'I'm falling in love with the girl I can't have
I'm walking a line, that's a little bit mad
I know that I shouldn't, but I can't help the way I feel
This love is forbidden, yet I can't let it go unreal"
Forbidden love can be a tale of great complexi...
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What? He wants me to come with? What the...?
I hurriedly grab a pad of paper and a pencil, feeling like some kind of Neanderthal or something. It's been so long since I've handwritten anything, much less with a pencil, for crying out loud. Most of the time I'm typing on my phone with my thumb. Sometimes on the computer.
But I sure as hell don't know the protocol for a conference call. I barely even know one is.
Anyway.
I follow him and this guy Tate to the boardroom, trailing them both as they hurriedly go over strategy and rapid-fire information, trying not to stare too obviously at Sawyer's perfect, flexing butt as we pass several other offices. Offices filled with people who seem to know how to work properly, not with pity-hire interns who may or may not be way out of her—my—depth.
Damn, Sawyer looks so good in a suit.
I've never seen a man look this good, I marvel, as he strategizes with Tate. He's so powerful and confident, so secure in whatever he's saying and every move he makes. Even though he's fully clothed and covered now, he's every bit as sexy as he was just after working out earlier.
Maybe even sexier.
Tate keeps glancing back at me and smiling. I wonder what that's all about. He looks like nothing more than a kid to me even though he's probably older than I am. Probably not by much, but still. Then again, anyone would look like a little kid next to Sawyer. And Tate's cute, but he's no competition. Tate is trim and sleek, while Sawyer's shoulders are so broad, his jaw so powerful.
Sawyer Mills is like an old time movie star. Like sex on legs.
"Um, Mia?" says Tate.
I look up and realize he's been holding the door for me.
"Oh, yeah, um, thanks," I tell him and his eyes linger a little too long on the top button of my blouse.
Is this place just a hotbed of sex? Or maybe I'm just misreading all the signals today? But no. I know that look. There's really no mistaking it coming from a guy like Tate.
Are all offices like this? This weird mix of formal and informal, classy and sexy, business and pleasure? I really don't know, but I kind of hope so.
I take a seat at the giant boardroom table and ready my paper and pencil. I'm not sure what to write. I guess I observe. Oh, God. What if I'm supposed to say something? Surely Sawyer would've given me a heads-up if that was the case... right?
Neither he nor Tate seem to be paying much attention to me at the moment, so I do my best to stay quiet and unobtrusive. Not the easiest task since we're the only three people in the room, but it's worth a shot.
I write the date at the top of my paper, telling myself not to dot any i's with circles or draw any hearts around anything. I haven't been following the back and forth conversation between Sawyer and Tate, but they both seem tense. Tenser than just a few minutes ago, at least. It's probably because they have this big conference call. I write, 'Big Conference Call' at the top of my page and slide the notepad onto my lap.
