Into You Series: The Complete Collection

23. Cameron

CHAPTER 23

CAMERON

G race arrives at work the next morning with her ever-dependable, chipper attitude, a coffee mug in one hand and bag in the other. You would think absolutely nothing happened, and I guess honestly, that’s the truth.

I keep reminding myself that everything is exactly the same. I only looked at her designs. Sure, my hand somehow ended up on her neck, but what co-worker hasn’t accidentally been in some awkward position from time to time? I think I saw that new guy in IT reach past Nia to get something from the printer and his arm grazed her boob. Granted, she shot him a horrible look afterward that would shrink any man’s balls, but it’s proof that accidents happen.

“Hey, did you see that new guy in IT?” asks Ian, waltzing into my office and plopping down on the couch, his feet dangling over the edge.

I narrow my eyes. “Can you read my mind?”

He narrows his eyes back at me.

No, I’m being ridiculous. He probably just put in too many IT requests.

“Why?” he asks. “Are you thinking about how I’ve sent in three IT requests since yesterday and I’m still not receiving any new emails?”

What the hell?

“You’re a genius. And”—I snap my fingers as if I’ve just had an epiphany—“maybe you’re not getting emails because people just don’t like you.”

“I’m a lawyer,” Ian deadpans, resting one of his arms across the back of the sofa. “Of course they don’t. I deal with people who don’t like other people.”

“Good point,” I say. “Then yeah, let’s go kick that IT guy’s ass.”

“That’s more like it.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He swipes down a couple times before exhaling and lolling his head back on the couch in defeat.

“Let’s go out Friday night,” he says. “Karaoke and wings. I’m tired of this place.”

“But it’s Beer Friday,” I groan.

Selfishly, I had hoped Beer Friday would be my excuse to see Grace again on a semi-casual basis before the weekend. There was always the chance of seeing her tonight, but I think working solo would be the best choice after what happened— or didn’t happen , I remind myself—yesterday. She doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of awkwardness, but I also haven’t spoken to her yet.

“Every Friday is Beer Friday,” Ian says, still browsing his phone. "Let’s make it some other Friday for once. Maybe Karaoke Friday.” He snaps his fingers. “Yes! Let’s make Karaoke Friday happen!”

“Fermented Drink Friday?”

“That makes it sound disgusting. And it still heavily implies beer.”

“What can I say?” I toss my hands up. “I’m a creature of habit.”

“Be unpredictable for once, man,” he says. “Kar-ao-ke Friday. Kar-ao-ke Friday.” He starts patting his legs to the chant.

Maybe going out wouldn’t be such a bad idea. We’ll both stay late tonight, and I can see her then. If I can keep my hands in check.

“Fine, fine,” I relent, sighing. “Let’s go with Rum Friday instead, though.”

“Call it whatever Friday you like. Let’s just get out of here and spend a Friday as men for once.”

“Are Beer Fridays not manly?” I ask.

“Well, I can get laid at a bar,” he says. “But I can’t get laid at work, so you tell me.”

I smile in agreement, but a tinge of … something runs through me. And I can’t exactly pinpoint why.

At five o’clock, I head out to grab Buddy. I feel a weird sense of giddiness as I toss my keys in the air and catch them. Maybe it’s that I know it’ll be another night working late with Grace.

But, as luck would have it, on my way out, I see Grace sliding her tablet in her bookbag and zipping it closed. I can’t help but stop in my tracks.

Oh no. I must have really screwed up last night if she doesn’t even want to stay late with me anymore. What have I done?

“You heading out early today?” I ask, trying to hide my obvious disappointment by tucking my phone into my pocket and twirling my keys.

“Looks like you are, too,” she says, gesturing to my keys.

“No, just going home to get Buddy.”

She nods. “Right, that makes sense.”

“Are you picking up Hank a bit earlier than usual?” I ask. That’s got to be it. She’s just getting a head start on the night.

“No,” she admits, swinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her cellphone off her desk.

We both begin walking the same direction out the door and toward the exit. Each step feels odd, like things have changed.

“I’m actually having a girl’s night tonight,” she says. “Me and my friend haven’t had one in a while, so it’s long overdue.”

“Even in my thirties, I still don’t even know what girls do at those things.”

“Oh, the usual: Paint our nails, talk about boys, and end with a pillow fight.” Grace blushes a little when she says this, and I smile.

Okay, so things aren’t weird?

“Oh really?” I ask, opening the front door for her as she exits out.

“It’s our little-known, super-secret not-secret.”

“Scandalous,” I respond.

We stop mid-parking lot because I see her car across the lot. She must also see that we’ll be walking in opposite directions soon.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, though. You going to Beer Friday?” she asks.

I can sense the excitement behind her voice, and I internally curse Ian for his stupid Karaoke Friday event. Or Rum Friday? Whatever.

“No, it’s a dude’s night, actually.” The sentence itself makes me cringe. Dude’s night? What the hell.

Her eyes widen. “A dude’s night? And what does that entail?”

“Oh, the usual: Paint our nails, talk about boys, and end with a pillow fight.”

“Knew it.”

I can’t help but smile.

No, I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. I need to shove them from my mind. Maybe I should go back to being “Professional Cameron.”

But then we wouldn’t have our nightly work sessions.

Then I wouldn’t be able to hang out with my friend, Grace Holmes.

My out-of-bounds, completely-inappropriate-to-fantasize-about red headed vixen.

Surely I’m in control of this situation.

Surely I can remain professional.