Flames in the Frost

EMMA

By the time I finally make it down to Max’s office, I’m a bundle of nerves.

I knock gently, waiting for him to answer and half hoping he’s been pulled into a board meeting, because right now, I’d almost rather deal with Trevor than Max.

But much to my disappointment, he opens almost immediately.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestures to one of the two plush chairs seated in front of his desk.

“It’d be easier to go over the samples there,” I say, pointing to a couch and table at the back of the room. Sure, it might not be a wise idea to sit that close to Max, but I want to be able to spread out the designs and get this over with quickly so that I can get out of here.

He shrugs as if to say works for me, and moves toward the green velvet couch.

I take a deep breath before opening the portfolio and stretching out the designs on the table in front of him. “So…here’s what I’ve come up with so far. My designer, Liv, is still in the middle of refining them, so these are just rough sketches.”

With a careful and critical eye, he begins to review them one at a time. Lifting each printout and studying it before placing it back down on the table, separating the wreaths into two separate groups.

I expect this to take him a while—we’ve put a lot of detail into them—but there’s a pained look on his face as if he’s hating doing this, and it only takes him a matter of seconds to say, “I like these ten.” His finger-taps on ten from the pile as if this is all business.

I let out a sigh, trying not to show my frustration, because I swear he hardly even reviewed them.

“Let’s move forward with any final design changes and present them to the leadership team today,” he says. “Given the impending holidays, I don’t want any more delays.”

I bite my lip and nod, holding back what I’m really thinking, because if Trevor catches wind of us beginning on the actual development without reviewing these ten picks with him, he’ll surely fire me. Add to that my fear of getting fired if I speak my mind, and I decide to stay quiet instead.

Max sinks back into the couch, folding his big arms across his chest. His brown eyes meet mine and study me with way too much scrutiny.

“What is it? You look like you want to say something,” he asks.

I hesitate, because despite this being Max—my Max—he’s still my boss and the new owner of the company that I work for. Pissing him off wouldn’t be a good idea. Even worse if he withdraws support from my charity.

Fuck it. “Well… I don’t think Trevor would be happy if I went ahead with development without running this decision by him first.”

He chuckles as if he’s indifferent to Trevor’s opinion.

“Fine. Show him the thirty designs now, please. Advise him that I shared my top ten picks with you already, against your will if you’d like, and that we need a final list by the end of the day.”

I nod again, chewing on my lip as I try to piece together how this is going to land with Trevor.

His gaze flicks down to my lips, lingering there a beat too long. I let my lip go, and when his eyes find mine again, it’s like he’s seeing straight through me—like he’s suddenly piecing together who I am.

“Okay. Did you need anything else?” I ask, because the tension in the room feels unbearable.

“Yes,” he pauses, his gaze deepening as he looks at me closer. “I do have one more thing. Have dinner with me, Em.”

Max’s slip of my nickname is enough to confirm my suspicions. I could tell that he had recognized me at this morning’s meeting, but I didn’t expect him to make that evident by asking me out on a date.

My heart flutters at his request, but my rational mind reminds me that this isn’t a wise idea, for multiple reasons.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Max,” I respond. “I’m currently seeing someone, and, well, you’re my new boss and the owner of the company where I work. Imagine how that would look to my coworkers and your employees if they find out?”

Max frowns, tapping his finger gently on those full lips. His brown eyes are lost in thought, as if he’s trying to find a way to work this in his favor anyways.

Damn it, he’s always had great lips

I resist the urge to touch mine, remembering how it felt to have his mouth cover me years ago.

“How about some coffee, then?” he says. “We can say it’s a business meeting with your boss’s boss to discuss the marketing plan for the new designs.”

I can’t help the eye roll that escapes me. Max always had a way of bending the rules, even when we were kids, and I see that’s extended into adulthood for him.

“We tend to leave those decisions to our marketing team.”

“I noticed you majored in marketing in college. Perhaps you can give me an outsider’s perspective on the department. I do need to restructure things to promote efficiencies once the holidays settle down. Think of it as an…internal consulting discussion. A skip-level meeting.”

Touche… So, he’s looked into me.

“We’ll be strictly discussing work at this coffee meeting?” I ask, fully aware of how unrealistic that would be for us but also too afraid to say no.

“Sure, if that’s what you want. But I don’t think that’s really what you want, is it, Em?” he says, sending one of those smoldering smiles he seems to have perfected in his thirties my way.

I squirm uncomfortably on the couch, adjusting my pencil skirt to distract myself and then sitting up taller.

“Fine. Saturday,” I respond. “The coffee shop on Fifth Street. Ten o’clock. We make a point to be done by eleven.”

He smiles, pleased to get his way—and I have a feeling that he always does, these days. “Sounds good. See you then.”