Chapter 26

Don't think about Thomas Mercer being naked on the other side of that wall.

We might be in two separate rooms now, but they're still adjoining, and I can still hear everything that's happening in his room.

The shower is running, and Thomas is probably underneath the hot jet now. Wet skin sleek under the stream of water, muscles rippling as he brings his arms up and tilts his head back. And I can only dream what a work of art his butt must look like right now.

Arrgh. Listening to him shower, twice in a day, is just too much.

The water turns off, and I remember we're supposed to meet again in less than an hour. I should get ready, take my own shower, and not stare into space fantasizing about my boss being naked and wet, skin glistening, muscles rippling… and I'm doing it again. I can't stop.

I undress and shower at record speed, quickly toweling off. With my hair in a towel, I walk over to my suitcase, staring at it for a moment before deciding on an outfit. Jeans and a cozy sweater will do, I suppose, paired with my comfortable walking shoes for our after-dinner stroll, and a jacket. Even if it's November, the weather in Rome has been mild.

Applying makeup twice in a day is unthinkable for me. But I'm having dinner with Thomas in Rome, so I force myself to dust my cheeks with blusher and elongate my lashes with a thick coat of mascara. No lipstick. I go just for ChapStick, and that's more for lip comfort than an aesthetic choice.

Oh, so you don't want to make sure your lips look soft and totally kissable in case the boss decides to press you against an ancient building in a dark alley and have his wicked way with you?

No. Nope. The boss has made it clear he won't make the first move. And I'll never muster the guts to kiss him first, so nothing is going to happen.

At least while Thomas is the heir apparent to Emmet Proctor. I try to stifle the flame of hope that's been blossoming in my heart since he mentioned earlier that he'd be willing to switch divisions for me. That's what he meant, right? That if something between us were to happen, he'd ask his father to transfer him. The company policy would no longer apply then. And even if I got the side-eye for dating the future president of the group, he'd be in a complete separate facility, with an independent budget, and no direct power over me. It wouldn't be perfect, but it could work.

Still, it'd be better if things proceeded the other way around. First, he should move divisions, and then we'd be free to kiss day, night, and all the hours in between. Maybe I should make that clear tonight at dinner.

I know it's a big ask. I've met his father. Nolan Mercer won't just roll over and have all his succession plans derailed. Especially for something that's nothing at the moment. Thomas and I haven't kissed, we're not dating. If I were a parent and my son told me he wants to put his future on the line for a woman he's never even kissed, I'd probably laugh in his face.

But the way Thomas looks at me… it's like he knows something I don't. Like he's already made up his mind about us. And what else can I do? I can't help how I feel, and the chemistry between us is undeniable, uncontrollable, inevitable. Every time we're in the same room, it's like there's a force field pushing us together. And every time we touch accidentally, it feels like an electric shock.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip on my jeans and sweater and I'm pulling on the jacket when I hear a knock on the adjoining room door. My heart races as I realize once again how connected our separate rooms are. I quickly finish getting dressed and smooth down my sweater before taking a deep breath and unbolting the connecting door.

Thomas awaits on the other side clad in a light wool sweater and jeans, his light-brown hair neatly styled and his hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light. He looks like a million bucks, and we're two worlds apart. Yeah, we're both wearing jeans and a sweater but his clothes look like they each cost more than my monthly salary.

"Ready?" he asks, holding out his arm for me to take.

I nod and keep a few-feet distance as we make our way out of the hotel and down the winding streets of Rome. The air is thick with the scent of flowers and food. A thrill of excitement at being in such a beautiful city, but especially at exploring it with Thomas, prickles at my scalp.

"Italy is so beautiful," I say, looking around at the charming buildings and twinkling lights. And for a moment, I even forget to drool over my companion because the city at night is so enchanting. The cobblestone streets, the monuments, the fountains.

"I thought you might like it," Thomas replies with a small smile. "Staying at the hotel would've been a waste."

"You're right. Thank you for taking me out."

The restaurant turns out to be one of those hidden gems that only locals know about, tucked away in a quiet alleyway just behind a great square.

Through one of the restaurant windows, we see a portly woman in a white apron kneading a ball of pasta dough. Then at a speed that makes me think she's artificially accelerated, she rolls the dough in a thin spool, cuts it into strips, and then rolls each strip into smaller pieces of fresh pasta.

With my mouth already watering, I say, "Please tell me we're eating here."

Thomas smiles down at me and holds the restaurant door open for me. "Sure are."

The inside is bustling with sounds, smells, and colors. The aroma of herbs and spices fills the air, and the clattering of dishes and sizzling of pans can be heard from the open kitchen.

As the host leads us to our table, Thomas's hand is on my lower back, guiding me through the crowded restaurant. We sit down near a window, and a friendly server hands us leather-bound menus.

The menu is all in Italian, but Thomas takes care of translating for me, helping me choose what to order. I get a carbonara, and Thomas orders a cacio e pepe.

