“So I’m soft and brooding. Is there anything else you’d like to label me with before I start my workday?” I was laughing as I said it, and I wanted to take a picture of the grin she flashed me so I’d never forget she could look at me like that.
“I think that’s it for now,” she said sweetly.
“For your information, I’m not brooding. I’m just…thinking a lot. There’s a lot on my mind.”
“That’s the definition of brooding, sweetheart,” she said in a singsong voice.
The temptation to indulge in this sweet back and forth was too great. I was a goner. I had to dive head-first into this conversation.
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” I warned her. “You saw my muscles, didn’t you? Nothing sweet about those guns.”
A laugh popped out of her, and she covered her mouth with a hand. This was just like old times. My heart pounded, waiting to see how far this could go. Somehow, space had shrunk between us, and I was at the edge of her desk, leaning closer to her. I wanted more of this. I wanted it so badly. Teasing Jessa, being on the receiving end of her sweet digs, filled a hole inside me I fought to ignore on the daily.
“Careful, Damian. It seems like you’re trying to be my friend right now, and that isn’t allowed.” She pursed her lips, challenging me with her gaze. “Unless you had a change of heart?”
I didn’t get a chance to respond. Francis came up then, looking severely confused. His brows furrowed as he looked between us like he’d caught us sacrificing virgins in broad daylight.
“Well hello,” he said with distaste.
I stepped away from her desk, the veil of our reverie collapsing around us, like a ghost abandoning the sheet. We’d been a breath away from linking hands and skipping off to kiss under the football bleachers. We’d gone too far.
And now that we’d recoiled from that warmth, the air in the office felt extra chilly, as if I’d been stripped of a whole layer of clothing. But I needed to ignore that, because Francis had saved me, allowed me to see that I needed to stay focused on my priorities, which didnotinclude getting lost in dreamy banter with a plus-size pinup model like Jessa. This was my own fucking workplace. What in the fuck was wrong with me?
“What’s up, Francis?” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to clear the haze. I told myself he hadn’t seen us flirting, because wehadn’t been flirting.We’d just been talking. Like two humans tended to do.
“I can’t find Trace,” he said with a sigh, clutching some files to his chest with a cock of his hip. “He missed his eight a.m. check-in with me, and I need him to get his signatures on these contracts. I’ve been calling, but just get voicemail. This is very unlike him.”
I blinked a few times, wracking my brain for answers. “I haven’t seen him since after the meeting Monday. He hasn’t answered your calls?”
“Not a one,” Francis said. “And I tried about fifteen times.”
“Shit. Okay.” I ran a hand through my hair, thinking of next steps. “Let me do a little digging. I’ll let you know what I find, okay?”
Francis sent me tight smile. “I was hoping you’d say the magic word:digging.Thanks, Damian.” He headed back down the hallway. Jessa was back to nibbling on her bottom lip.
“Do you need me to do anything?” she offered.
“No, I’ve got it. I’ll let you know if I do, though.” I retreated into my office, shutting the door behind me. The cool air was a much-needed reset as I grappled with the conflicting feelings of Francis interrupting me and Jessa and the fact that I’d engaged in that conversation with Jessa in the first place. I’d only meant to throw her bone and ended up throwing her my entire being.
Why did she make it so easy to forget my resolve to resist her charms?
I expelled a breath and sat in my chair, pulling out my phone. I called Trace on speaker while I started up my laptop. It clicked over to voicemail after ten rings. I tried calling again immediately—same outcome. He wasn’t answering anytime soon.
I called Axel next. He picked up on the second ring.
“You heard from Trace today?” I asked as I clicked through screens on my computer, navigating to my GPS tracker. I didn’t use this unless absolutely necessary. I could track anyone at any time based on their cell phone. My brothers knew it and were okay with it. None of us had anything to hide.
“No,” Axel said. “I thought it was weird he didn’t show up for dinner Monday night, but I just figured he was at his Tribeca apartment. And come to think of it, he didn’t fucking answer my texts yesterday either.”
“Francis just said he missed their eight o’clock.”
Axel groaned. “So, what are we looking at here—a kidnapping to add to the roster? Life hasn’t been exciting enough recently? I swear to god, if Trace got kidnapped—”
“He hasn’t been kidnapped,” I said with a laugh. “I just pulled him up on the tracker. Want to take a guess where he is?”
“Sleeping on a bench in Central Park?”
“Because that’s so on-brand for Trace Fairchild,” I countered. “No, you doucheknob. He’s at a very specific apartment in Harlem.”