Jannah
Somewhere at the back of my mind, a voice keeps whispering, You see what I told you? And it happens every single time Clinton shows up after work, sends me lunch, or asks me on movie dates, aquarium visits, or random midnight drives. Honestly, I think I've been on more dates in the past three weeks than I have in my entire life.
The light on my phone screen flashes on, and-speak of the devil-it's none other than Clinton Steele. I tap the notification and it opens up to iMessage, where there's a single, short text from him.
"Are you in?"
I wrinkle my nose, rereading it. My fingers hover above the keyboard for a few seconds, unsure of what to say.
Truth is, even though Clinton was a certified first-class asshole in Mexico, he's actually... sweet. If you overlook the whole Jekyll and Hyde situation he has going on. I don't want to lie, especially because I have a strong gut feeling he's already in the building.
Then there's Aaron. God only knows what his problem is with me. It's bad enough that during the last meeting he practically glared at me for twenty seconds straight. I swear everyone could feel the tension in the room. He tried to politely-infuriatingly politely-tell me I wasn't supposed to be there, but I beat him to it and acted like I hadn't heard a word. I haven't heard from him since. And I really don't think it'll be a pretty picture if he finds out I'm hanging out with his brother. I've never tested how fast gossip travels, but something tells me it moves at light speed in this office.
I type "Give me a sec" and I'm about to hit send when there's a soft knock on my door.
"Come in," I say aloud.
The door swings open, and standing there-of course-is Clinton. Today, he's ditched his usual corporate look for something more laid back, something eerily similar to his brother's style. And I have to admit, the casual vibe suits him. A lot.
There's a paper bag dangling from his left hand, and the sheepish grin on his face instantly makes me feel guilty for even thinking about sending him away.
"Ramen," he announces, "just the way you like it-"
"Soy sauce, pork ribs, and everything?" I sit straighter, craning my neck like I have X-ray vision.
"All you can eat. Everything. And a Mountain Dew." Clinton winks, and I let out a loud whistle. When he lifts the bag, I catch the logo of my favorite Chinese food truck. The one with the insane lines. That must've taken him at least thirty minutes-maybe even an hour.
"Oh my God, you really shouldn't have gone through all that stress. I'm serious, Clinton." I press my palm over my mouth, trying not to grin as I step closer to him.
Even though my brain is mostly focused on the food right now, I know deep down he didn't have to do any of this.
"I was expecting a 'thank you.' You're welcome, by the way," he teases, flashing a wide grin. His left cheek dips with a deep dimple, and I can't help smiling back as he hands me the bag.
"Forgive my manners. Thanks, by the way."
Maybe it's the surprise, or maybe it's just the fact that I didn't have to stand in that insane line myself-but it tastes ten times better. It should be since it's twelve in the afternoon and hunger is at its peak.
"How'd you enjoy waiting like the rest of the human population?" I ask, smirking as I twirl noodles around my fork.
"Let's just say," he leans in with a conspiratorial wink, "I have my ways plus the guy at the food truck owes me a favour."
I roll my eyes.
"If your brother sees me with you, I'll be in a lot of trouble," I blurt before I can stop myself.
Shit. I shouldn't have said that.
Clinton's brows lower, and something shifts in his expression. He props his chin on the back of his palm, his eyes fixed on mine with more intensity than usual.
"And why's that?" His voice is calm, like always, but there's something else beneath it. Something more. Like the question means more than it seems.
"Because..." I chew slowly, stalling, trying to come up with something remotely believable-when I'm saved by the creaking sound of my door handle.
Even without looking, I know it's Kaitlyn. That girl has never heard of knocking.
I say a silent thank-you to the universe for the interruption.
Her lips part into a subtle o when she sees Clinton. Even her usual confident stride falters. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. She looks like a deer caught in headlights.
"You must be Kaitlyn. Nice to meet you." Clinton rises immediately, all charm, and I quickly avert my gaze. When he takes her hand, I notice the way her eyes scan him in silent appreciation or is scrutiny?
"Nice to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you, Clinton." She stretches out the last syllable of his name, and a soft smile touches his lips before his eyes return to me.
"I'll be going now. Bye, Jannah." He gives me a nod and heads out.
"Wow, wow. Looks like someone's got the hots for you, sister." Kaitlyn wiggles her eyebrows as she shuts the door behind him.
"First it was that fancy restaurant, now this? What's next? Flowers every morning?" I know Kaitlyn well enough to know this isn't the end of her ridiculous theories, so I focus on my food instead.
"You really don't have to read into every little thing, Kait," I snap, sharper than I mean to. Even I'm surprised by my tone.
But instead of backing off, she just sighs and gives me that devilish smirk.
"Well, he likes you. Period. Don't snap at me, Tiger Woods," she says with a click of her tongue.
"He has a girlfriend, Sherlock Holmes," I fire back.
Her eyes widen slightly, and the smirk fades.
I shouldn't be getting mad at her over this. But deep down, a part of me wishes he was more like the Ethan Hunt I met... not Clinton Steele. And as foolish as it sounds, I wish he was more like his brother.
Aaron.
Goddamnit! Why do I wish he was someone else though?