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Chapter 2

Two

H ollis

Did Maple just say…she has a date tonight?

I wonder why she told me that. It’s not any of my business. I’m her boss’s boss, so I have nothing to say about that. Nope, nothing at all.

So why do I feel like a black cloud has descended over my mood, even though I’ve just given everyone in the office the rest of the day off of work, including myself?

My stomach growls at the scent of hot cider and funnel cakes on Main Street as I wait by the front doors of our downtown office. No wonder I’m feeling foul. The group is hungry, and Maple remains the last person out the door. I can tell Brenda’s itching for her to hurry up so she can lock up for the day, and we can all scatter and be left to our own devices.

I blow into my palms to warm them, but when Maple steps outside, heat surges through my body from my toes to my face. Bundled in a wool pea coat, a purple scarf printed with tiny black bats all over it, and a matching purple beret, she’s the epitome of autumn. The purple, along with her dark hair, makes her hazel eyes pop. The entire sight of her from head to toe makes my sternum itch. Good god, man, all she did was put on a coat, and already you’re getting hard. Get a grip on yourself.

Brenda locks up the office and hands out the remainder of the fair tickets to whoever wants them, then everyone scatters.

“What’s good to eat here?” I ask Maple, who’s grinning and waving at locals as our ever-dissipating cluster of office monkeys stroll past craft stalls and food vendors down Main Street. Maple is wandering off here and there to talk to people she knows, and the crowd is growing denser the farther we wander down Main. I have this overwhelming urge to spend this afternoon with her rather than alone, so I keep asking her questions.

She shoots me a surprised look. “Literally everything.”

“I’ve never been to a Halloween festival before.”

“You haven’t?”

I shake my head. “Nope. And I’m starving. Point me at the best thing they got,” I say.

Maple holds out her gloved hand and says, “Let’s pool our tickets, and I’ll get us a little of everything.”

Oh. This implies she’s going to eat lunch with me? I like where this is headed. I look around us, but all the picnic tables are jammed with people from the lunch crowd. Across from the food vendors is a gazebo with space left on one bench. I run and grab it while I wait for Maple.

My mood is starting to turn. I mindfully inhale, noticing the fresh air and the aroma of delicious fried food. The sun is shining, and the sky is bright blue. It’s a crisp autumn afternoon, and I’m sitting in a festively decorated gazebo surrounded by pumpkins and happy people instead of at a conference table or a hot desk in a sea of cubicles. Yeah, this is way better.

When Maple returns, I stand to help her lower the tray onto a bench in the gazebo. The thing is loaded with donuts, something that looks like empanadas except that they’re sprinkled with cinnamon, and what looks like French fries made with sweet potatoes.

“These,” she says, pointing to the donuts, “are apple cider donuts. These are pumpkin hand pies, and these over here are the best sweet potato fries in the entire world.”

I’m so hungry I shove a whole donut into my mouth in one bite, noticing the disapproving look on Maple’s face and not caring so much. “I haven’t had apple cider donuts since I was a kid,” I say through a mouthful of cake donut.

She smirks and takes a bite of a hand pie. “Sounds like a personal problem. Oh my god, these are even better than last year’s.”

The moans she makes as she devours her lunch fuel my inner furnace. I tug the hem of my sweater to cover the bulge at the front of my trousers and hope she overlooks the stirring down there.

Just eat your food, Hollis. Don’t be such a hopeless dork. Even if you weren’t her boss, you wouldn’t have a shot with a beauty like her.

Once my stomach has stopped screaming, and after I make sure my face is not a mess of cinnamon and sugar, I ask Maple something that’s none of my business. “Where are you going on your date?”

Maple takes a drink of her latte and gives me a strange look for a second, like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“Oh! Uh, I’m not sure. I think we might go to a movie.” She mumbles the last part as she takes another sip and stares distractedly into space. Hm.

“Sounds like you really like him.”

Maple’s eyes cut back to me with a dirty look. “It’s a…a blind date. So I suppose we’ll see.”

“What’s his name?”

Maple rears back. “You’re nosey.”

When I laugh, she blushes. “I mean. We are off the record, right?”

“Off the record?”

“This conversation is outside of work, and anything I say or do cannot be used against me”—she gestures up the street toward the office building we just left—“in there.”

“Along with not being a hall monitor, I am also not a cop. Sorry for getting too personal. Go ahead and ask me something. Whatever you want.”

Maple locks onto me with her wide hazel eyes, and I’m utterly lost.

She flattens her mouth and asks, “Why did you pick Brayden instead of me?”

“What?”

“The pitch. My pitch was better.”

It pleases me to hear her admit that. “Yes. It was.”

“So, it was the keg stand thing.”

The keg stand thing? What is she talking about? Oh, wait…last night’s office party at Brenda’s house. Good lord. I believe she’s right; I did dare Brayden to perform a keg stand, didn’t I?

“Wait,” I say, crinkling my napkins and taking her empty plate away. She shakes her head when I gesture at the platter to indicate the question if she wants more to eat. “So you think I picked Brayden’s pitch over yours because of the party?”

Maple’s eyebrow lifts, daring me to deny it.

“That’s not why.”

“Come on, Mr. Hardy.”

“Please, just call me Hollis.”

“Fine. Come on, Hollis.” She emphasizes my name and rolls her eyes. Why does she have to be so damn cute?

“I didn’t base my decision on Brayden being fun at parties. I settled his pitch because I’ve taken a personal interest in this project, and I need someone easy to work with.”

“Excuse me?”

Ah shit. “Someone I can mold. Someone receptive to critique. Open-minded.”

The more I talk, the more Maple’s nostrils flare.

“I am open-minded.”

I stare her down while I think about whether it’s time to tell her the whole truth. “Look. I’ve been hanging around this office all week, and I know your style, Maple. You are already great at what you do, and you know it. And I think I can make Brayden as good as you.”

She cocks her head to the side, considering whether I’m full of shit. “The point, though, is to take care of our clients. So you should pick the better pitch.”

Shrugging, I say, “My priority is building up my staff. The rest works itself out.”

I can tell she was not expecting me to say that.

Maple looks at her cute little Oxford heels and frowns. “Interesting that you analyzed my style, yet you had to ask me for my name today. After I’d given my presentation.”

This is embarrassing. The truth is, I thought she was so adorable that I’d been trying to avoid talking to her. Yes, I observed her from afar. But that’s all I allowed myself to do. Not because I was worried I would do anything inappropriate. But that I would say something stupid. As evidenced by how this conversation is going.

“I know it sounds unbelievable, but I am terrible with names.”

She snorts. “I see I’ve made quite the impression at this company.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I nudge her leg, then stand. “Come on. Let me buy you a drink and apologize for being an idiot.”

I gather our trash, dump the empty food platter and cups into a nearby bin, and then turn back to Maple.

“You coming? Or are you going to sit and sulk about not going to New York with me?”

Maple stands and studies me for a second. Finally, she shrugs and moves past me. “Sulk? Nah. No hard feelings.”

Why does her tone make me feel like I’m being set up for a burn? “Besides, I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of a burgeoning bromance.” And there it is.

I deserve it. “Come on,” I say, gesturing up the road toward a large white tent. “I think I saw a drink with your name on it.”

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