Dare Me(29)

I stifle a groan. “I was hoping you already left for coffee,” I admit with a grin.

He looks at me with a sarcastic expression. “Not this morning. I want the juicy details. Did you kiss him?” He holds a hand up. “Wait, don’t answer. I want all the details.” He studies me for a moment, and his eyes widen. “Oh God, you did! Tell me about it!”

“Ro, shush.” I press my finger to my lips and he laughs.

“Did you go any further? Please tell me he doesn’t have a small peen.” He fans his face as if he’s overheating. “With that body, I’d be so disappointed if he undressed and there was a lil’ smoky instead of a bratwurst.”

I stand up and smack Rowan on the shoulder and laugh. “You are so gross.” I shudder animatedly. “And none of that is your business.” God, we’re talking about Holt’s penis and I want to die right now. I rub my forehead in disbelief.

His eyes widen even more with certainty. “That means you slept with him. You saw it! Sweet baby Jesus, Saige, you slept with Holt Hamilton.” His eyes are wide and he covers his mouth in surprise.

“Shut up!” I whisper loudly and grab Rowan by the elbow, dragging him down the hallway to the elevators.

He grabs both of my arms as we wait for the elevator and looks me square in the eye. “You don’t have to tell me everything, just tell me if the dare was worth it.” He’s being the typically overdramatic Rowan.

I glance down the hall where I last saw Holt and remember the smile he flashed at me just minutes ago, then look back to Rowan. “Totally.” I can’t fight back my smile any longer.

“Atta girl!” He pulls me into a hug just as the elevator arrives. “You know I’m nosy as f*ck, and I’m going to want all the details.” He chuckles as the doors close behind us.

I turn to Rowan and demand his attention and plead with him. “You’ve heard more than I’m going to tell anyone else. Keep your mouth shut and don’t fuel rumors. And please, Ro, do me a favor. If anyone, and I mean anyone, starts talking about us, or if we are brought up in conversation, please let me know. I value my job. I like it here. I love working with you, and the last thing I need is for this lapse in judgment to ruin my career.”

He reaches out and gives my hand a little squeeze. “I’ve got your back, girlfriend.”

I give him a trusting smile. “This is why I love you. You know that, right?”

He beams at me. “I know, buttercup.”

We push through the glass doors and out onto the bustling city street, weaving through the morning crowds of people to get to our little specialty coffee shop. Rowan places our order and, instead of taking it to go as we normally do, we sit at one of the small bistro tables and sip on our addiction.

As I begin dishing my dirt to Rowan, my phone chimes from my clutch, interrupting me. I pull it out to see two messages from Evelyn—that I ignore—and a new text from Holt.

Don’t forget my coffee and please tell Rowan good morning for me.

Rowan pops the plastic lid off his coffee cup and tosses it on the table to let the steam out. “Saige, why do you kind of look like you’re going to be sick, but you still kind of have a smile on your face?”

I look out the window before turning back to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He narrows his eyes, not believing me. “What has you so distracted, woman? You’re all over the place.”

“Nothing,” I insist, but my voice is weak.

He shakes his head. “You’re so full of shit; it’s coming out your ears.” He laughs. “We should probably get back to the office. I have a call at nine with a prospective client. Some Hollywood heartthrob bullshit.”

“Oohhh.” I wag my eyebrows at him. Rowan hates the celebrity clientele, where I, on the other hand, love them. “I have to grab a coffee to go,” I mumble as I slide off the stool and balance myself on my heels.

“A coffee to go, for your lapse in judgment?” He smirks, making air quotes.

I nod and smile. “Oh and my lapse in judgment told me to tell you good morning.”

He sighs. “Good God, I love that man. Either you grab onto him like a spider monkey or I’m going to.” Rowan fans his face and grabs his coffee from the table.

After ordering Holt’s coffee, we hustle back to the office to arrive by nine. Rowan nudges me in the shoulder, and I take a left to head toward Holt’s office.

“Proud of you, girl.” He winks and takes off down the other hall where our offices are.

I stand and square my shoulders, lifting my chin confidently, except I’m terrified. I whisper to myself, “I’m just delivering a coffee. His secretary does this every day. This is not a big deal.” My little pep talk does nothing to calm my nerves, but it’s now or never. My feet carry me past a wall of small offices—finance, accounting, all the numbers people. I nod and force a stiff smile at a man who passes me in the hall.

At the end of the hallway is Holt Hamilton’s office. His administrative assistant, Joyce, sits at a small desk just outside his office door and types away quickly at the computer. The glass walls of the office allow me to see him. He sits with his back to the wall, his attention focused on the Chicago cityscape just outside the exterior office windows.