Page 2 of Let's Call a Truce
My eyes filled with tears, and I swiped them away before they messed up the makeup I spent too long on that morning. “Is crying a fireable offense?”
Christina laughed, pulling me in for a light hug. “You get settled, and I’ll be back in an hour to grab you for the staff meeting. After that, I’ve scheduled some one-on-one meetings with the hiring managers for you.”
I forced another smile, and when she disappeared around the corner, I let my head drop onto the desk with a little bang.
I tried to look through the materials Christina left me, but the exhaustion from a night spent staring at the ceiling, reeling with anxiety, left my brain as mush. A glance at my watch told me I had just enough time to grab a cup of life-giving nectar before Christina would be back.
In the break room, the ancient Keurig wheezed out my coffee, and I gulped it down, caring more about getting it in mysystem than about the burn of the too-hot liquid running down my throat.
Thedingfrom my phone warned me time was running out. As I flew out the door, my face slammed into something hard. I groaned and clutched my nose as I fell back.
A pair of hands came around my upper arms and settled me in place. My gaze shot up to deep brown eyes, and suddenly the world was in sharp focus.
It was the most handsome face I had ever seen. A strong nose led to full lips that tipped at the corners like he was perpetually smiling, even when the rest of his face pinched in concern. His dark brown hair, just this side of black, was combed back in a professional style, though a bit too long to be considered clean-cut, and his beard was cropped close and immaculately maintained. Thick, black lashes around his eyes made the brown pop. Why did men get the best lashes?
“Careful there.” The low timbre of his voice made goose bumps pop up along my arms. “Are you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I cut him off with a small smile.
A cold sweat broke across my skin as a surge of guilt at my reaction to him flooded my body. But even the most happily married woman—and I still felt married, no matter what my legal status said—would swoon if they ran into Henry Cavill. No one could blame her for that.
And that pesky gymnastics routine happening in my stomach? Nerves and embarrassment. That was all it was.
I glanced at his chest, the hard surface I’d smashed into, trying not to notice how his button-down hugged the muscles in his chest and arms. That’s when I spotted the near-perfect outline of my lips on his otherwise-pristine white shirt. My eyes grew wide in horror as I looked back up at him, his brow furrowing with confusion before he looked down. He barked out a laugh.
“I am so sorry.” My attempt to wipe away the mark only smeared it, leaving a giant pink smudge on his right pec. Irealized I was essentially feeling him up in the break room, and my cheeks turned even redder. “I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned.”
“That isn’t necessa—”
“Yes, it is. I’m so sorry. Which I guess I already said once. This is not the impression I wanted to make on my first day.”
He snorted. “I think your lips leave a pretty great impression.”
My wide eyes shot up, and I saw my shock reflected back at me, like he couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth. My stomach swooped like that first dip on a roller coaster, but I couldn’t tell if it was excitement from his words or dread that a man who wasn’t Jason was flirting with me.
Or maybe both.
“Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his feet shuffling as silence stretched between us. He cleared his throat. “It’s not the first stain I’ve gotten on a shirt, and it won’t be the last.”
I’m sure lipstick stains were common with a face like that.
I nodded, steadying myself with a deep breath. “Thank you, and I’m sorry. Again.” An alarm blared from my phone, a final warning that I needed to be back in my office. “This is so rude, but I need to go. Sorry for… all of it.”
I’d made a complete fool of myself. At least I made it back to my office before Christina came to take me to the meeting.
The auditorium was huge, comfortably fitting the couple hundred people who worked for KMG. There was a wall of windows on the far side, giving a view of the city and Lake Eola in the distance.
My eyes swept the space, settling on the man from the break room. He radiated an air of casual confidence as he leaned against the front podium, the sleeves of his button-down now rolled to his elbows.Good lord. Those forearms.
He was in the same shirt, pink smudge on full display, and my cheeks heated to the same color. Now that my face wasn’t smashed into his chest, I could get a better look. With ample inches in all directions, no one had—or likely ever would—describe me as small, but the size of this man made me feel tiny. He had to be several inches over six feet, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist.
I realized he was staring at me, too. From across the room, his eyes looked darker, almost the exact color of his hair. I stood for several seconds, frozen by his gaze. The corners of his already curved mouth tipped up another millimeter, and he lifted a hand in greeting with a teasing glint in his eye.
I smiled back awkwardly before dipping my head and scurrying off to find a seat.
I had noticed attractive men since Jason died. Hell, I noticed attractive menbeforeJason died. But it wasn’t real, just me recognizing the aesthetically pleasing combination of someone’s features.
That’s all this was, too. He was a beautiful work of art, hung safely behind a velvet rope. You may admire it in the museum but have no intention of taking it home for your own wall. Any other musings on flexing forearms and bottomless dark eyes were a reaction to the cortisol levels thrumming through my body as I prepared to speak in front of the entire company.
