CHAPTER 32
GRACE
A s I walk in the office, I keep having the same repeated thought:
I had Cameron Kaufman inside me. I had Cameron Kaufman inside me.
When I make eye contact with Saria, she gives a bored “hello,” and I only wave back because I’m scared of what may leave my mouth if I try to greet her with words. Probably something along the lines of:
This hand was on Cameron Kaufman’s cock. This hand was on Cameron Kaufman’s cock.
But when I get to my desk, I notice possibly the worst thing I could have imagined: an email announcing a workplace harassment seminar for the entire company later this week. My morning went from a mug full of warm coffee to sludge in a cup. I realize I’m staring at my laptop accomplishing zero work, so I pull out my sketchbook with my pen in hand just to look busy, yet no lines flow on paper.
My mind races. Who could have possibly discovered Cameron and I before we’d even had time to process this ourselves? Did HR sit outside of my apartment with binoculars and a ghillie suit, whispering, “Gotcha!” in classic spy fashion?
No—there’s no way anyone could know our secret. We stayed in our little apartment complex for the entire weekend. We barely left unless we were out walking the dogs. Hell, we barely moved out from between each other’s thighs. But maybe someone else lives in our complex, too. Cameron had no idea that I lived there, so how should we know all of our other neighbors?
Before I know it, I’m up from my desk and power walking to Cameron’s office, arms pumping beside me. I look like some mad woman in an ’80s aerobic video. I may as well have five-pound weights in each hand. Yet when I arrive at Cameron’s office, Ian’s already inside running his hands through his hair.
“She’s doing this on purpose, man!” Ian practically yells.
Cameron has his hands out, lowering them repeatedly to signal silence from the madman pacing his office.
Me. He’s talking about me. Ian thinks I’m trying to get Cameron fired or get ahead in the company. That’s the only explanation. Cameron told him what happened and, even though I’ve known Ian for years, he’s already assuming that I’m plotting some elaborate plan for my boss’s demise.
Cameron sees me at the door and waves me in with a small smile on his face.
How is he so calm?
“Keep it down, Ian,” Cameron says, turning his attention back to the tall, angry giant pacing back and forth.
“Grace, I need your opinion,” Ian snaps.
“Is this about me?” I ask. If he has anything to say, he can say it to my face.
“What?” he asks, his face scrunching up as if offended I would even make this about me. “No. And shut the door."
Cameron exhales. “Sometimes I don’t even think this is my office.”
Ian misses the humor in it. Or probably doesn’t care.
I follow Ian’s demands and shut the door. I try to get out of the way as he storms from one end of the office to the other, his long legs completing the distance in only three steps.
“I’m getting a write-up and a harassment prevention seminar!” he bellows. “All I did was say she looked nice on Friday. That’s it!”
“Who?” I ask.
Without skipping a beat—almost to the point of interrupting my one-word question—Ian snaps back, “Nia!”
I look over to Cameron as he rises from his chair. He looks so calm—there’s not a hint of worry on his features. He’s the picture of elegance with his hair perfectly tousled and thrown to the side. Even his beard looks as if it’s recently been trimmed.
That beard has been between my thighs.
He takes a seat next to me with just enough distance that I could make one slight movement and we may touch.
“We’re all getting the same seminar. I’m sure this was a scheduled compliance thing or whatever,” Cameron says, attempting to be the voice of reason, but Ian continues to pace.
I’m too busy measuring every centimeter that we’re apart.
“She finally wrote me up. And now this?” Ian scoffs. “Doubt it. She’s just trying to use her little HR magic to make it seem like she’s not singling me out.”
Cameron leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The movement makes his legs spread outward, shins just barely touching the edge of my knees. It’s like nothing else exists in this room apart from this touch. Does Ian seriously not know that the world’s axis is now spinning around Cameron and I? How can nobody else feel this shift?
“Is this an annual thing?” I ask in some effort to contribute to the conversation, and Cameron nods.
Our eyes meet and my chest thumps faster. I turn my head to look away as he gives me the most devilish of smiles.
“It’s normally in the fall,” Cameron says, “Looks like she’s moving it up this year.”
“And for whom?” Ian shouts.
“Ian, stop it.” Cameron raises his voice.
I quiver. Its demanding nature reminds me of this weekend and how he spent quite a bit of it ordering me to do whatever he liked.
Is it getting hot in here, or is that just me?
“I’m not an idiot, Cameron,” Ian continues. “I would never actually date an office employee. She knows I wouldn’t. It’s a stupid thing to do.”
My heart stops, and I can’t help but glance over to Cameron to find that he’s already looking at me.
We avert our eyes.
“Grace, you’re smart,” Ian says, breaking my thoughts.
“Sure,” I choke out. No, not really.
“Would you date a coworker?”
Ian knows. Ian—lawyer shark extraordinaire—totally knows what we did. He can smell it on us like blood in the water.
“No,” I say as convincingly as I can.
Ian huffs, too distracted by his own issue to notice my apprehension. “Exactly. Because only idiots would do that. We don’t need a stupid seminar or training or whatever this is!”
He stands there, breathing hard, as I avoid eye contact with Cameron. I’m too ashamed to admit that I might be exactly that brand of idiot.