My brows jumped. “Homeslice? As in the singular for my homies?”

He grinned. “I was obviously teasing, but then the food delivery interrupted our discussion, and I guess I failed to circle back and tell her I hadn’t been serious.”

“And she repeated it to her mother? I take it that didn’t go over too well.”

Hudson shook his head. “It gets worse. A few months ago, I was arguing with my ex-wife. She’d told me not to give Charlie ice cream anymore because her sister said being lactose intolerant was hereditary. I wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but Charlie is most definitely not lactose intolerant—she eats enough ice cream that we’d know if she was. We got into words about her sister butting her nose in again, and I called Rachel laughtose intolerant. After the argument, I didn’t even remember saying it until Charlie mentioned it again. I’d had no idea she was listening. But she was.” He took a breath. “Today it was Charlie’s turn for show and tell in class, and she brought in a picture of the last sonogram of her aunt’s baby. She told everyone her new cousin was going to be named Homeslice, and when the teacher said whoever told her that might’ve been joking around, Charlie said her aunt didn’t tell jokes because she’s laughtose intolerant.”

I covered my mouth. “Oh my God. That’s freaking hysterical.”

Hudson grinned. “It is, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Too bad my ex-wife lost her sense of humor a long time ago.”

“Well, if it helps any, I think it’s funny as hell. Most kids definitely overshare. In the ten minutes I sat with Charlie the other day, I learned you went to the beach last week, she once got a bellyache from an ice cream shop, and you write her notes on the fruit in her lunchbox. By the way, I think it’s very sweet that you do that.”

“When she first started kindergarten, she got really anxious at lunch because she wasn’t sure who to sit with. I wrote her the notes to help her relax while she unpacked her food. It sort of stuck.”

“I love that.”

He smiled. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we call it a day, and we can pick up here tomorrow? I’d like the marketing department to be involved when we get to the next topics anyway.”

“Oh, okay… Sure.”

We went back to our respective offices. A few minutes later, Hudson walked by on his way out and stopped.

“Plans with Ben tonight?”

I smiled. “No.”

“Good.” He rapped his knuckles against the doorjamb. “Don’t stay too late. You’re the last one here, and the cleaning people already came and went, so I’ll lock the door behind me when I leave.”

“Okay, thank you. I just have a few more things I want to finish up before I head out, too.”

He nodded and turned to leave, but then took a step back. “By the way, I heard you loud and clear earlier, so I won’t be asking you out again.”

The smile on my face wilted. “Oh…okay.”

He winked. “I’ll wait for you to ask me this time. Goodnight, Stella.”

***

When Hudson left, my concentration went with him. But I needed to get some work done before I could head home. There’d be plenty of time for overanalyzing every word the man said later—maybe while I was naked in a hot bath or while I de-stressed with the vibrator I kept in my nightstand. Right now I needed to work on the spreadsheet I’d been procrastinating about finishing all day. I wanted to have everything ready to go over with the team first thing in the morning.

But Excel wasn’t my jam to begin with, and it was getting late. So after I opened the spreadsheet, I just stared at the numbers. Unable to focus, I decided to dig my earbuds out of my purse. Classical music always helped me get into a zone. But as I worked, the office started to get really warm. The air conditioning must’ve been on a timer. Since I would use just about any excuse to take a break from working on a spreadsheet, I decided I needed to get some cold water from the lunchroom down the hall.

Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” came on while I filled my big cup with crushed ice from the refrigerator door, and I couldn’t help myself. Each and every time I heard it, I pretended to be the conductor. No one was around, so what the hell? I set my cup down on the counter, closed my eyes, and let the intensity of the music guide my arms as they waved around in the air. Nothing eased my mind like leading an orchestra. I got so into the moment that I became lost.

Until…

I felt someone grab me from behind. Startled, I spun around. Acting purely on instinct and adrenaline, I balled up my fist, leaned back, and swung with all my might.

I connected with what felt like a brick wall, though I couldn’t be sure since my eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

But then I heard a voice over the music.

“Fuck,” it growled.

And my stomach dropped.

No.

Just no.

I couldn’t have.

Please, dear Lord, let it be anyone but him.

My eyes flashed open to confirm what I already knew.

God hadn’t been listening.

Because I’d just landed a punch square on the nose…

of Hudson.

CHAPTER 12

Hudson

“What the fuck!” My hands flew up to my nose.

“Oh my God! Hudson! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

My eyes had started to water, so I assumed that was the wetness I felt. Until I took my hands away and realized they were covered in blood.

“Holy shit! You’re bleeding!” Stella grabbed a roll of paper towels off the counter. Ripping off a bunch, she wadded them into a ball and attempted to shove it in my face.

I swiped it from her hands.

“I’m so sorry. I—You…you scared me!”

I pressed the paper towels to my gushing nose. “I said your name twice, but you didn’t answer.”

She plucked a wireless earbud from her ear. “I have these in, and the music was loud.”

I shook my head. “You were flailing your arms around—I thought you were choking.”

Stella frowned. “I was conducting.”

“Conducting?”

“Yeah, you know, pretending to be the conductor in a symphony.”

I stared at her like she had two heads. “No, I don’t know. It isn’t often that I conduct a symphony in the kitchen at the office.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You should try it. It’s good for the soul.”

“I think I’ll skip giving that a shot considering how well your attempt just worked out.” I pointed to the roll of paper towels. “Can you hand me those?”

“Oh, God…it’s still not stopping.”

I swapped out the bloody paper towels for some fresh ones. Stella began to look a little pale.

“You should sit down,” she said. “Put your head back.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who should be sitting. You look like a ghost. Sit down, Stella.”

She held on to the table while she slipped into a chair. “I don’t like blood. It makes me feel queasy. Maybe we should both sit.”

Since it didn’t seem like my nose planned to stop anytime soon, I sat down across from her.