5

Edward parks outside of Jane's building and opens his driver's side door.

"What are you doing?" I ask, confused.

"Going in with you?"

"You can't," I immediately say, but I'm not sure why. It just feels like something Jane would frown upon. But we aren't on the clock. So maybe it doesn't matter.

"I was going to help you carry one of the pies, but if you'd rather risk tripping and dropping one, by all means," Edward says dryly and shuts his door, staying in the car.

"Great, you probably just jinxed me. Here," I say, handing him a pie. "And… thank you," I add, softer.

We walk inside Jane's glitzy building. It's modern, all steel and chrome and cold.

Kind of like her.

We make it up to the thirtieth floor, and I knock on her door.

Nothing.

I knock again and ring the bell. She doesn't come to the door, so I get out my phone and call her.

"Why are you calling me?" she immediately asks.

"I'm here with the pies."

"I'm not home yet. Just wait, I'll be there within the hour."

"But you told me—" I stop myself. There's no use. "I can leave them on your doorstep."

She scoffs her disapproval. "My neighbor has an obnoxiously untrained dog who would without a doubt eat them. Is that a risk you're willing to take with all of your hard work?"

I internally groan. "See you soon. Bye." After we hung up, I flip off the phone.

"What?" Edward asks, eyeing me.

"She's not here yet and wants me to wait. She'll be here within the hour."

He laughs once, but it's humorless. "Seriously?"

"I was originally going to bring them over at two, but she texted and said she needed them at noon. And now she's not even here…"

"Fuck her, Bella. That's bullshit. Your time is important, too. Your free time," he clarifies.

"Yeah," I say, unconvinced.

"Leave them on the doorstep, and let's get the hell out of here. Or better yet, bring the pies with us and screw her over."

I'm torn. Part of me wants to stick it to her and leave. Another stupid part wants to be dutiful and do as I'm told.

But he's right. This isn't my job. And sticking it to Jane would feel extremely satisfying.

I just don't know if I have big enough balls to do that.

"She said her neighbor's dog would eat them if I left them," I explain, the lamest excuse ever.

"Tough shit. She should've made sure she was here to pick them up from you then," he says, then adds, "Actually, fuck that. She shouldn't have asked you to make these in the first place."

I get what he's saying, and I know he's right. But I don't want to deal with what will happen if I don't stay.

"Edward."

"What?"

"I'm gonna wait," I say, sitting my ass on the carpet in her hallway, and setting the pie next to me. I reach for the one he's holding, and he hands it to me. "You can go. I appreciate you driving me. Really. I can take the bus home or call a Gruber," I joke, hoping it'll lighten the mood.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, irritated.

"Because my job depends on it. Yours doesn't, so you don't get it," I stress.

He shakes his head. "What are you really working toward, Bella? Because to me, it seems like you're working toward being a lifetime slave to Jane."

Now I'm annoyed. "I'm not."

"You are."

"No. I'm. not." I punctuate each word with frustration as I look up at him.

"You want to be a writer? Be a writer. Stop running errands and doing bullshit and actually write."

"You say it like it's easy."

"It. is. easy," he punctuates his words this time and it's… fucking sexy seeing him so worked up over what he thinks is best for me.

"No other writing gigs have opened up at the company. You think I don't check every day to see if there's a new opening in any other department? People have that shit on lockdown and turnover is rare. You know they prioritize promoting within."

"Then quit and work for anyone else in this city, and fucking write, Bella."

"But if I do the shit Jane wants, she can schmooze and pull strings and open up a job for me and—"

"She's using you. I'm sorry if that's harsh but she's not going to pull shit for you."

"She did for Emily."

"After three years. Three fucking years. And Emily is still a kiss-ass doormat and her writing is lacking because instead of doing what she loved for three years, she picked up dry cleaning and made pies. You want your writing to turn to shit because you stopped doing it?"

