Shipped

by Angie Hockman

Because if I’m hate-attracted to Graham Cracker-Collins?

Yeah, I caught you checking me out. Bracing a hand on my hip, I mouth the words “human resources.”

Catching my gaze, he extends his arms. “Human resources,” he mouths. My lips threaten to smile, so I shake my head and look away.

I’m not sure what happened there, but it was unprofessional, unprovoked, and I liked it. Way. Too. Much.

But this is Graham Cracker-Collins, not some random piece of eye candy.

I can force anything. I haven’t met a problem yet that I couldn’t solve with single-minded determination and a whole hell of a lot of effort.

Even at this distance, I can tell he’s shaking his head. When he sees me looking, he points directly at me, draws an enormous heart in the air with both index fingers, then thumbs his own chest. And it’s not cute at all, damn it.

“And in our weekly video conferences, you wear those dresses—very professional. But pretty too. Colorful.” Heat floods my cheeks. “Oh, um…” He laughs. “I’m saying I like them. Your style is like you—a sucker punch people don’t see coming.”

“True. But life is what you make it. It’s a balancing act. If all you do is work, you’ll wake up one day—ten, twenty, fifty years from now—utterly exhausted. Then you’ll be dead.”

“She’s perfect,” I murmur. “I think so too,” he says softly. But he’s not looking at the picture of his dog. He’s looking at me.

“I’m sorry for not making it immediately clear to your sister that I wasn’t interested. I should have set her straight, but I wanted to see how you would react. And boy, did you react.”

“You gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, you might feel the same way about me as I feel about you.” “How do you feel about me?” I whisper. “Usually? Irritation and an extreme urge to shove a whipped-cream pie in your face. But also, desperation. Desire. And, fuck, I want to kiss you.” Graeme Crawford-Collins wants to kiss me.

“So you’re telling me that your competition, your ultimate adversary, went to bat—for you?” I twist the belt of my robe around my fist. “Well, yeah.”

“Girl, he has got it bad.”

“He does not.” The words aren’t believable even to my own ...

The most genuine, soul-stirring smile forms and his entire aspect brightens when his eyes meet mine. My steps falter. No one’s ever looked at me like that before—like I’m the sunrise after a long winter’s night. Or the first present on Christmas morning. It’s a look you see in movies, and from Graeme, it’s devastating.

“I respect you, Henley. You say you don’t want to do this? Okay. I’ll leave you alone. You say you want to give us a shot but keep it on the DL? I’m down. This is your decision, your choice. I would never do anything you don’t want to do, including reveal personal feelings at work if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Who am I kidding? I want Graeme’s company like a drowning man wants oxygen. Even if I can’t admit it out loud.

But an unspoken understanding hangs in the space between us, heavy and undeniable… This just went way past any bet.

“I win,” he breathes. “Technically,” I murmur between kisses. “You kissed me. So I win.” “It’s a tie.” “Deal.”

Besides, Graeme is hiding in the bathroom merely a few feet away. All it’d take is one scream and he’d come running.

I like him so much it scares me.

“So I just want to say thank you. For everything. No matter what happens with the promotion or us or any of it, know that I’ll always cherish this time with you. You are the kindest, most caring man I’ve ever had the privilege to know. Your resilience inspires me. I’m in awe of you.”

I scan my apps to find a new notification—it’s from Instagram. One new follower. I gasp when I open it.

Graeme Cracker_Collins has followed me. Graham Cracker. My own private nickname for him. My heart gallops and my chest aches.

Graeme Cracker_Collins: To the woman who inspired me to rejoin the world, “thank you” will never be enough.

I open the front door. And nearly faint. It’s not Barbara. Graeme is standing in my hallway. It’s him. Here. In person.

“When I couldn’t reach you, I messaged Walsh to make sure you were okay. She told me, very emphatically, that I should hop the first flight to Seattle. So here I am. And, well, I thought I’d give you this.” Reaching into his bag, he pulls something out—a postcard. My postcard.

I’ve been chasing a shark all evening, and with Graeme here… I might chase the biggest shark of all.

“You know, I think I could fall in love with you.” Warmth floods my chest. “Ditto.”

He presses a tender kiss to my temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

“What are you doing a month from today?” “Hanging out with my girlfriend.” I blink. “Excuse me, what?” “You. I’m hanging out with you.” “Girlfriend?” I repeat. “Is that okay?” “Definitely.”