“You wanna give me a heads-up when you decide?”

He shakes his head. “This was my fault. I won’t ask you to go across town for it. Would you be available to meet after work?”

“Sure.” I extend the word on a laugh. “Are you okay, Darcy? You seem out of sorts.”

“No, no, not at all,” he says, the assurance rushed and not even slightly convincing. He proposes a bar around the corner, and we arrange to meet at five. “I’ll even bring the check this time. Sorry for the inconvenience. And the interruption.” He nods, the gesture oddly close to a bow, and heads out.

I watch his retreat, following his blurry outline on the opposite side of the frosted glass separating the break room from reception.

Ming stands beside me. “I think we’re seeing some signs of temptation.”

I nod, biting my lower lip. There’s zero reason why he had to be the one to bring by the check. He could have sent Marley or a courier, or handled it digitally. And now we’re having drinks . . .

Ming flicks the side of my boob hard enough that I yelp. I cradle the assaulted breast. “Dickhead!”

She cackles. “I’m definitely putting cups in that. Later, though. If you don’t wear this out with him, you don’t deserve it anyway.”

When I get to the bar, I order a reposado, hoping that the burn will numb the guilt gnawing at my insides. Since Darcy left the office, I grappled with the decision to tell Jane about the rendezvous. Eventually, I elected not to. This is merely a business meeting taking place in a social setting. The check will be the priority.

And when that three-second transaction is complete, I’ll grill him about Charles.

And Wickham.

Darcy appears just as the sting from the first sip of reposado subsides. “Good evening.” His entire aspect is more at ease than it was at the office: broad smile, no tie, and when he hangs his jacket on the back of his chair, his sleeves are rolled up in that casual, appealing way. “How was the rest of your afternoon?”

“Fine,” I say, watching him settle into his seat. The man seems perfectly content—a far cry from the anxiety ball he was at Work It. The bizarre contrast is enough to sideline my interrogation plan. “What was with you earlier? You seemed . . . off,” I say, unsure how else to describe his behavior.

“A few things.” The slow spread of his smile makes my thighs clench, and I submit an order to all erectile tissue to stand down. “I still can’t believe I forgot the damn check. I guess I was distracted by the possibility of seeing you.”