Page 31 of Not on the Same Page

“Is this seat taken?” she asks softly.

I shake my head, and she lowers herself gracefully into the chair, tucking her skirt around her legs and crossing them at the ankles.

“Second time in three days you’ve had an open seat next to you.” She raises her eyebrows pointedly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for excuses to sit near me.”

That’s exactly what I’m doing, but I’m not about to admit it. “I’m just unapproachable,” I joke instead.

She squints at me, her gaze roaming my face as if she’s looking for something. “Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, you do have whatever the male equivalent of a resting bitch face is.”

The laugh that tumbles out of me is one of surprise. “I do not.”

Trina’s hazel eyes dip to my lips, then back to meet mine as a smile stretches across her face. “You absolutely do. It’s a job hazard. You need that poker face for negotiations, and if you use it enough, your face just kind of stays that way.”

I blink at her, confused but delighted…which seems to be the effect Trina always has on me. “How did you get from resting bitch face to poker face?”

She scoffs as if the answer should be obvious. “When you don’t give anything away, you look kind of bitchy. They’re the same thing. And you’ve got the second best one in the business.”

Reeling back, I chuckle again. “Second best?”

Trina circles a finger around her face. “Next to this one.”

It’s a joke. Judging by her smile, she wants me to laugh. But I can’t. There’s not one single thing about Trina that could look bitchy. But I can’t say that without sounding like a man who has lost his senses, so I just shake my head again.

She shrugs. “It’s true. It’s what makes negotiations with you so fun. We’re evenly matched.”

A middle-aged woman starts walking up to the podium, probably to introduce the keynote speaker. Trina leans into my space, her shoulder brushing mine in a move that should be casual but lights up my nerve endings.

“It’s kind of a turn-on, actually,” she says so quietly, I almost wonder if I heard her right.

The woman at the podium taps on the mic a few times, then clears her throat. I chance a look at Trina as the lights in the room dim. Her plump, red lips are tilted up in a knowing smirk, her eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Only you would get turned on by negotiating,” I whisper, my pants growing tighter as my dick hardens.

“Don’t yuck my yum,” she whispers back. “When’s your flight home?”

“Right after this. You?”

“Tomorrow.” She screws her face up in disappointment. “But, um… Maybe I could call you sometime? Now that we’re…you know.”

“I’d like that,” I say almost too quickly.

Her smirk widens into a full smile as she turns her attention to the stage and mutters, “I’ll bet you would.”

The first speaker begins her introduction of the author who will be delivering the keynote address, but I can hardly pay attention to any of it as someone slides into the seat next to Trina and immediately starts manspreading. Trina grimaces and shifts slightly in her seat so her leg presses up against mine.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m squished.”

But I’m not sorry. I almost want to lean over and thank the guy because I get to spend the entire speech with Trina resting against me, catching a whiff of her strawberry shampoo every once in a while.

11

TRINA

I had every intention of blowing off the keynote speaker. His books sound interesting, and Casey had been excited enough about meeting him to buy one from the overpriced airport kiosk, but I got what I came for from my pitch sessions, and I have bigger things to worry about. The Denver Central Library has been on my bucket list of places to visit since I read an article about the massive renovations they did a few years ago. I was in the process of walking out of the hotel to call an Uber when I happened to glance inside the large room being used for the presentation.

Casey was sitting there, solid and stoic and looking at his phone as everyone moved about around him, greeting old friends or new acquaintances. I paused. Just a fraction of a second to appreciate the lines of his body and that little piece of ankle that always peeks out of the bottom of his slacks when he sits. And in that instant, his shoulders slumped and his expression sagged. It was as if something sad had just hit him. Not devastating, but sad enough to crack his normally rock-hard exterior. When he rubbed at his chest, I felt that ache myself. It’s an ache I’m all too familiar with.

So I didn’t go to the library. I stepped inside the room. And when he saw me, I closed the distance between us and sat down.