each other, so many times—Matt had always been very casual with affectionate embraces. But everything felt different now, and as she looked into his eyes, she knew he felt it, too.
Attraction. Desire.
It seemed inappropriate. It had been years, but it was still hard not to think of Matt as Angie’s boyfriend.
Except Angie was married now to someone else. And this new, fantasy jungle man version of Matt was here, looking at Maggie as if he were thinking about kissing her. Not just a Matt kiss—he’d always been generous with friendly kisses on the cheek, too—but a real, on the mouth, tongues in action kind of kiss.
Like the way Tony had kissed Maria. Maggie’s stomach did a flip as she remembered kissing Matt on stage. Except that hadn’t been them—it was the characters they were playing who had kissed so passionately.
Still…
She pulled away from him and went to stare once again at the books on the shelf. This was just too weird.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have laid all that on you.”
Maggie shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m glad you told me,” she said as she turned to face him. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
Their eyes met. And Maggie felt it again, that spark of sexual energy that seemed to flow between them. Friends.
“You were going to give me a copy of that will,” she reminded him breathlessly, reminded herself, as well.
He took a step toward her, and another, and she knew he was going to kiss her.
But the kiss he gave her was only a Matt kiss, on the cheek. He stepped past her, going into the outer office. She followed, feeling oddly disappointed—was she insane?—as she watched him switch on the copy machine.
“You can take this home and look it over,” he told her as he opened one of the file cabinets and took out a manila folder. “Let me know what you think by Monday. I know it’s short notice, but I need you to decide by then because if you aren’t interested in the job, I’ll have to start looking for someone else to help me right away.”
Maggie watched as he copied the document.
A three-hundred-thousand-dollars-per-year job, guaranteed to blow up in three months if she didn’t help Matt become a businessman.
Was it exciting? Absolutely. Was it crazy? More than absolutely. What would her mother, her father, God, even Brock think?
They’d think she was irresponsible, silly, reckless, wild.
But what did she think? How about answering that question for once?
Sure, there was a chance this decision would backfire, leaving her without a job and laughed at by her friends and family. But there was a chance that something special was going on here—that she finally had an opportunity to take control of her life, to get out of her cell and make a difference in some way, even if only in her life and Matt’s and the people who supported their families from the Yankee Potato Chip Company.
To do something she wanted to do, something she would be proud of…
But the risk…
There were butterflies in her stomach—just like when she was little and in line for the Ferris wheel at the firemen’s carnival. As the line got shorter and the moment of truth approached, she would nearly sweat with anxiety. Would she do it or would she chicken out?
She would look up at the seemingly shaky structure that would take her on a ride fraught with danger, up to terrifying heights. Then she’d remember the exhilaration of the wind in her hair as she looked way, way down at the little people below and out at the horizon that seemed to stretch on forever.
It had been worth it. It always had been worth it.
She looked at Matt as he shut off the copy machine, as he stapled together the copies he’d made, as he put the original back in the folder, back in the file cabinet.
Where are we going?
Does it matter?
No.
“I’ll take the job,” she told him.
He turned and stared at her. “But you haven’t even read the—”
“I don’t care,” she said. “You offered, I’m taking it.”
Matt laughed. “Since when do you make a decision without forty-eight hours of soul searching?”
“Since right now,” she said.
“Are you sure?” He looked worried.
She felt a twinge of uncertainty. “Are you sure you want me?”
“Absolutely!”
“Then I’m sure.”
Matt just looked at her. With that same, disconcerting heat in his eyes. She had to turn away, look out the window at the night.
“I’ve been thinking for some time now about making some changes,” she confessed. “It occurred to me that if I took your offer I wouldn’t have to go back to that horrible office without a window.”
“You don’t have a window?”
She glanced at him. “You’ve got to earn a window at Andersen and Brenden.”
“God.”
“I wouldn’t have to make that awful commute, I wouldn’t have to wear uncomfortable shoes—would I?”
“No way.” He was grinning at her. “If you work for me, you don’t have to wear shoes at all. Of course in three months you won’t be able to afford to buy shoes….”
“Not if I can help it,” she said. “This is a beautiful office. It’s ten minutes from home, inches from the ocean….” She made a face. “Although, telling my dad that I’m leaving A&B isn’t going to be fun….”
His smile had faded. “Maggie,” he said, seriously. “I don’t want to pressure you.” He paused. “Don’t get me wrong. I want you to say yes. I really want you to say yes. But this isn’t going to be easy. Your job will be to help me figure out how to run this business. At this point, I can barely remember how to add or subtract. It’ll mean really long hours. I’ve only got three months, and right now, quite frankly, I couldn’t run a business if my life depended on it. So if you aren’t absolutely sure or if you’re doing this just to help me out of a tough spot or if you’re going to regret this tomorrow…” He looked searchingly into her eyes. “I want you to be really sure.”
She looked back at this man who was half Matt, half her fantasy man and didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”
A flood of emotions crossed his face. “Well, all right,” he said and handed her the copy of the will. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow after the auditions. We can start work then.”
Maggie glanced through the will—it was fourteen pages long. “We should forget about the auditions. If we only have three months—”
“No,” Matt said. “I’m not giving up a chance to be in another show with you. And rehearsals are only, what? A couple evenings a week?”
“Except for the last week before it opens,” she chided him. “Then it’s every week. We really can’t—”
“Yes, we can,” he said. “The show won’t open until the end of my fiscal quarter. If we haven’t succeeded by then…” He shrugged. “It’ll be too late.”
“I just don’t think we should take on too much at once,” Maggie told him.
The smile he gave her was beautiful. “You worry too much.”
“You