I glower. "Emily's not that bad of a writer…"

"Yes, she is. And I don't want that for you. Have you ever wondered why Jane pulls mundane strings for her assistants when she's done with them? Probably to make them forget how shitty she was. She does something semi-nice after she wears you down. What Jane is doing is demeaning and probably illegal. Even if you're not pissed, I'm pissed for you. And if she comes up here, I'm gonna fucking tell her to her botoxed face—"

"Nothing. You will say nothing, Edward."

His jaw grinds and he stares down at me. Sexy, sexy fucker. The urge to pounce him right here rises.

"Just tell me one thing—why is it so important for you to work for this company?" he asks, softer now. "You could honestly work anywhere."

Well, I hadn't expected him to ask that. The answer is pretty simple and has to do with my dad. But telling Edward requires opening up and making myself vulnerable, and ew. I don't know if I have the ability to do that.

"You don't want to know," I mumble.

"Yes, I do," he says, crouching in front of me so we're at eye level. "Tell me."

"I secretly like sports and actually do want to write for Swoosh," I lie. "Dream job."

I can tell he's fighting a smile. "I want the truth, you little liar."

I swallow and look down at my lap, and the words rush out of me.

"Fine, whatever. My dad loved Swoosh back in the day when it was a physical magazine. He had a subscription and kept every copy like a damn hoarder, and when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and it got bad, I'd sit next to his bed and read articles to him and it became our thing. When I found out the company had a women's magazine, I declared that I'd write for Glow one day. My dad loved the idea because he always encouraged my creative side. Maybe it's stupid in a way, but I figured it gave him some kind of peace like, even with losing him, I'd still be okay. Like, one day I'd grow up and do something I love. Except I'm not. So. What the fuck ever."

Edward stays silent, and even though I'm not looking at him, I can feel his eyes on me. One, two, three beats pass before he moves to sit down next to me, his back against the wall.

"Well, now I feel like a dick for giving you shit," Edward sighs.

"You're not a dick. You didn't know," I say, repeating the same words he said to me last night about the Cubs' VHS tape. "And you don't have to wait with me," I add softly, but I love that he does.

With a shrug, he says, "Yes, I do. I'm not going to make you wait here alone… and potentially have to fight off Cujo for these pies you worked so hard for. But I don't condone any of this, okay? Regardless of why you want this job, you need to stand up to Jane or report her or something."

"I know."

"I'm fucking serious, Bella."

"I know," I agree again, letting my moment of vulnerability pass and shifting back to deflecting since I do it so well. "Also… Cujo? Wow. What a dated reference."

With a smirk, he leans in and murmurs, "You could just thank me for waiting. You don't have to make jokes, Bella."

He's right.

But I'm so good at jokes. And so is he.

I sigh and stare at his earnest face.

"Thank you," I tell him.

No sass.

No humor.

But then I decide to take a page from his book and call him out, too.

"Well, you could also tell me why you decided to wait with me instead of referencing a bad eighties movie about why you're staying."

He eyes me, brows raised and face open, and he says, "It's because I like you, Bella."

I eye him.

"Like a colleague," I clarify. He shakes his head, so I try again. "Friend?" Another head shake, but this time he reaches for my hand and tangles our fingers together. My cheeks grow warm. "Like you want me?" I ask, remembering what he said last night while pretending to confess his feelings for me.

He leans closer and his mouth moves to my ear. "So. fucking. bad."

Well, fuck.

My stomach flickers with flirtation and attraction, but I try not to react yet, just in case.

He pulls back, and I wait for a punchline.

Wait for him to laugh and tell me he's joking and let go of my hand.

But he doesn't.

He just waits.

Stares.

Like… really intensely. Like he actually means what he said.

Doesn't he realize that telling someone you like them while sitting on the plush carpet of a thirtieth-floor condo while they pathetically wait for their boss isn't romantic?

But maybe he's not trying to be romantic.

Maybe he's just being real.

"So… the note on my desk was from you?" I ask, trying to make it add up.

