Page 122 of His Good Girl

“No.”

“But you do.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Dana looked at me like I had asked whether windows were transparent. “Because I have eyes.”

I swallowed.

“And because Callum spent this morning looking like someone had wired a bomb to his self-control. And you walked in wearing that skirt yesterday morning and he forgot how sentences work.”

Despite everything, a laugh escaped me.

Dana pointed at me. “Do not look pleased. That was not praise.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were internally preening.”

“I was not.”

“You were. Briefly. Like a slutty little swan.”

My mouth fell open. “Dana.”

“What? I’m supporting women.”

“That is not what support sounds like.”

“It is when it’s useful.” She pushed off the counter and poured herself coffee from the machine, then grimaced after one sip. “Gah! This building makes billions of dollars and still serves coffee that tastes like ass.”

I stood there, stunned, overheated, and weirdly close to laughing again.

Dana looked back at me. Her expression had softened, but only slightly. Dana softening was like marble agreeing to be furniture.

“Listen to me,” she said. “I see him every day too, sweetheart.” She continued mercilessly. “I know what he looks like. Everyone knows what he looks like. The man walks around this floor with his sleeves rolled up and expects civilization to continue functioning. You are not the first woman in this building to notice Callum Rowe is attractive.”

“I know that.”

“No, you don’t. You think your wanting him makes you uniquely doomed. It doesn’t. It makes you alive and inconvenient.”

I looked down.

“But,” she continued.

I lifted my eyes, swallowing heavily.

“But most women can notice him and go home. You apparently decided to build a bonfire inside a fireworks factory.”

“That is not fair.”

“It is accurate.”

“That’s something he would say.”

“Yes, and I hate that for both of us.” Dana set the coffee down. “I am not here to shame you.”