Page 71 of True Colors

Luther sits beside me a moment later.

Not across from me or at the head of the table but next to me.

It’s a small thing, but it steadies me more than counting to a hundred could.

As Erin launches into the agenda, Luther shifts in his chair—and without looking or making a production of it, his hand comes to rest on my thigh, over my slacks.

My breath hitches before I can stop it.

His thumb moves once, a barely-there press.

The doubts Erin planted—about opera box seats and worlds and belonging—all lose their sharp edges.

I risk a glance at him.

He’s listening to Erin, jaw relaxed, eyes intent—but when he feels my gaze, he turns just enough to meet it. He bends low and says softly, for my ears only, “Is this okay?”

I can’t look away from his eyes. We’re in a meeting. And I’m behaving like a woman in heat.

“Please let me,” he murmurs.

I put my hand over his and relax. I like this. I like it very much.

My emotions settle.

When it’s my turn to speak, I don’t let his hand go. I also don’t stutter.

I explain the revised assumptions in the model. I walk through the updated variance bands.

When I finish, there’s a pause.

“That’s elegant,” Benjamin says from across the table, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I just called an analytical model elegant.”

Everyone laughs.

“It is elegant.” Luther’s hand squeezes my thigh.

“Exactly.” Vijay grins. “This is what we’ll take forward.”

I don’t look at Erin, but I can feel her attention sharpen, her silence louder than any interruption. She tried to make me feel small just moments ago by the printers—and almost succeeded. I won’t let that happen again.

“Can you come by my office before you leave?” he whispers as we’re walking out of the conference room at the end of the meeting.

My heart skips a beat. “Yes.”

His office is dim when I walk in.

He’s standing by the window, sleeves rolled up, looking like every romantic mistake a sane woman should avoid.

Except I don’t want to avoid him.

He turns at the sound of the door.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“H-hi.”

He watches me. And I swear he sees everything—my exhaustion, my nerves, my hope.