Page 34 of Just for the Cameras
Insulted, she sits taller. “Pardon me for wanting you to feel connected to the birds.”
“Yeah, not interested.”
Gretchen’s eyes bounce between us, a small smile tugging on her lips.
“What?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“You’re going to clam up now? You have an opinion about everything. So I repeat: What?”
Her smile grows wider. “You know, I don’t care what you name the social media account.” She stands and gathers her things. “I think this is a brilliant plan. Keep me updated. I can’t wait to see how this turns out.”
Then she takes off, without another word.
After a few seconds, Maple huffs out an annoyed breath. “What a waste of time. That could have been resolved over text.” She glances off toward where Gretchen retreated and then brings her attention back to me. “Why was she smiling? It seemed unnatural.”
Her assessment makes me want to chuckle, but I hold back. Don’t want to give her the impression that we can bond over someone like Gretchen.
Or bond at all, really.
No, I need to keep my distance, as much as I can afford.
“Are we good here?” I ask while her eyes dart to mine.
“Are we good here? Umm, I don’t know, are we?”
I shrug. “Seems like we got permission. Not sure we need to do much more.”
She leans forward on the table that’s between us. “Not sure we need to do much more? Um, don’t you think we need to talk this through? Don’t you think we need to come up with a plan? A schedule? Maybe limits?”
“You looking for a safe word?” I ask her, causing her to blush in embarrassment.
“What? No. I wasn’t. That’s not what—”
“You can unclutch the pearls,” I say, her flustered look nearly making me smile. “Just send me a schedule.” I start to stand, but she holds out her hand.
“Hold on a second.” Sitting taller, she continues, “Contrary to what you might think, I’m not your personal assistant, therefore I’m not going to just send you a schedule. We can sit here, look at our calendars together, and work out something that favors us both.”
That’s where you’re wrong, because the longer I sit here, smelling whatever heavenly scent you’re wearing, staring at your drop-dead gorgeous face, the more likely it is that my shields will fucking weaken.
And I can’t have that.
“I’m late for something else.”
“What can you possibly be late for when you’re the one who scheduled this appointment?”
“Dinner,” I answer.
“With someone?”
“Yeah, myself.” I stand and take down the rest of my drink before setting it in the empty dishes tray.
Time to get the hell out of here.
I move past her, but clearly not fast enough, as she quickly gathers her stuff and plasters her body right next to mine, her lavender scent wrapping around me like a vine.
I glance down at her in mocking distaste. “What are you doing?”
