Page 29 of Sin

I lower my voice. “So don’t stand there and act like my blouse is the problem.”

For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he steps closer.

“The problem is that you think I don’t know that.”

My breath catches. The office outside my door might as well not exist. Opal. The phones. The hum of fluorescent lights. The whole company moving around us like everything is normal. Nothing about this is normal.

“Then maybe you should leave,” I say.

His gaze drops to my mouth. Then back to my eyes.

“I should.”

But neither of us moves. Not until someone knocks on the door.

We spring apart like guilty teenagers. Which is ridiculous. Because we haven’t done anything.

Mason turns his head toward the door. “Yes?”

Opal pushes it open just enough to peek inside.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Mrs. Sinclair is on line one.”

Mason’s expression closes. Mine does too. I reach for the folder on my desk and straighten it even though it doesn’t need straightening.

“You can use my phone if you need,” I say. “I have a meeting with Tate.”

Opal’s eyes widen slightly before she disappears, wisely shutting the door behind her. For a long moment, Mason doesn’t move. Not even when his phone starts ringing in his pocket.

I look up at him. “You should probably take that.”

His gaze holds mine. “Laurel⁠—”

“Boundaries, remember?”

Something flickers across his face. Regret, maybe. Or frustration. Or both. He reaches into his pocket and silences the call without looking at the screen.

I slide the folder toward him, forcing my voice back into something professional. “Take the test results. If you have notes, send them by email.”

He doesn’t touch the folder.

“Laurel.”

“Mr. Sinclair.”

His mouth tightens. For one second, I think he might say something real that would ruin us both. Instead, he picks up the folder.

“Conference room B,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. Bring the prototype and your testing notes. I’ll bring mine.”

He turns before I can respond and walks to the door. With his hand on the knob, he pauses.

“I’ll send my notes by email,” he says.

“Great.”