Page 62 of Worth the Risk

“Just go.” I plaster a smile on my lips. “I sat with Lilah earlier this week and passed her little quiz. For the most part, I’ve done this before at my other job . . . I can do it.”

“I’ll keep my cell on me,” Lilah says.

“Just go. I have it handled.”

“Knock. Knock.”

“Ohmygod.” I startle and slam my knee on the underside of the desk as I jump up, but I don’t think the racing of my heart has anything to do with being surprised. It has everything to do with the man standing with his shoulder resting against the doorjamb, hands shoved into his jean pockets and eyes finding their way up and down the length of my body.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. It’s just—I didn’t hear the door.”

“You were kind of lost in your own world.” Silence settles between us as our eyes hold and ask and answer things I don’t think we’re ready to say aloud.

“I was. I didn’t expect anyone—yes.” Why am I suddenly so nervous? Maybe it’s because of how I left things with him last time and now I wish I could take those words back?

“I saw Rissa outside with her kids. She said you were up here. Are you not going to join in the festivities?”

“There was an issue with the layout, and we’re on deadline, so I offered to stay and fix it.”

“Why?”

Nervous energy has me stepping back and then yelping when I bump into a leaf of the fern behind me. The intrigued expression on his face softens as he smiles at my clumsiness.

“Because I don’t have a family or kids who were waiting for me to take them, like most of the staff did. I don’t have anyone looking forward to me being there.” I shrug as something flashes through the blue of his eyes that I can’t quite read. “So, I told them I’d stay and fix things to meet the deadline.”

“I was looking forward to you being there.” The deep tenor of his voice is a seduction all in its own right.

“Oh.” My breath hitches at his comment, and I hate that for a girl who never gets tongue-tied over a man, I’m doing a damn fine job of pretending I am. Next thing I know, I’m going to forget that I know how to walk in heels and accidentally trip and fall into his arms. That’s how ridiculously dorky I feel right now.

He takes a step toward me.

“What else did Rissa say?” I ask for the sole reason of needing something to say.

“She thanked me for agreeing to do the contest.” He angles his head and stares at me for a beat, and I’m suddenly so very aware how dark the main office space is . . . and how very alone we are. “Why did you say the magazine needs to be saved?”

His question takes me off guard and also gives me a small reprieve from the sexual tension that eats up the oxygen in the room.

“It has failing viewership. I was brought on staff to elevate the numbers and help save it.”

“The contest.”

“The contest.”

“And where do I fit in all of this?”

He takes another step closer, and everything about him seems to consume the small space. The width of his shoulders. The outdoorsy scent of his cologne. The soft sound he makes when his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. The dark shadow of stubble starting to show on his jaw.

“You’re going to be the winner.” The minute I say the words, I feel like such an ass.

His smile widens in a slow, steady slide as he nods. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” He chuckles.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that—”

“It doesn’t matter. Rissa explained it all to me outside.”

“Oh.” Panic strikes. Did she really tell him our plan to play up his background to sell more magazines?