’d thought she was being stealthy about it, pretending to flip through papers or fiddle with the phone whenever she faced his direction, but then he’d groan and drop his head back against the wall. “We’re not in an episode ofThe Office.Stop looking at me.”
If only he knew how impossible that was. His face was somehow both rugged and elegant at the same time, like a duke in a romance novel who had been lost out in the wilderness for too long, and his whole look was rendered all the more appealing by the way his jaw and brow were always frowning and furrowing. Then there were those damn eyes that stripped Everly down to nothing.
“Everly.”
Her name sounded different in his low, graveled voice: the syllables more complex, more interesting. It caused her heart to flip in her chest, and she shifted her gaze back to her monitor.
Two seconds passed in silence.
“Cottagecore is less retro and more ‘milking goats on the prairie.’” Each word was clipped, like she’d forced them from his mouth.
“Ah yes, those classic children’s books.”
“You know what I mean.”
She flashed him an amused grin. “I love that you know what cottagecore is.”
“You can’t work on a show like this and not pick up some things.” His plaid shirt rustled as he adjusted his stance. “Now stop looking at me.”
She swiveled her chair so she was aimed directly at her computer. “Disco makes more sense anyway. The bakery is called ‘Hot Stuff.’”
He strangled a quiet laugh, clearly opposed to sounding even the tiniest bit jovial.
Everly squinted at the chevron stripes on her screen. They looked more contemporary than retro. Attempting something a little more obvious, she set the lettering over an actual disco ball, only to delete it a second later. Obvious had never been her style.
She was cycling through rows of clip art when James strode around the corner. Immediately, her back pulled straight like someone had tugged a cord, and her fingers fussed with the hem of her skirt, pressing it to her knees. She’d been too distracted by Logan to pay attention to the time. Two hours before lunch was James’s trail mix break. He even ate the raisins.
Horrifying.
Everly’s pulse jolted into a panicked rhythm as James draped himself across the reception counter. Logan was still here. Still filming.
James’s melon-sized biceps flexed with the weight of his chin resting on his hand. “Hey, V,” he said. “What’s up?”
Everly stared at his mouth, as if it had formed sounds that weren’t quite words. She always joked that when she was nervous, she looked like she’d just smelled something vile. God, was that her expression right now? Did she appear to be sniffing a particularly ripe chunk of cheese? What would viewers think if this footage made it to air?
What’s up?That was all he’d asked. The same thing he greeted her with almost every day. Yet each response that popped into her head was more ridiculous than the last. Her brain seemed incapable of interpreting the phrase anything but literally.
The ceiling? The light fixture? His fly?Ugh. No. That last one was a fast pass to HR.
“Uh… the elevator?” she finally offered. Her tone sounded as pathetic as she felt.
James frowned. “What?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s up. Totally boring over here.” It was not a good save, but she leaned in anyway.
Logan snorted from his spot in the corner. She leveled him a glare, sharing a long, decisive moment of eye contact with the camera that she hoped ruined the shot.
Then, because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting under her skin, she swung her chair back around to face James.
In her head, she was grace and nonchalance.
In reality, her elbow swept wide across her desk as she spun (a bit too fast), creating a tchotchke avalanche. Her metal water bottle rolled loudly over the faux wood before crashing to the floor.Pens clattered. Her vinyl figurines tumbled like dominos. Mr. Darcy slammed into Gonzo who face-checked Statler who smashed into Flynn Rider who toppled onto Ursula the sea witch. In the quiet of the office, it sounded like a set of pots and pans being banged together, a toddler’s symphony.
“Oh crap.” As if she was the one who’d fallen, James rushed around the desk. He must have been a runner along with all his CrossFit because he was in front of her in the blink of an eye.
At the same time, they both bent over and reached for Gonzo.
