Chapter 17

17

Most of Monday passes without Lloyd so much as walking by my desk, and for all I tell myself, Good, I can finally get some work done, I feel like every nerve in my body is on high alert, waiting for him to show up. I keep seeing freeze-frames of Friday night, moments where I caught myself admiring the perfect profile of his face, or the way his lips moved as he spoke….

I half wonder if he's avoiding me, but ultimately decide that's silly, because why would he? Of course he wasn't thinking about kissing me again, or anything like that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have asked if we could just be friends.

Midafternoon, I take a quick break from my day of back-to-back meetings to head down to the seventh-floor canteen for a real coffee rather than the instant stuff in the Arrowmile kitchenettes.

There are a couple of other people in the lift, and Lloyd is one of them.

I'm too far away—too shy, suddenly—to say hello, but I catch his eye and give him a friendly smile. He waves back, so casual that I'm now sure that the tension on Friday must have all been in my head.

We're not the only two getting out on the seventh floor for the canteen but we fall into step with each other nonetheless. The canteen is a wide-open space with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in enough light to make up for the fact the view is obscured by another building; there are dozens of tables, although only a few are occupied. The counters selling hot meals and the sandwich bar have closed, but the coffee cart is open.

I join the queue, with Lloyd just behind me. Two men in front of us from another company are in a heated debate. A lady behind Lloyd is on the phone, nodding vigorously and saying, "Mm-hmm. Yep. Yuh-huh. Totally agree."

I catch Lloyd's eye, and he pulls a face, impersonating her. I smother a giggle with one hand. The queue shuffles forward, and now he's standing near me, closing the space between us, stealing a few inches from it that might as well be a mile.

And just like that, he resurrects the feeling of privacy—intimacy—that's been present the nights we've spent together. I feel some of the day's stress easing out of my shoulders and spine, finally relaxing from being hunched at my desk for hours.

"How was the rest of your weekend?" Lloyd asks—casual, but somehow not; his voice is too low, like he's also aware of the bubble cutting us off from the rest of the world.

"Quiet," I say. "How was yours?"

He shrugs, a full-body action. "Good. Spent some time with a friend on Friday night."

His eyes gleam with mischief. A secret that we're both in on. I smile, then duck my head and face forward before I fall for his charm, and try to ignore the warmth blooming in my chest.

It's impossible to keep Lloyd at arm's length.

The queue moves again, and this time, Lloyd is close enough that I can feel the heat of his body almost inviting me to lean back, to rest my head against his shoulder….

Someone calls Lloyd's name and shouts hello. I spot a man from Nadja's team striding to the back of the queue, and feel Lloyd shifting behind me to raise a hand in greeting.

As he moves, his other hand brushes mine, sending a sharp electric shock dancing up my arm, making my breath hitch in my throat. I tense up, hoping he didn't notice, knowing it was an accident—but he doesn't move his hand away, and I feel his fingers ghosting over my skin. His fingertips trace lightly down my index and middle fingers, and it's enough to set my heart skittering. His thumb hooks just underneath my fingers; he's almost holding my hand but not quite.

My lips part and my breathing turns shallow, but before I can decide to do something—to call Lloyd on it and ask him what he thinks he's doing, or to respond to his touch the way I'd like to—a barista barks at me, "Next, please!" and I have no choice but to tear myself away from Lloyd and do my best not to think about how cold I suddenly feel.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to steal a sidelong glance to see his reaction.

Why did he do that? That wasn't just a friendly show of affection, and it definitely wasn't an accident. Is he trying to mess with me on purpose, somehow entertained by trying to set me on edge or distract me?

I focus on the hiss of the machine as my iced coffee is made, and study the other people in the queue. A little way off, the lift pings, the doors sliding open—and my mouth turns dry when I see two of the interns step out: Verity is chatting away, looking stressed and distracted; Tasha nods along sympathetically, and notices me immediately. I spin around quickly, heart hammering, hoping she doesn't see Lloyd and think we're here together. It's bad enough that I notice her staring at us from her desk whenever Lloyd comes by my team to ask about things. I don't know if she's jealous or suspicious, but whatever it is, I'm glad she wasn't here to glimpse Lloyd's hand on mine just now.

The other barista calls him up next and he stands beside me again. I clutch my purse with both hands, arms tucked tightly to my sides and as far out of Lloyd's way as possible.

"How's your afternoon looking?" he asks, after ordering. "I saw you were in calls earlier, but I could really do with going over some stuff about Phoebus IV, and you're—"

"I'm busy," I say quickly—too quickly. My tone is too sharp, and his easy smile slips. I add, "Sorry," but even I can hear how insincere it sounds.

I can't keep him at arm's length, but I also can't keep letting him get this close. It's too close. It's too much. All-consuming in that dangerous way that would be so easy to sink into, to let it block out everything else.

He's a risk I can't take.

I suddenly imagine a reality where I come back in a couple of years to work full-time, and he's still around. Maybe he'd even have a real position, instead of floating around and lording it over everybody; maybe I'd even have to report to him. I cringe at theidea.

When Lloyd and I were total strangers, I resolved not to let him interfere with my summer; this internship means too much to me. That shouldn't change now, I know—but I'm not used to this. To feeling like this, or feeling so much for someone. I've never had close friends, and I was quick enough to prioritize my degree over my boyfriend last year after that failed midterm and the ensuing breakup. I'm used to feeling on the outside of things and a general, background-noise level of discomfort.

I don't have that, around him.

This would be so much easier if he didn't make me feel so…

Accepted. Liked.

Like myself.

Lloyd doesn't try to call for me to wait up when I take my iced coffee and hurry off, making me think he got the message.

And the next day, when I see him coming my way around midday, no doubt purely to ask me whatever questions he has about the Phoebus IV car, I do my best to pretend I don't see him and jump up to chase after Tasha, Izzy, and Monty on their way to lunch instead.

It's the sensible thing to do, I tell myself.

It's best for both of us.