Page 72 of If We Were Young

“Look at those legs.” Fred’s gaze lingered hot on my tights.

“That’s an utterly inappropriate way to speak to your boss,” I said, giving him a chastising glare.

“But you love me so you could never sack me.” He lounged back, his smile wide.

“Did you get my text on Saturday night?” I tried not to fluster at his gaze while I mentally rolled through all my previous outfits to the office, confirming that I had in fact worn this dress before.

“Bad date, was it?” Fred’s gaze swept up my legs again, and I shot him the ferocious glare of a caged lion.

“Something like that. Will you cut it out? We’re at work.”

“Oh, Ronnie. Mr Carling is already in your office.” The pink on Natalie’s cheeks deepened.

He was here already? I didn’t have my game face on yet.

What was my game face?

Did I even have one?

“Why are you flushing?” I asked her to stall the moment. My lips tingled at the prospect of Matthew standing in the other room.

“No reason.” She shrugged, but I could tell her lie a mile off, just like I always could with Hannah. “Shall I bring in tea?”

“Yes, please.” I hiked in a deep breath. This was fine. Totally and utterly fine. Last night we checked the theory… I didn’t know what the conclusion was, but we’d investigated it, checked it out… My stomach tightened and a little pin prickle of sweat flourished against my skin.

Totally fine.

Except no. Of course it wasn’t fine.

Matthew sat at the round meeting table, his face like thunder.

“Hi.” I pushed at my hair, remembering a second too late I’d pinned it up. My fingers trapped under the pins, no chance I could remove them without wrenching my hair free. “Sorry I’m a tad late. I had issues with the school run.”

I yanked at my hair and felt it settle into shredded feathers in place of the smart updo.

He made a very Scottish infused grunt; oak aged barrels of whisky and rain.

The air in the room set my skin on hyperactive mode, or maybe it was him; the hairs on my arms stood on end.

Be brave, Ronnie. Last night you were in his arms, pleasurably breathless as you teetered on the edge of everything that this could be.

I hesitated as I strode forward. His eyes flickered to my legs, but his lips pressed into a line.

The Kiss. It failed the theory test.

My chest whooshed like someone had punched me in the sternum.

Oooh. Wow.

The kiss I’d been thinking about all night like an obsessive on the verge of a restraining order hadn’t impacted him the way it had me.

The truth shadowed his eyes, the set of his shoulders, that little slash of a line he had on his face instead of a smile.

The warmth of the night before, that press of my face into his back, the imprint of material on my cheek, it’d all evaporated in the cold light of day.

I flinched under his gaze and tweaked the hem of my skirt. “Matthew, I’m so—” His phone trilled on the desk, the aggressive vibration making it move across the smooth surface.

“Carling,” he snapped into his phone, his eyes grazing over my face with sheaths of cold metal.