While we wait for the food to arrive, I drop my napkin on my legs, smoothing it down with unnecessary precision. Then I look up and decide to be brave for once in my life.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier…"

Thomas's gaze focuses on me, intent. As if he knows exactly what I'm talking about and doesn't need to ask. "And?"

"And I can't date my future boss." My entire body flushes hot as I let the words out. I've never been this bold, this direct. But Thomas makes me feel safe and like I can be myself. "I've worked too hard to get to where I am, and my career is the only aspect of my life I have sorted out. And I know you technically haven't asked me on a date, but?—"

Thomas reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Didn't I? I thought I made it clear from day one where I stood regarding us."

Maybe, but the insecure girl within me who wore braces until she was thirteen, who had her face covered in acne until she was twenty-four, and who never was a popular kid in high school or college or grad school needs to hear it spelled out.

That girl has never known unconditional love. Growing up, whenever my mother was around, she resented me, blaming me for her latest boyfriend of the hour leaving her or my father—a father who decided I was not worth anything before I was even born. And now Mom calls only when she needs money. My first serious boyfriend was an older professor with a secret family who probably was only interested in having sex with someone younger and gullible. And the man I dated after him dumped me because I started making more money than he did.

I survived all that, but even now, I'm not great with people, at understanding them or being liked or loved by them. Numbers have always been my refuge. No wonder my best friend is a robot. And it's hard to let myself believe that a man like Thomas, someone who could probably have any woman on the planet, would want me. So, yeah, I need him to reassure me.

"Can you tell me again?"

His thumb brushes over my knuckles. "I want to date you. You're the smartest, most beautiful woman I've ever met, and I want to explore the spark we have. I understand your concerns, but even if we haven't known each other for long, I'm sure we could be great together. But I respect your ambition. I promise I would never let our personal relationship interfere with your professional life."

My inner circuits get overloaded, sparks are whizzing everywhere, my wiring overheats, and I lose the ability to speak. "That is, I mean, you are—" I grab a glass and down some water. "Sorry, I'm not very good at expressing my feelings." I chuckle nervously. "Give me a differential equation to solve any day, but please don't make me talk about…" I wave my hand in his general direction.

Thomas smirks. "It's okay, I'm not that good at math, so we can help each other out."

Our food arrives, and Thomas is forced to let go of my hand.

I take the first forkful of strozzapreti alla carbonara and almost forget entirely about our conversation as the delicious pasta melts on my tongue.

Thomas lets me have a few bites before he speaks again, "So I wouldn't be crazy if I asked my dad for a switch? I would have a good reason to do it?"

For once, I find it easy to express exactly how I feel, with no fear of rejection. "I don't know if it'd be worth it; your dad is probably going to raise an eyebrow at the request, and I can't tell you we will work out because I can't know… All I can tell you is that if you were to no longer be my future boss, nothing would stop us from giving it a shot. I mean, if that's what you want…"

Thomas's smile is almost feral. "It is what I want."

His tone is low and husky, raw with emotion. It makes a tingle spread right from my scalp down to my toes.

A silly smile spreads on my lips as the heat of his gaze lands on me. It's almost too intense to bear. But I revel in it, basking in the glow of Thomas's attention and affection.

"I want that, too," I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. I reach out to brush my fingers over his and relish the warmth of his skin. "Well then, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens."

The rest of the meal passes in a haze of laughter and flirtation, our shared attraction growing stronger with each passing moment. As we walk out of the restaurant and back to the hotel, Thomas takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. The tingling that shoots up my arm is so strong I almost lose sensation in the entire arm.

Up on our floor, we stop in front of our respective doors. I know I said nothing can happen until our work situation is sorted, but the need to kiss him is so strong my body can hardly contain it.

I look into his hazel-green eyes, willing myself to do it.

Kiss him. Kiss him, you chicken. Just grab him by his expensive sweater and kiss him already.

I can't. I can't. I can't.

"I guess this is goodnight," he says.

No. No. No. No!

"Yes."

Thomas cups my cheek, his fingers lacing into the hair on the side of my head, and he drops a chaste kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight, Campbell."

"Goodnight," I squeak and flee to my room.

Inside, I pace in front of the door connecting my room to his. Frustration, dissatisfaction, and unrequited longing bubble inside me.

He's the sun, and I'm a planet trapped in his orbit. I can't get away and I can't go to him either. When I let myself go, I can get a little closer and bask in his heat. Those are my summers. But then my head cools and I circle away again, keeping my distance, alone and cold in an endless winter. Until I can't bear it anymore and drift closer again. Spinning, spinning, in a never-ending ellipsis that is churning my heart to shreds with each new revolution.

These maddening feelings swirl and boil around in my brain until I can't take it any longer. I kick the wall and throw myself over my bed, suffocating a defeated scream into the comforter.

I hate being smart. I hate being level-headed. I hate making the right choice. And most of all, I hate being a clucking chicken who can't make the first move.