CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
MEGAN POINT OF VIEW
Megan shifted nervously in the plush armchair, acutely aware of Chris’s intense gaze upon her from across the cozy cafe table.
She had arrived early, determined to maintain a veneer of poise and professionalism for this critical meeting.
But the moment he walked through that door looking disarmingly handsome in a soft henley and slim jeans, her resolve faltered.
How had she never truly appreciated his rugged good looks before? The way those fitted pants hugged his athletic build or how the fabric of his top stretched tautly across his broad chest and shoulders?
Megan swallowed hard, scolding herself for allowing her eyes to linger inappropriately.
This was her colleague – her ghostwriter, for heaven’s sake! They had pressing matters to discuss regarding the memoir.
“Hey,” Chris greeted easily, sliding into the seat opposite her. His lips quirked in an amused half-smile, as if he could read the tumult of her thoughts. “You’re early.”
“Y-Yeah, I…” Megan stammered, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. “Wanted to make sure I didn’t keep you waiting on the… memoir discussion.”
Smooth recovery. Not.
Chris simply chuckled at her fumbling excuse, reaching for the coffee pot. “So, shall we dive right into critiquing my latest draft?”
His hazel eyes danced with unmistakable mirth, pinning her with that smoldering gaze. “Or should I give you a few minutes to, ah… gather yourself first?”
The teasing lilt in his deep voice made her cheeks flush hotter. He knew – damn him, he knew full well the distracting effect his unexpected dapper appearance was having on her.
Megan bit back a groan of mortification. Just stay cool, Williams.
“Memoir first,” she blurted out, perhaps a touch too quickly. “We can… discuss other matters later. If you want.”
Fantastic, now she was practically inviting further awkwardness between them.
But rather than seize on her self-conscious slip, Chris just flashed another tiny grin before taking a sip of his coffee.
Is he going to ask for the Instagram pic?
Please don’t!
“Works for me,” he replied easily. “Though I did have some questions about that Instagram post…”
His tone remained light and casual, but the words nonetheless caused Megan’s stomach to clench with dread.
The ill-advised social media stunt from that drunken night – she knew this conversation was inevitable.
She’d have to own up to her impulsive actions and the indelicate position it had put them both in, whether he wanted to acknowledge it outright or not.
Or… would this be the perfect opening to finally air her deeper feelings?
To seize control over the narrative of their relationship – whatever it may develop into?
Unconsciously, Megan’s gaze drifted over Chris’s shoulder towards the cafe’s street-facing windows.
Paparazzi practiced the art of urban camouflage with almost preternatural skill – for all she knew, a handful of long lenses could be trained on them even now, dissecting their every micro-expression and gesture for the slightest hint of impropriety to turn into the next salacious headline.
“Hello? Earth To Megan.” Chris called her attention.
She snapped her focus back to Chris, pulse quickening.
Before she could launch into either an awkward apology or emotional confession, he smoothly changed tack.
“Umm… What?” She asked.
“I said let’s talk about the memoir.” Chris idly straightened the crisp pages of his manuscript draft. “I’m genuinely more eager to get your thoughts on these latest chapters first, if you’re amenable. The core of your story is really starting to take shape.”
Ohh, it was just in her head!
Megan blinked, his deft subject redirection pulling her back into a businesslike mindset.
Right, this was a professional collaboration above all else – she wouldn’t be the one to compromise that just yet. Pushing aside her personal turmoil, she leaned in attentively.
“Ohh… of.. of course, let’s dive in,” she agreed, mustering her most focused demeanor as Chris launched into his authorial notes.
Thank the Lord!
For the next hour, they engaged in an engrossing technical discussion around narrative pacing, character arcs, and thematic threads that needed strengthening throughout the draft chapters.
Anytime Megan felt her concentration wavering back towards more… intimate topics, she forcibly refocused on dissecting the intricacies of relating her life journey thus far.
Chris, to his credit, adhered strictly to substantive insights without dancing around any gossamer elephants in the room.
If she didn’t know better, she’d have believed this was simply another routine working meeting between dedicated collaborators.
“… and that’s where I’d envisioned transitioning into the next major arc-your pursuit of championship glory,” he concluded at length. “Does that trajectory align with your own vision for the narrative flow?”
“Absolutely,” Megan nodded, inwardly marvelling at how adeptly Chris could capture the inherent drama and pathos underlying even her most grueling boxing anecdotes.
“That progression feels… honest. Authentic to the all-consuming drive I experienced during those dark years.”
A heavy silence fell between them. No matter how skillful Chris’s author’s voice, there would be no sanitizing many of the raw, uncompromising challenges awaiting exploration down that particular storyline.
Megan knew he glimpsed the faintest flicker of apprehension in her eyes – he always could read her in those rare, vulnerable moments.
“Hey…” Chris reached across the table, his palm engulfing her smaller hand with a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take it at whatever pace you’re comfortable with, yeah? No need to plunge into anything you’re not ready to relive yet.”
The simple, caring gesture – the warmth of his calloused palm against her knuckles – momentarily short-circuited Megan’s thought process. She stared at their joined hands, very conscious of her thundering pulse.
This was… new, uncharted territory for their working rapport. Yet it felt inexplicably right.
“I just…” She began haltingly, then stopped. Drawing a steadying breath, Megan lifted her gaze to lock with his infinitely patient hazel eyes.
“Whatever happens next in telling my story… I trust you, Chris. With all of it.”
“Whatever happens next in telling my story… I trust you, Chris. With all of it.”
The words hung in the air, potent and insufficiently conveying the entire depth of her meaning.
In that stillness, the background clatter of ceramic dishes and lively chatter among cafe patrons fell away into a blurred hush of white noise.
For a suspended instant, it was only the two of them – Megan and this inexplicably understanding man who had become so much more to her than a mere hired hand.
“I know,” Chris replied at last, her unvoiced implications received loud and clear. “No more walls between us, yeah?”