Page 19 of Sin

His laughter only gets worse. When he finally recovers, he wipes at his eyes.

“You're insane.”

“Thank you.”

“I meant it as an insult.”

“Still accepting it as a compliment.”

Jack shakes his head. Then his expression turns curious.

“So what's really bothering you?”

I stare at a prototype on the table. Nothing. Everything. The way Mason looks at me. The way I look back. The fact that he is very, very married. The fact that I have to spend a week traveling with him. The fact that apparently my body has decided now is a fantastic time to develop a debilitating crush on my boss.

“Just worried that this one won’t get approved.” I give him a tight smile. “But I know we’ll figure out the perfect concept for Lust.”

He hums under his breath and says, “I’ll let it go because I’ll get the truth out of you at lunch.”

I roll my eyes and move closer. “Okay. What do you need help with?”

I lose myself in work. Thankfully, Jack is exactly the distraction I need. The two of us spend the entire morning buried in prototypes, testing reports, packaging concepts, and manufacturing timelines. Hours disappear while we argue over materials, tweak design specs, and debate whether consumers care about matte finishes as much as I insist they do.

They do. I will die on that hill.

For the first time since yesterday's board meeting, my brain stops replaying every interaction I've ever had with Mason Sinclair and I just work. By noon, we're both exhausted and starving.

Jack stretches his arms over his head and groans. “Please tell me we're getting food.”

“Obviously.” I gather my notebook. “I should probably stop by Mr. Sinclair's office before lunch.”

Jack's grin immediately returns.

“I'll meet you in the cafeteria.”

“You're the worst.”

“Yet somehow still your favorite scientist.”

“Debatable.”

His dimples appear. With a dramatic sigh, I leave the lab and head for the elevators. The ride to the executive floor feels longer than usual. Maybe because I'm still annoyed with him. Or maybe because some pathetic little piece of me is looking forward to seeing him.

I hate that possibility most of all.

When the elevator doors slide open, I immediately notice how quiet everything is. Normally the executive floor hums with activity. Assistants moving between offices. Executives rushing to meetings. Phones ringing. Today it feels oddly still. I make my way down the hallway toward Mason's office. The door is closed. The lights are off.

Frowning, I stop at his assistant's desk.

“Is Mr. Sinclair in?”

His assistant looks up from her computer.

“Haven't you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“He called off for the next two months.”