“The moment in the restaurant was just like the kiss,” she said, frowning. “It started out almost jokingly, very pretend, and then something shifted. And I don’t really know what.”

“Do you think he noticed the shift, too?”

“Maybe? I don’t know, and that’s what bothers me more than anything. I keep getting the sense that there are things he’s not telling me. He’s holding back, and he’s never held back around me before.”

“He might be right to keep his distance,” Claire said gently, coming to sit on Audrey’s other side. “You guys are playing with fire here. Blurring the lines of your friendship with romance is dangerous territory. Maybe he knows, even on an instinctive level, that it’s smart to keep some distance.”

Audrey swallowed, the thought of Clarke keeping his distance feeling totally depressing.

“Okay, I’m going to ask something that’s not my business,” Naomi said.

“Now, there’s a surprise,” Claire said.

Naomi gave Claire a toothy smile and turned back to Audrey. “Have you ever thought about trying this whole romance thing for real with Clarke?”

Audrey groaned. “Not this again. I’ve told you two a thousand times that we’re really, truly, just friends.”

“Yes, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before you knew he was a good kisser. Before you held hands. Before you had feels,” Naomi said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“I do not have feels,” Audrey said shortly, standing to indicate the conversation was over.

She handed over her champagne to Claire and headed back into the dressing room.

I do not have feels, she repeated to herself. I do not have feels.

Swallowing, she put a hand to her stomach, realizing with dismay that saying it aloud and thinking it repeatedly didn’t seem to make it true.

Chapter Eleven

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29

Yeah,” Clarke called, not looking up from his computer at the knock on the door. Clarke didn’t close his door very often, preferring to keep the exact opposite work environment his father offered.

If Alton West could have built a moat around his top-floor office, he would have. Instead he settled for regulating the elevator. Nobody could even get to the CEO’s office unless personally escorted by Clarke’s father’s longtime assistant.

Clarke’s own office was on the floor just below the CEO’s, and he made a point of keeping it as open and accessible as possible. Not because he particularly relished interruptions, but because he found that people worked harder and worked better when they felt heard.

Still, the open-door philosophy, while ideal in theory, wasn’t always ideal for Clarke’s productivity. The past month in particular, Clarke had been scrambling to keep up with the constant influx of questions and demands crossing his desk.