Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,47

the weekend. Georgie and I had plans for dinner at Catherine’s, but today would be about preparation for next week, when we’d present to Georgie and the other team for a review.

My team meeting had just broken, and excitement crackled in the air—we were going to win. Even not knowing what Laney had in store, we were convinced. But as I exited the conference room and caught a glimpse of Laney at her cubicle, I decided to find out for sure.

Laptop under my arm, I crossed the space to her, feeling the eyes of the other designers on me as I passed. She looked up, smiling when I stopped in front of her.

“How did your meeting go?” she asked. “Are you scrambling yet?”

“Not at all. The team’s pretty sure we’ve got this in the bag.”

“Oh, are they? I hope they won’t be too disappointed.”

I chuckled. “I thought we might discuss just that. It’s not a competition if you don’t know what you’re up against. Want to compare? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

At that, a laugh bubbled out of her. “How do I know you won’t steal my ideas?”

I leaned on the temporary wall and felt a smirk on my face. “You already know this is mine to lose.”

A blush and a chuckle. “All right. You’re on.”

“Grab your laptop and follow me.”

When she had her computer and was at my side, I turned for my office.

Again, eyes followed us.

Nothing to see here. She’d rather set herself on fire than entertain the thought of me, you’ve all seen it.

I wondered briefly if I was convincing them or myself.

At my office, I opened the door and held it for her. Once we were inside, it closed on its hydraulic hinge, closing with a snick. We were left alone, the silence heavy. I should have thought to prop it open, but to turn around and open it now would have given too much away—I couldn’t let her know how she affected me.

She wandered to the windows overlooking the city as I walked to my drafting table, lowering it to level.

“What a view,” she said with a touch of wonder in her voice.

When I looked to the sound, I was struck still. The shape of her body carved the span of the bright, sparkling city. The sun hit her at such an angle, she was cast in shadow, the light a gentle halo softening the line of her silhouette, illuminating the very edge of her hair, her skin, the dark fabric of her skirt. I longed to learn the shape of her, to commit it to memory where I could recall it for admiration when she was gone.

“Yes, quite a view,” I said, hearing a touch of yearning in my voice. Before she could respond, I gave her my back, making myself busy with my computer. “Did you miss it? New York?”

“You have no idea,” she said from behind me. “I think I would have taken any excuse to leave Dallas, if I’m being honest. But helping out at Longbourne is always worth it. I couldn’t let them try to manage social media on their own—the thought of my brothers on Instagram gives me nightmares.”

I chuckled. “Why didn’t you stay with them? Why leave for the bookstore?”

Her approach was quiet, but I heard her all the same. “I ask myself that a lot, more lately.” She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts as she approached. “I’m sure you understand familial pressures, this being part of yours.”

“I do.”

“Well, it’s always sort of felt like a cage.” She set her computer on the table and opened it, avoiding my eyes as I watched her. “I don’t know if you know this, but I don’t particularly like being told what to do.”

“I think I might have caught that.”

“Do you ever feel that way?” she asked, turning to me. “That all of this is stifling?”

“Never,” I admitted. “The opposite, in fact. It’s made my choices very simple.”

“You’ve never questioned it? Never wanted something else? Something not-this?”

“This is all I’ve ever known,” I said simply.

Laney watched me quietly for a moment. “I wish I had that devotion.”

“You sound devoted. I know what you did for your family, and you’ve admitted how easy it was for you to come home.”

“I love them, and I’m devoted to them, yes. But I’m afraid committing to the company would be a little death. That it would take away the last of my autonomy.”

“What if it fulfilled you instead? Without committing,