CHAPTER 40 –
Chris POV
“Well, I’d better get cracking on fleshing out those notes for the next draft,” I said, gathering up my manuscript pages into a neat stack. “Same time next week to review updates, if that works for your schedule?”
Megan nodded; her expression inscrutable. “Sure, that’s fine. Just… keep me posted if anything comes up before then, okay?”
I paused at the undercurrent of awkwardness in her tone, studying her carefully. “You know I will. We’re a team on this, remember?”
A tight smile tugged at the corner of her full lips. “Right. A team.”
Something niggled at me – that pained look flickering across her glamorous features. Like she desperately wanted to voice something more but thought better of it.
“Megan…” I began slowly. “If there’s anything else you want to discuss while we’re here, I’m all ears.”
She stiffened almost imperceptibly, gaze flicking away. “No, that’s… that’s okay. We covered all the important bases about the memoir today.”
Clearly a deflection. And we both knew the ‘other’ elephant looming between us.
That night. The drunken vulnerability, the intimate moment of me undressing her… and whatever reckless impulse drove her teasing Instagram post in its aftermath.
I couldn’t begin to fathom the complex swirl of emotions she must still be grappling with over that entire debacle – shame, confusion, attraction? All underscored by her innate resistance to appearing weak or compromised in any way.
“You’re sure?” I prodded gently. “Because if you did want to unpack anything from… well, you know… I’m here. No judgements, just an open ear between friends.”
Megan’s eyes snapped back to mine, equal parts gratitude and panic flickering across her refined features. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it.
“I… thanks, Chris,” she murmured at last. “Really, I appreciate you being so… understanding about everything. But I’d honestly rather not dwell on that mess right now, if it’s all the same to you.”
Her tone was polite yet unmistakably firm, clearly drawing boundaries for today’s discussion.
I gave a casual shrug, keeping my expression open and nonjudgmental. “No problem at all. My door’s always open whenever you’re ready.”
A relieved exhalation slipped from between her lips. “Good. Then I’ll plan to see you next week for a productive working session?”
“You got it,” I agreed easily. “We’ll dive right back into business as usual.”
The words felt like a deflating resignation between us, no matter how lightly I aimed for them to land. Professionalism, barriers up – the default space we always seemed to retreat into with each other when intimacy risks encroaching too far.
Pursing her lips, Megan gave a sharp nod before rising gracefully to her feet. “Perfect. I’ll get out of your hair then and let you get back to drafting.”
Another awkward pause stretched as she gathered her purse and jacket, clearly unsure how to navigate the newfound tension clouding our previously casual rapport. I watched, tongue-tied, all my earlier boldness in pushing for emotional transparency now dissipating as quickly as it had flared within me.
Don’t run, Megan. We’re so close to breaking through…
Yet even as the plea formed behind my eyes, she drew a steadying breath – forcibly shoring up her vulnerabilities once more behind that achingly familiar air of poise and control.
“I’ll be in touch about next week’s schedule,” she stated, all business once again. Then, almost as an afterthought, Megan aimed one final inscrutable look my way. “And Chris? Thanks… for being so professional today. I needed that.”
The words were carefully measured, offering only a cryptic window into her mindset. I inclined my head in solemn understanding, squashing the impulse to pull her close and dismantle the walls between us piece by piece.
“Anytime,” I replied simply.
Another nod, then she turned on her heel and strode out of the cafe without a backward glance, leaving me feeling distinctly unresolved.
The echo of our entire loaded exchange seemed to linger in the space she vacated across from me. I exhaled heavily, scrubbing one hand through my tousled hair as the wheels began churning over how to broach dismantling her emotional defenses next time – without risking close quarters with bourbon bottles in the vicinity.
In my peripherals, the soft amber light filtering through the cafe windows caught the edge of my manuscript stack. One of the topmost pages had a glossy sheen, and I leaned forward with a furrowed brow. Upon closer inspection, an incredulous huff of breath escaped my lips.
There, right next to my scribbled notes, was the unmistakable remnants of a lipstick imprint on the paper’s edge. The smears of ruby pigment were faint, as if pressed there hurriedly and without second thought by… certain very distracting lips while we worked.
An unbidden flashback flickered through my mind’s eye. Megan leaning across the cafe table towards me, chin resting on her palm as she hung onto every word about her own biography with rapt focus. Those plump, glistening lips forming syllables in time with her impassioned counterpoints and editorial insights.
Clearly, the memoir material had managed to engage her on a visceral level today – enough to forget herself and leave faint traces behind.
I smirked ruefully at the tantalizing memento, turning it over and over in my fingertips, deep in thought. So she could drop her guard around me after all, in her unfiltered moments.
Which meant despite her breezy dismissals and ‘professional’ posturing, some spark persisted buried beneath that polished veneer. The true fire and vulnerability fueling her most searing emotions – the ones she fought so fiercely to conceal.
It was up to me to stoke those banked embers into an inferno she couldn’t ignore or retreat from.
With a wry huff under my breath, I gathered my belongings and headed for the cafe exit, the telltale lip imprint tucked securely in my jacket pocket.
Next time, Megan wouldn’t be able to evade the truth burning between us.
This, I vowed as I stepped out into the bustling city streets.
My gaze hardened with renewed determination as I turned the warm spring breeze.
No more waiting, no more friendly platitudes – I had a decision to make, and she was about to be confronted with it whether she was ready or not.