“I’m pretty sure head explosion isn’t covered.”
“He is persistent.” Jackson glanced at the conference room door as it opened. “Speaking of which...”
“Hello.” Spence stepped inside. He didn’t make a move to sit down. He stopped and rested his palms on the back of the chair nearest to him.
That fast, the oxygen sucked out of the room. The easy banter with Jackson gave way to suffocating tension. It pressed in on Abby, proving what she already knew. Seeing Spence grew harder each time, not easier.
Jackson smiled as he moved some of the files and papers around to make room in front of an open chair. “Hey, Spence.”
As far as Abby was concerned, all of that accommodating was unnecessary. She had no interest in sitting there, explaining her projects to Spence. She had a file made up with the relevant information and emailed him the rest. She’d done her part to keep the machine running.
“Right.” She shut her laptop, careful not to slam the cover down, and stood up. “I’m going to head back to my office.”
“I need to talk to you for a second.” Spence’s gaze moved from her to Jackson.
Jackson sighed. “Why are you looking at me? I’m supposed to be in here. I’m not leaving.”
“Help me out,” Spence said.
Jackson shook his head as he stood up. “Did you not hear my dramatic sigh?”
“It was tough to miss.”
“That’s because I spend half my life rescuing Jamesons from certain disaster.” Jackson ended the back-and-forth with a smack against Spence’s shoulder.
Some of the tension drained away as Jackson and Spence fell into their easy camaraderie. That sort of thing always amazed Abby. Men could argue and go at each other, but if they were friends or related, they seemed to have this secret signal, heard only by them, that triggered the end of the battle. Then all the anger slipped away.
She wished she possessed that skill.
She glanced at Jackson. “You deserve a raise.”
“Hell, yeah.” Jackson winked at her as he walked out of the conference room through the connecting door to his office.
A second later, Spence slid into the seat Jackson abandoned. He flipped through a whole repertoire of nervous gestures, none of which she’d seen from him before. He rubbed the back of his neck. Shifted around in his seat. Put a hand on the table then took it off. But he didn’t say a word.
After about a minute, the silence screamed in her head. “You’re up, Spence. You’re the one who wanted to talk.”
Fight was probably more accurate. They couldn’t seem to be civil to each other for more than a few minutes at a time since living in the same town again. They verbally sparred. Every conversation led them back to the same place—he believed she came on to his father. The idea made her want to heave.
He let out a heavy sigh that had his chest lifting and falling. “We got off on the wrong foot.”
“When?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Now or back then?” She was having a hard time keeping up, so he was going to need to be more specific. “Maybe when we were starting to go out and had plans for our first official date that Friday. You left on Thursday without a word.”
The memories flashed in her brain and she blinked them out. She refused to let the sharp pain in her chest derail her. This close, right across the table, she could see the intensity in his eyes, smell that scent she associated with him. A kind of peppery sharpness that reeled her in. In the past. Not now. She wouldn’t let it happen now.
“You are determined to make this difficult.” He had the nerve to look wounded.
She pushed down her anger and lifted her chin. “Do you blame me?”
“Actually, yes.” He sat back in the chair. The metal creaked under his weight as he lifted the front two legs off the floor. “You kissed my father.”
And there it was. The only point he could make, so he did it over and over until it lost its punch. “So you’ve pointed out. Repeatedly.”
“Okay. Enough.” A thud echoed through the small room as the front legs of his chair hit the floor again.
“I agree.” She stood up. Her vision blurred. She struggled through a haze of anger and disappointment to see the stacks of documents and folders in front of her.
“Please, sit.” His hand slipped over hers. “I know you think I’m an ass, but I’m here because I am worried about Ellie and the baby. The chance of my big brother running himself into the ground is really good. He may be acting cool, but he’s a panicked mess.”
Part of her wanted to throw his hand off hers. The other part wanted to grab hold. Her life would have been so much easier if she could have hated him. She begged the universe to let that happen.
Instead, she slipped her hand out from under his, stopped moving her things around and looked at him. “Of course he is. He loves Ellie.”
Spence’s gaze traveled over her face. “You like Derrick.”
All the blood ran out of her head. “You’re not accusing me—”
“No!” Spence held up both hands as if in mock surrender. “I mean, respect. Friendship. Deeper than a boss, but not romantic.”
Her heartbeat stopped thundering in her ears. It was as if he opened his mouth and her body prepared for battle. The whole thing gave her a headache. “That’s fair. Yes.”
“Any chance we could get there? I’d like us to be friends.” His hand rested on the table, so close to hers.
She stared at his long fingers. She’d always loved his hands. They showed strength. Seeing them made her wonder what they would feel like on her.
She pushed the thought away. “No.”
“Abby, come on.”
“I have that level of trust and understanding with Derrick because there is nothing else in the way. Nothing else between us because I don’t have any other feelings for him.” The words echoed in her head. She closed her eyes for a second before opening them again, hoping she’d only thought them. But no, there he was. Staring at her. Clear that he heard every syllable.
His eyebrow lifted. “But you do feel something for me?”
The look on his face. Was that satisfaction or hope? She couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to know. She never meant to open that door. Thinking it and saying it were two very different things, and she’d blown it. Now she rushed to try to fix the damage. “Did. That’s over.”
“Is it?”
He stood up then. Took one step toward her. Not too close, but enough to cut off her breathing. To make her fight not to gasp.
