Mira

I grin at my phone like an idiot.

Me: You're totally judging me.

Grant: Me? Never.

Grant: But would you recommend The Duke Who Seduced Me?

Me: Shut up.

Grant: That isn't very nice.

Me: It's research.

Among other things. I'm certainly not going to reveal my obsession with Camille De La Lucia and the television adaptations of her novels.

My phone vibrates.

Grant: Yes, of course. You're Wondervale's model employee, I'm sure.

The sentence makes me blush.

Grant: Why do you have seventeen versions of Pride and Prejudice in your history?

Me: It's the bare minimum for hard times.

Grant: Who needs seventeen different adaptations of the same book?

Me: The same person who would be delighted to have eighteen.

Grant: You're one of a kind.

Me: As it happens, One of a Kind is my middle name.

Grant: What happened to Unbelievably Awesome?

My heart tightens as if he holds it in his hand.

Me: You really do pay attention.

Grant: It's easy. You're an open book.

Me: Maybe I should play harder to get, just to make you want me.

After a few minutes of silence, I drop my head onto my desk, mortified. I scared him off at the first sign of interest I showed.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates.

Grant: Feel free. I'm competitive.

Grant: And rest assured, I win every time.

Tiny butterflies take flight in my stomach. Grant has never openly flirted with me before.

Me: For someone hiding behind a screen, you sound awfully confident in your abilities.

The message was supposed to be seductive, but it falls flat. I grow more restless as the minutes pass without a response.

What if I pushed him too far too fast? It was only supposed to be a joke...

The answer becomes obvious as time passes: no sign of life from Grant for the rest of the day. I feel hollow.

Maybe my message made him uncomfortable because something is bothering him... Maybe he has body-image issues or social anxiety that I only made worse by being too curious. The truth is, I'm starting to value our friendship. I don't want to scare him away... especially not after that message where he flirted with me and made me so happy.

From now on, I swear I won't tease him about his identity anymore. His name doesn't matter to me. Besides, I'm sure he'll slowly open up if I give him time to get to know me. If I managed to make Simon, who hates everyone at Wondervale, smile, I can do anything.

Crap, I'm late! I stuff my computer and phone into my purse before leaving my office.

I race through the empty warehouse. Panting, I open the conference-room door and interrupt Tessa. Every head turns toward me, and embarrassment heats my entire body from head to toe.

"Tardiness will not be tolerated. If it happens again, you'll work extra hours to make up for it," Elliot says without even bothering to look up from his phone.

After the reprimand, I feel very small.

A quick survey of the room reveals no empty seat except the one beside the boss. It's the punishment I deserve for flirting instead of working.

Great. This day couldn't be going any better.

"Well? Sit down or leave."

Elliot's commanding tone stings. Holding my head high, I take the chair. His scent hits me like the ocean breeze I'd expect on a vacation in Fiji. I move as far from him as possible without disturbing the designer seated to my left.

"Now that everyone is finally here, continue," Elliot tells our team leader.

My stomach knots. Tessa gives me a gentle smile before turning her attention back to the room.

"Who wants to go first?"

The group remains silent. As Tessa scans the room, no one moves a muscle. The contrast with our last Friday meeting is glaring. The collective discomfort has everything to do with the scowling man on my right.

"Come on, everyone," she urges with a nervous little laugh. "Do I need to draw a name?"

Not a movement. You could hear a pin drop.

"I'll go," I announce as I stand on shaky legs.

Elliot fixes his blank gaze on me before nodding. His dark eyes remind me of space: infinite, dangerous. I could lose myself in them.

With trembling hands, I bring up my PowerPoint. My stage fright has eased a little since my first presentation, but I'm still terrified, especially at the beginning. Under Elliot's scrutinizing gaze, prickles run down my spine. I click the wrong file twice before managing to regain control. It takes several deep breaths to finally calm my pounding heart.

The entire time I speak, I pretend Elliot isn't there. That's what he gets for treating me that way in front of everyone!

When I finish my last sentence, the designers applaud, and my spirits lift a little.

"Your concept could be improved," Elliot says.

"How?" I ask, fists clenched.

"We could change the entire layout of the attraction."

"The entire layout?"

Take a deep breath, Mira.

"Yes. Instead of designing the roller-coaster trains to represent the flying dragon, make the dragon part of the structure. We'd keep your mountain idea, but I want the ride to plunge into dark caves as though the guests are escaping the dragon. I want fire, special effects, and animatronics. And parts of the track should run backward."

I don't know what surprises me more: that Elliot's idea makes mine pale by comparison, or the passion in his voice that I've never heard before. It's as if someone plugged him in and switched on his consciousness. His earlier brooding expression vanishes, replaced by a small, satisfied smile as he studies the projected image. The gleam in his eyes brings out a beautiful honey shade I hadn't noticed before.

"Backward? We've never had a ride that does that."

"Exactly," he replies in a decisive tone that makes me feel as if I have the IQ of a pea. "Your idea is a good starting point, but you need to aim higher. Next."

With a wave of his hand, he dismisses me to my seat.

I want to be angry with him for tearing my idea apart until it became a completely different concept. Yet I can't help feeling thrilled: I'd never considered a ride that ran backward before!

He wants me to aim higher? Fine. But he may need a ladder to reach the heights I'm prepared to climb.

Chin raised, I return to my place beside Elliot. I'm closer to him than before because my neighbor on the left pushed my chair so he could sit as far from me as possible. It's not as if my failure is contagious!

I grip my pen tightly throughout the rest of the meeting. Every time Elliot moves his leg, sparks race through me, straight to my heart. During the break, I'm tempted to steal someone else's seat, but that would be terribly immature. It's only his leg, after all.

Then why do you blush every time his body brushes yours? At the thought, I drive my pen through several pages of my notebook.

My coworkers take turns presenting a wide range of possible projects, from creating new rides to building a hotel based on a movie. I'm grateful I went first because Elliot grows more forbidding with every new presentation. He takes furious notes and questions each designer as if they're on trial. The feedback he gave me seems almost kind beside his other harsh remarks. When the last designer finishes her conclusion, everyone releases a collective sigh of relief.

"Your presentations were mediocre."

Elliot's voice is even sharper than usual. He stands and buttons his suit jacket again.

"I want all of you to stop wasting my time. Come prepared with innovative ideas that will leave me speechless. If I continue to find your proposals inadequate, I'll be forced to find other designers willing to do their jobs properly the first time. This is your first and final warning."

The man to my left swallows loudly. I glance at him; a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. I'm rather grateful now to be sitting farther away, given the smell coming from him.

"Until further notice, the members of this team will work twelve-hour days to increase productivity and creativity."

"Will we get a raise?" someone at the back of the room asks.

Elliot's unreadable gaze sends a chill down my spine.

"Why should I reward mediocrity?"

Holy crap. Did he really just say that?

Although it's understandable, Elliot's frustration isn't justified: the designers aren't used to developing new concepts this quickly. Giving a new presentation every Friday is hard. I'm struggling to keep up myself, though I'd never admit it to anyone.

"Raises are earned."

With that, Elliot leaves the conference room without saying goodbye.

We all slump in our chairs. Tessa clears her throat.

"Well, that's a lot to process. Any questions?"

Someone groans, and in my head, I join them.