He laughs and moves back a little, but keeps my hand in his, his thumb brushing over mine. "No, that wasn't from me. I tried to play it cool, but it pissed me off. I guess I'm competing with someone else for you now."

I want to laugh, but fuck, my stomach nervously flips.

"What were you going to say this morning before Garrett walked in? You slept on the couch with me because you were comfortable and…" I prompt.

"Because I wanted to," he says simply. "Because you looked so fucking cute and smelled good, and I just wanted to sleep next to you. Is that okay?"

I nod, a little stunned by his honesty. "Yeah," I whisper. "Okay."

Silence.

He likes me.

And I'm glad the note wasn't from him because that means he's not a cheesy fucking weirdo.

Bumping my shoulder with his, he says, "Don't get all weird on me."

"But you like that about me," I remind him.

"Yeah, I do, but not if it's in a way that makes you second guess this thing between us," he says honestly.

My smile is small. "Trust me, this is the least weird I've ever been."

He laughs softly. I think about leaning over and kissing his cheek, but I stop myself.

That's weird, right?

That's inappropriate for friends.

And colleagues.

But he said he doesn't like me in either of those ways and kissing his cheek is the only thing I want to do.

Without any more overthinking, I lean over and press my mouth to his sexy, scruffy cheek.

My lips linger.

Other than sleeping on the couch with him, we've never been this close, and all I want to do is get even closer.

But I pull back.

"What was that for?" he asks so, so, so low.

I shrug. "I like you, too."

"Colleague?" he double-checks.

"Nope."

"Friend?"

I shake my head.

"Sex slave?" he jokes.

Or maybe he's not joking.

Maybe I don't want him to be joking.

A laugh escapes from me. "Maybe."

His eyes bounce to my lips for a second time.

Kiss me.

Don't kiss me.

Kiss me.

Don't.

I only worry if he does that I won't want to stop.

Edward leans in and fine, okay, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

His breath hits my mouth.

His nose brushes mine.

Our lips are about to touch… and then I hear the elevator ding.

I don't have a chance to react to our almost-kiss before I hear the snarling of a dog. Instantly, I stand and guard my pie. Edward's up on his feet, too, grabbing the pie he carried in.

A tiny woman with a huge dog walks out of the elevator, pulling her canine back with as much strength as she can. It's not enough, and the leash slips from her hand.

The dog bounds down the hall toward us, and this is it. It's over. The pies will be demolished and I'll have to deal with Jane's wrath.

Edward quickly hands me his pie and puts himself between me and the dog.

He's sacrificing himself.

Or, I guess, he's just like, petting the dog and scratching behind his ears saying, "Who's a good boy? You're a good boy."

It buys us some time until the owner rushes over to us, apologizing profusely. Edward hands her the leash, and she pulls the dog down the hallway before disappearing into her condo.

"Fucking Cujo," I breathe out.

Edward looks over at me. "And you wanted me to wait in the car. Good thing I came up with you, huh?"

"Eh," I joke, downplaying what he just did for me.

He laughs and steps closer. If I weren't holding these stupid pies, I'd hug him.

"Swaaaan," he draws out, staring me down.

"Fine. It's a good thing you came up," I say sincerely, and because I'm me, I add, "I didn't know you were a dog whisperer."

He just blows out a laugh and juts his chin toward the elevator. "C'mon. Can we get the hell out of here and go get that beer now?"

"Okay," I easily agree. I start to set the pies down by Jane's door, then stop myself. "I'm bringing these with us." Edward grins like he's proud, but I bite the inside of my cheek. "If I get fired over this, you're going to have to house me. And feed me. And supply me with tequila."

His eyes shine. "You know… I don't really think that would be much of a hardship. But you won't get fired, I promise."

"Well, we both might if we actually act on our attraction," I remind him, my heart thumping in my chest from how close he is and how badly I want him.

"Well?" He smirks, uncaring. "I guess we're breaking all the rules now."