There’s that fucking bitch who panicked when she saw me. Then she realized that while she was standing there in shock, she’d broken the cardinal rule: she was staring at him. And everyone had noticed. “I’ll get right on that, Mr. Lattimore,” she stammered, dropping her gaze, then hurried to the door. Mr. Brennbach didn’t move out of the way, and she sensed his disapproving glare as she squeezed up against the conference room table to avoid bumping into him. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, and the memory of that morning slammed into her like a truck. That scent. His arms around her. His voice in her ear, letting her know she was safe. The silk of his suit and the hardness of his arms and chest underneath. She fled down the hall, anxious to get somewhere safe. What she needed was a minute in the bathroom, to pull herself together.
