“It’s fine, no big deal.”

He reached for my hand. I pulled it away, stepped back, and crossed my arms over my chest. His forehead wrinkled, betraying his confusion, and his eyes scanned me.

“Annie—”

“No, really, I’m sorry. I, we…this can’t happen. The gifts, it’s too much. Everything was wonderful, and your notes, they were so…and I can’t tell you how much I love—but this, we, us…it just isn’t ever going to happen.”

His eyes narrowed on me; and I could see that he was preparing to argue, so I cut him off.

“It’s because I’m a mess, okay? I’m a complete mess.”

“Everyone is a mess.”

“Not like me. This” —I pointed to my face— “I am crazy. I have severe abandonment issues and daddy issues and mommy issues. I’m not just shy. I’m petrified. And I don’t want to change. I like my life. I like having control over everything. I don’t want….” I swallowed and looked away, no longer able to meet the burning intensity of his gaze. “I don’t want you.”

“I know that’s a lie.”

“I don’t want you, Ronan,” I whispered harshly. “Not enough to change who I am.”

We stood there in silence, and I could feel his eyes on me. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as a war within me raged. I wanted to touch him, and I wanted to never see him again.

Just when the moment grew unbearable, Ronan turned away. He shuffled to the table we’d abandoned, pulling a bill from his pocket and placing it on the table. He paused there, obviously collecting his thoughts, then walked back to me. With measured slowness, he reached for my hand.

“Ronan, don’t—”

“I’m not asking you for anything. I just want to hold your goddamn hand, okay?”

My gaze flickered to his face, found his expression hard and determined. I nodded once and fit my fingers in his, ignoring the spark that traveled up my arm and the deep, fathomless swelling of want that choked my throat, making it impossible to speak.

He led us out of the bakery, down the sidewalk, across the two blocks, and back to my office building. We didn’t speak, and his hold on my hand was firm but not tight. If I’d wanted to, I could have removed myself, but I didn’t. When we stopped at intersections, he’d brush his thumb over my knuckles and between my fingers in a sweeping circle. The movement sent spikes of fluttering awareness to my lower belly.

But I couldn’t speak, and I could barely breathe. I still had the necklace in my bag, and I was still intent on returning it; but I knew now was not the time.

He didn’t let go of my hand until we were in the elevator, on our way up to the office. He stood on the opposite side of the carriage and wouldn’t look at me. The fury was back, the tortured and sorrowful rim around his eyes, and I felt like the biggest jerk on the planet because I had a part in putting it there.

When the doors opened, he waited for me to exit first. I walked in front of him, trying to figure out what to say, how to move us back to a professional space and away from Annie and Ronan. We needed to be Ms. Catrel and Mr. Fitzpatrick; we needed to work together.

I paid no heed to the receptionist as I walked past, but she stopped me.

“Oh! Ms. Catrel! Mr. Fitzpatrick! They’re all waiting for you in conference room two. You need to go there now, like, right now!”

I glanced at Ronan over my shoulder. His gorgeous face was marred with a scowl.

“Why?”

“It’s about the pictures,” she said, jumping to her feet. She looked at him, then at me, then at him again. Clearly, she expected us to know what she was talking about.

“What pictures?” he asked after a pause. “Did Brona publish pictures?”

“What? No. Not Ms. O’Shea. It’s the pictures of you and Ms. Catrel from today….” The blonde receptionist tsked then waved us over.

I shared another wary glance with Ronan, then walked around her desk, and leaned over her shoulder to see the computer screen.

Her next words were whispered. “See, outside the building. His arm is around you, and you’re laughing. And then these” —she scrolled farther down— “where you’re…well, you’re kissing.”

“What?” Ronan flinched then joined us behind her desk.

Sure enough, clear as day, there were pictures documenting my last hour with Ronan—well, everything leading up to and including the kiss. There were no pictures of us walking back to the building. I had to wonder if they just hadn’t been loaded yet.

But I couldn’t think.

I couldn’t process what this meant.

Dumbly, I asked, “And Joan? Joan has seen these?”

She nodded, “Oh, yes. That’s why they’re waiting for you in conference room two. You both need to go there right now.”

I straightened, my mind a mess, and blinked at Ronan.

He appeared to be baffled but not upset. Mostly just perplexed and surprised.

Meanwhile, I was twisting my fingers together and worrying my bottom lip and trying to plan a graceful exit strategy from Davidson & Croft. There was no way, no way on a cold day in Hawaii, that I was going to keep working here. Not after that. Not after my co-workers had seen pictures of me kissing a client. I was…. It was the worst kind of unprofessional behavior.

“There you are.” Joan’s voice roused me from my panicked planning. I didn’t even get two seconds to prepare before she was on us. “You two need to come with me.”