Page 91 of His Good Girl

“And Avery,” he said.

I looked up.

He stepped closer again, not touching me this time. My body leaned in toward him before I could stop it, and his eyes dropped briefly at the movement, his mouth tightening like the sight cost him something.

I wanted him to kiss me again.

He did not.

He bent his head instead, bringing his mouth close to my ear. Close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath. Close enough that the cedar-dark scent of him surrounded me again.

His voice was barely above a murmur.

“You will be wearing nothing underneath that skirt so that when the workday is over, we can deal with the fact that you rolled your eyes at your boss by bending you over his desk and pulling your skirt up around your waist.”

The words surged through me like a lightning strike.

My core clenched so hard I gripped the notebook to keep from making a sound. Heat flooded my face, my throat, everywhere. I stood perfectly still, breath shallow, while he stayed close enough to ruin me and careful enough not to. Then he stepped back.

The absence of him felt like an unpardonable sin.

Callum reached behind him and unlocked the door. The click snapped the world back into place. For a second, neither of us moved. He looked at me like he was memorizing exactly how I looked after being kissed by him, hair loosened, mouth swollen, eyes too bright, every sensible thought in me scattered across the office floor. I looked back and wondered whether he had any idea that I would remember this moment for the rest of my life, even if I walked out tomorrow and never came back.

“Go home,” he commanded.

I swallowed. “Yes, Mr. Rowe.”

His eyes flared.

I turned before he could answer, opened the door, and stepped out into the quiet reception area.

Benjamin was back at his desk. He looked up from his laptop, took in my hair, my face, the notebook clutched to my chest, and the closed door behind me. His expression did not change, which was how I knew he knew everything. For one unbearable second, we simply stared at each other.

Then he said, “Productive meeting?”

I tried to answer, but nothing came out.

Benjamin’s eyes flicked very briefly toward Callum’s door, then back to me. His voice softened by the smallest possible amount.

“Elevators are to your left, Ms. Hale.”

I nodded.

“Also,” he added, returning his attention to his screen with the dignity of a man choosing not to witness a fire because it lacked proper permits, “your hair is experiencing structural complications.”

I lifted a hand to the back of my head and found half the pins loose.

My face burned.

“Thank you, Ben.”

“Do not thank me. It encourages intimacy.”

I walked to the elevators on legs that did not feel entirely attached to me. I did not look back. I did not trust myself to. The office was nearly empty now, but every glass wall, dark monitor, and polished surface seemed to reflect some version of me I barely recognized. Avery Hale, serious employee, goddaughter, woman kissed breathless behind a locked office door and sent home with instructions to follow or not follow tomorrow.

The elevator arrived. I stepped inside and pressed the lobby button. Only when the doors slid shut did I exhale. I leaned back against the wall, pressed my fingers to my mouth, and felt the ghost of his kiss there.

My phone buzzed before I reached the lobby.