First message
Wren knew it was her before she reached his office.
The familiar click of her heels moved down the hallway, a sound he’d somehow learned to recognize without ever meaning to.
He kept his attention on the document in front of him.
Or tried to.
Her perfume reached him a second after she stepped through the door—soft, familiar, distracting.
Wren’s eyes lifted.
He’d seen her nearly every morning for months, yet lately, looking at her had become a problem.
His gaze lingered as she crossed the room, taking in the way she moved before he forced his attention back to her face.
I shouldn’t be looking at her like that.
She placed the files he’d requested on his desk, leaning forward just enough for her perfume to surround him again.
Wren’s fingers tightened slightly around his pen.
There had been a time when having her this close hadn’t affected him.
He couldn’t remember when that changed.
His eyes stayed on her a moment longer than they should have.
The files could have been emailed.
He knew that.
So did she, probably.
I just wanted to see her.
Wren leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.
Close the door.