Crushes are supposed to die. They’re like a fire running on only lighter fluid and no good fuel. They burn bright, they burn hot, and then they fizzle into ash. At least, they’re supposed to. But the feelings I have for Gavin simply refuse to go the way of the dinosaur.
It’s like a Night of the Living Dead Crush. I beat it back, thinking I am safe, and it pops right back up again when he smiles or says my name or just breathes in my general vicinity. There is a reason Gavin tops a list of the most eligible bachelors in Austin, a title once held by Texas’s favorite naked bongo player, Matthew McConaughey.
Gavin is wealthy, successful, and hotter than a flamethrower on the Fourth of July. If I could find a flaw in Gavin, I would have latched on to that thing like it was my only lifeline.
But to Abby’s point, I’m not in love with him. I mean, that thought is ridiculous. Silly. Completely untrue.
Probably.
I turn off my car, the silence feeling somehow loud after Abby’s bright voice and the music I’ve been blasting. With a sigh, I grab my purse, lock the car, and head into battle.
“If the proposal needs tweaking, I can do that,” Roxana says, her voice a throaty purr that would rival any 900-number phone operator. “I have so many ideas.”
Gag me.
It’s a good thing I have practice keeping myself walled up behind a mask of cold professionalism. In my head, I’m rolling my eyes so hard. I watch as Roxana reaches out to touch Gavin’s hand—a bold move, especially when he’s in full-on fierce serious business mode. He casually picks up his coffee, avoiding her touch without being rude.
Score one for Gavin. More like score one hundred, because Roxana has been flirting that hard during this meeting. Honestly, it’s more than a little embarrassing. I think Roxana is trying to distract Gavin from her awful proposal for a local auto shop rebrand.
Gavin is clearly not interested. In her or the proposal. But that hasn’t slowed Roxana’s roll. Not even a little. She’s like a cartoon skier who becomes a bigger and bigger snowball as she rolls head over foot down the mountain. I almost smile at the mental image.
She doesn’t let his brush-off deter her in the slightest, shuffling the folder in front of her, as though that’s what she was doing, not trying to stroke Gavin’s hand with her French-tipped fingernails.
Suuuuure. You’re a consummate professional, Roxana.
Usually, her ideas are brilliant, but today, it’s a hard pass. I’m shocked Gavin hasn’t thrown her out yet, telling her to start over. I’ve been hoping he would. Partly because that growly voice when he’s all serious and bossy makes my insides quiver like a Jell-O mold balanced on a jackhammer.
Gavin frowns. Why do I like even his grumpy look so much? Maybe it’s the way his brown eyes flash or his full lips become almost pouty.
Focus, Zoey. And not on Gavin’s mouth!
“I don’t know what to say,” Gavin says, finally. “This isn’t what I was hoping for.”
I force my body not to outwardly show the shudder inside at the low rumble of his voice.
Roxana shrinks in her seat. I would almost feel bad for her, but I suspect she’s the one who drew the cartoon of the Zoey-Bot on a napkin and hung it on the fridge in the break room.
Plus, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for sympathy right now. It’s taking all my energy to keep focused on these meetings with the marketing directors while my resignation letter is burning a hole in my bag.
Will Gavin fight for me to stay? A big part of me hopes he will. Okay, maybe I’ve fantasized about it.
He’ll tell me that I’m indispensable to him and an asset to the company. He will offer me what I really want—a position as one of the marketing directors, not his exec assistant—and then we’ll make out in his office until I’m breathless.
“Zoey? Do you have any thoughts?” Gavin asks.
Like the ones I was just having about you and me making out in your office? I feel a brief flash of panic, then realize he is asking me to weigh in on Roxana’s proposal.
Do I have any thoughts? Me? The lowly assistant?
My mouth drops open a little before I force it closed, adopting a neutral expression. Switzerland of the face, here I come. I can’t say the same for Roxana, whose cheeks