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“Shut your mouth, Bexley,” I hear Helene call faintly He harrumphs and slams his office door Josh looks at his desk and picks up his tin ofthem He flicks his phone to voice mail and pushes his chair in It looks exactly like his desk on the first day I met him Sterile Impersonal He walks to theand looks outside

It’s that firstbye lossy dark hair, his hands in pockets As he turns, I pray he’s not as gorgeous as I think he is The light catches his jaw and I’m pretty sure

When those eyes hit me, I know

He looks at me Top of my head to the tips of my shoes Say the words, I think desperately You’re beautiful Please, let’s be friends

“Tellon”

“I’m sworn to confidentiality”

In a clever strategy, he has utilized the one thing he knoon’t argue against

“Tell me they just didn’t informally offer you the job”

“No, they didn’t”

I lower my voice to a whisper “Do they know aboutus?”

“No”

My two big fears seem unfounded

“Sohow are we getting out of here? Do I still have to?”

“Yes That thing over there”—he points as he unhooks er—“is an elevator You’ve been in it before With h the process”

“What if someone sees us?”