The Reunion(35)
I need her smile. Her jovial attitude. Her compassionate heart.
I need her as a friend. My, uh . . . my best friend.
After a few seconds, Larkin opens the door wearing her spandex running shorts and matching sports bra. She’s in the midst of tying up her hair as her gaze meets mine, her face completely devoid of makeup. I keep my eyes trained on hers, even though they want to wander down and observe her from head to toe. I can’t deny that my assistant is gorgeous—just like I can’t deny the times I’ve found myself looking up from my desk, just to catch a glimpse of her through the glass walls of my office.
“Ford,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathless. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Do you have a second, or are you heading out for a run?”
“I was, but I have a second.”
I nod toward her bedroom. “Would I be able to come in?”
She props the door open. “Of course.”
I walk into her bedroom, which is significantly smaller than mine but has the same aesthetic, covered in wall-to-wall flowers. Flower wallpaper, flower curtains, flower bedding, even flowers in vases. No matching patterns or coordinating colors—it’s just all thrown together to make you feel acutely crazy.
When she shuts the door behind me, I clear my throat. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday.”
She bends down and ties one of her shoes. “Apologize for what?”
“For the way I spoke to you while Palmer was there. It was uncalled for.”
“You asked me to get drinks; that’s what assistants do. It’s not anything to worry about, Ford.”
But I am worried about it because I can sense tension between us. I can feel it, and Larkin is the one person I can rely on to boost my mood; the last thing I want is for there to be tension between us.
She stands but avoids eye contact with me, something she rarely does. Her mouth is saying one thing, but her body language is saying another, so I reach out and press my fingers against her soft cheek and gently guide her to look at me. When she does, those brilliantly blue eyes cut right through me, almost catching me off guard, as if I’ve never truly looked into them before. “You know you’re more than just my assistant, Larkin.”
You’re my best friend.
My emotional support.
The fun in my arduous day.
And that realization hit me hard last night as I was staring up at the canopy of my flower-covered bed.
She clears her throat. “Well, either way, it’s not a big deal and doesn’t warrant an apology.” She picks up her phone and earbuds and heads to the door again, but I step in front of it. Her eyes widen as she looks up at me.
Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been this up front with her, this forthright. It’s always been simple business, with an added layer of friendship, but now there’s something different in the way she’s looking at me, as if she’s trying to mask how upset she is.
And that’s what I don’t like. It makes me feel . . . like an ass. I don’t ever want to hurt her feelings or make her feel less than special. Because that’s what she is: special.
Really fucking special.
I know I’m veering into unprofessional territory—my mind is foggy with where to draw the line—but I need to clear things up with Larkin, even if it means casually trapping her in the world’s tackiest room.
“Things are weird between us. I can feel it. You’re avoiding me, you barely looked at me yesterday after Palmer left, and you skipped out on dinner. You can’t tell me—”
“I was embarrassed.” She shrugs, as if her admission didn’t nearly knock my feet from under me. “But last night I realized you shouldn’t have elicited such a reaction from me. At the end of the day, I’m your assistant, you’re my boss, and it was just a simple request.”
“Not for you,” I say, resisting the instinct to reach out and pull her into my chest, offer her a hug, to reassure her that she’s so much more than just my assistant. “You’re more than that, and we both know it. Now stop letting me off the hook. I’m sorry for being an ass.”
The smallest of smirks passes over her lips. “You weren’t an ass, Ford.”
“But . . .”
She chuckles. “There is no but.”
“You’re avoiding me, though.”
“I’m giving you space.”
That’s the last thing I need from her. Space. No, I am desperate to make sure there is no space between us, especially because of the space that’s pulling my family apart.
I don’t need space.
I need . . . hell, don’t go there, man.
I shake my head and curl my fists in my pockets so I’ll keep my hands to myself.
Don’t fucking touch her. She’s untouchable. And you shouldn’t want to touch her. Jesus. But then, I can’t help but blurt out, “I don’t want space from you. Last night was a shit night. I barely slept, eating alone was miserable, and I woke up this morning with one thing on my mind: making sure you were okay. That we were okay.”
“I’m fine, Ford. Asking me to get drinks isn’t going to break me. If anything, it was a good reminder as to where I stand in the company. Sometimes I get so caught up in working closely with you that I forget what I was hired for . . . getting drinks being a huge part of that.”