Page 36 of Heated Takeover

“Dylan!” I snap.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “But you know what I mean.”

“It’s not awkward because we don’t make it awkward,” I tell her.

“But he remembers you, right?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he remembers me,” I say as my mind trails back to the past. Meanwhile, my cheeks turn red in the present.

“I can’t imagine. Trying to work together considering all that…” she says with a headshake. But she’s also dragging her lip through her teeth.

“Will you stop?” I ask.

“Stop what?” she asks.

“You’re making this harder.”

“Making what harder?”

“Not thinking about it. Not thinking about him. He’s finally back at corporate, thirty minutes down the road, forty-five with lunch hour traffic, and I can finally breathe a little and do my job without having to worry about him waltzing in and calling a meeting or–”

“PSA, the boss is in the building,” Charlie says when he pokes his head through my cracked door. I want to swallow back my words in one big gulp.

“Shit,” Dylan says.

Yeah. Shit.

I make my way to the showroom after I make sure the coast is clear. It’s not that I am avoiding him, but I am wondering what he’s doing here again. I’m also curious what kind of mood he’s in…and what he’s wearing…and if he’s wearing that delicious cologne that smells like cedar and bergamot.

I need to stop thinking about it, about him. About his hair and his smile and his frown and how his lips. About the way his eyes grow dark when he’s angry or frustrated or…other things.

“You’re not helping yourself,” I tell myself as I open the door to the showcases. In the building, we have two large rooms that are set up with multiple showcase rooms in each one. Every space has its own vibe and decor, including color swatches and samples. They are set up to show clients in-person inspiration.

I often come in here for just that…inspiration. It’s easier for me to build a space and bring my Pinterest board ideas to life. Other times, I come in here just to be alone. Most people’s jobs don’t require this type of space, other than that of the designers. Many who would don’t use them much because so much of their work can be done online. I guess they just don’t think to utilize this space.

I’m old-school and prefer the tactile space. Usually, I get the whole place to myself, which I find rather therapeutic.

While I am comparing different rose-colored swatches for napkins, the overhead lights come on in one of the showcases behind me. Which means I am no longer alone.

“Hey Dylan? You think you can help me out? I’m having a bit of a napkin conundrum, and I could use your expertise,” I call out. But it’s not Dylan’s voice that echoes through the room.

“I don’t know much about that, but I can assist you in other ways.”

I whip around to see Marcus standing in front of me. He’s wearing a simple suit, no tie. It’s dark blue and fitted and looks both sharp and casual at the same time.

Kind of like the expression on his face.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, and his expression grows sharper and a little less casual.

“I’m not sure if you knew this, but I work here,” he tells me.

“I mean in the showcase room,” I tell him.

“I saw you slip away in here and wanted to check on you. See if you need any help with anything,” he says and I snort.

“You want to help with color swatches?” I ask.

“Is that what you are doing?” he asks.