Page 14 of Not Safe for Work

I stare at him. It’s been a while since we’ve done this.

When things first turned competitive between us, we channeled our desire to one-up each other by subtly and carefully riding the confines of professionalism.

An offhand comment designed to subtly and cleverly undermine one another during a conference call. A change of time or location of a meeting to ensure the other is a few minutes late. Debating over everything.

There was also the time I stole the e off his keyboard and snapped the lever on his chair so it was stuck on the highest setting. He’s so tall that his knees wouldn’t fit under his desk until they could find him a replacement. Someone was constantly unplugging my monitor, and I couldn’t keep the same stapler for more than a week before it went missing.

But then he started dating Hannah, and the games stopped.

Instead, we resorted to the silent treatment and hundred-yard stares beamed across the conference table in our continued battle of wills. It’s been a while since we’ve experienced this sort of forced proximity, and it feels like we’re falling into an abandoned but familiar pattern, bickering like we used to.

“Can I just enjoy the rest of the flight in peace?” I ask, picking up where we left off two years ago, ignoring how the familiarity of our fighting almost feels like snuggling into a warm blanket.

He raises his hands in supplication. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“Good.” I go to put the bud back in my ear.

“It’s just weird,” he says, and I throw him a look dark enough to summon an eclipse.

This is going to be a very long three weeks.

Chapter Four

Rafe doesn’t comment on my music again for the rest of the flight, though I’m pretty sure I catch him reading over my shoulder during one of the spicier scenes in my book. I glare at him, annoyed that he’s interrupting my daydreams about a broody fae prince.

Rafe’s knee keeps bumping mine throughout the flight despite the ample space in the cabin. I chalk it up to his very long legs and am proud of myself for withholding a comment on his extravagant manspreading. I can be mature about things.

We both reach for our glasses on the console between our armrests, and as his hand brushes mine for the eleven-hundredth time, I stuff down the little swoop in my stomach. I keep having to breathe through my mouth, so I don’t accidentally inhale the essence of Rafe. Just another hour or so before we make it to the hotel, and I can pretend he doesn’t exist for the next three weeks.

We’re now soaring over the islands, circling in for our landing, and I’m glad I insisted on the window. The water is breathtaking—the most clear, vivid blue I’ve ever seen.

Rafe leans over to see out the window. I flatten myself to the seat, attempting to give him a clearer view. His response is to eye me with suspicion. Why am I being agreeable? There’s no need to fight about everything, I reason. Soon, he’ll be a very tall and very distant memory. I can let him have this.

He leans in farther, and I slip and accidentally breathe through my nose, inhaling a whiff of the same smell I remember from our photo together. Clean and fresh, like the guy bathing in a waterfall in a soap commercial. His breath is warm as it skates across the exposed skin of my collarbone. My skin erupts into gooseflesh, and I clamp my eyes shut, holding my breath as I curse my body for being such a horny, traitorous bitch.

Finally, he sits back up and I let out a long hiss, my head swimming from a lack of oxygen. Mercifully, he stays in place as we coast to the earth, landing with a soft bump.

Once on the ground, we collect our suitcases and head for the ride-share pickup. Rafe swipes the screen on his phone a few times and stuffs it back in his pocket. “Our Uber should be here in a minute.”

“Great,” I say, inhaling a deep breath and rolling my shoulders.

We’re surrounded by tourists and exhaust fumes, but the air has an entirely different quality from the one we left behind. It’s warm and humid and makes my limbs soft. I can already picture myself standing on my balcony, enjoying the ocean breeze.

Rafe gestures to my monogrammed suitcases. “Those are some fancy bags, Malik. My father really approved those?”

I glance down at the luggage in question and give one a little twirl—they really are so beautiful. “He told you about that?”

Rafe shrugs. “He mentioned you had a few travel requests, but he’s not usually big on generous acts unless it gets him something he wants.” His eyes narrow the slightest bit. “What did you do to earn such favors?”

My eyebrow arches, and my head tips. “He didn’t tell you why?”

Rafe’s eyes darken to the shade of an autumn storm. “No, why?”

“You should really ask him,” I reply with a shrug as Rafe’s brows draw together with confusion.

Thankfully, I’m saved from further explanation by our car’s arrival. I have zero desire to relive that exchange in Charles’s office with anyone ever again, least of all Rafe.

We load our suitcases into the trunk, and I take a seat in the back. Rafe pauses outside the opposite door and then opens the front.