Page 119 of Not Safe For Work

“Again?” I sighed dramatically. “I’m running out of Spice, damn it.”

She eyed me. “Out of what?”

“Never mind.” I made a dismissive gesture. “Science fiction reference.”

“Probably one from before my time.”

I shot her a glare. “You’re not that much younger than me.”

“Young enough, apparently.”

We glanced at each other, and both laughed. Apparently she was in a good mood too. That was a positive sign—if she and I could banter a little here and there, it meant things were calming down. Enough work to keep us all employed, not enough to keep us here for a hundred hours a week.

Yep, this was going to be a good day.

We stepped into the conference room. All three partners were there, which was unusual when there wasn’t a client around, and as soon as we walked in, their heads turned toward us.

No. Toward me.

Great. What did I fuck up this time?

“Mr. McNeill.” Mitchell narrowed his eyes. “Would you have a seat, please?” He gestured at an empty chair that was rapidly beginning to resemble a hot seat.

I glanced at Marie. I was probably imagining it, but I swore she’d put a little more distance between us, as if avoiding the inevitable lightning bolt.

Without a word, I did as I was told. Marie stayed standing behind me.

“We won’t keep you long,” Mitchell said flatly. “But something has come to light. And we have some…questions.”

Sam Mitchell—his brother—sat silently, hands folded and gaze fixed on the screen on the wall. Beside him, Forsyth squirmed in his chair like he either didn’t want to be here or desperately needed to take a shit.

Mitchell cleared his throat. Without any further comment, he pressed a button on a little black remote, and a video came to life on the screen.

And my heart stopped.

On the same screen where they’d bored us to death with countless PowerPoint presentations, where we’d looked over schematics and aesthetics for dozens of structures, was a grainy black-and-white video from one of the parking garage surveillance cameras. And front and center, there we were—Rick and me.

Fuck. Fuck!

A lightning bolt, a heart attack or a goddamned grizzly bear—any of them would have been welcome at that point. Just take me out and make it quick.

I’d been so fucking cocky about the fact that they couldn’t fire me for getting involved with Rick, I’d gotten careless. Stupidly careless. And things in this room were going to get incredibly awkward in three…two…

The looks we were exchanging, and the way we were obviously wrapped up in conversation—we could’ve just been a couple of guys who’d bumped into each other in the garage. Except we were standing too close. And I’d been warned how many times about having the audacity to breathe the same air as Rick. But there we were.

My hand on his arm could’ve been a platonic gesture. It could’ve been anything. But the video wasn’t going to stop there. I knew it wasn’t. Like a train wreck in slow motion, we went on—talking, smiling, touching, careening toward that moment when there’d be no denying what was going on.

Onscreen, I moved in closer.

Hostile work environment in three…

I smiled up at Rick.

Two…

My stomach lurched as we all watched me draw Rick into another longer kiss.

Mitchell shifted uncomfortably. Forsyth cleared his throat. Marie swore under her breath.