Brock had.
“But those apologies aren’t enough,” he added.
I studied his profile, dread building as I started to understand him. “You don’t have to be friends with me because of what happened, because you feel guilty or—”
“It’s not that. Not what I mean at all.” His gaze flew to mine and he leaned in toward me, leaving only a few scant inches between us. “I don’t want you to come to work and stress about having to avoid me. I want you to be comfortable there.” A lock of brown hair fell forward, brushing his forehead. “I know what I’m asking for is a lot. I know that there’s a good chance I don’t even deserve it, but I want us to be friends, Jillian.”
Friends.
God, at one time, hearing him say that would’ve shattered my poor heart into smithereens, but now? I didn’t know how to feel about that. Brock and I, as silly as it sounded back then with the age difference, had been best friends. Losing all that girlish hope that one day we’d have that romance-book happily-ever-after had been terrible. Ending the friendship had hurt worse, because when I cut him out of my life, I lost my closest friend—my partner in crime and adventure.
“Can we do that?” he asked. “I’m being for real. When I said last Monday this felt like a second chance, I meant that. Can we at least try?”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure—had no idea if I could truly be friends with Brock. Not because he hadn’t returned my feelings once upon a time. It didn’t even have anything to do with what had happened to me the night Brock claimed he’d let me down in the worst ways possible, because I didn’t blame him for what happened.
But I wasn’t sure if we could be friends without me . . . without me falling deep again, slipping under, and catching the kind of feelings for him that would inevitably end in another heartbreak.
It wasn’t that I was that weak when it came to the opposite sex, but Brock had a kind of magnetism that drew you in, even when you resisted. It was that teasing playfulness of him, the way he doled out affection once he got to know you and how he easily, with no effort, made you feel like you were the most important person in his world. It was how he made you forget that all those things didn’t necessarily make you a special snowflake. It was just how he was, and even the brightest and strongest women out there could be sucked in.
But Brock wasn’t available. He was engaged. There was a barbed-wire-covered wall between us, a deep line in the sand that would never allow me to even ponder those thoughts. Not that I was thinking them now.
“And if you think we can’t, what do I have to do to change your mind?” His jaw softened. “More doughnuts? I’m sure you still like Reese’s Pieces. I can include a weekly supply as a part of your employment package.”
I started to smile, so I curved my fingers over my mouth.
“What do you say?” he asked, nudging my arm with his.
Glancing up at him as I lowered my hand, I decided I could at least try, because it would make working together easier. I was getting tired of pretending I was on the phone. “Okay.”
The smile that spread across his face proved a man could be masculine and beautiful, because that smile robbed the air right out of my lungs, and I immediately had to picture those barbed-wire-covered walls and the mile-deep line in the sand.
Friends.
I could do this.
Chapter 9
“I know what I’m doing.”
“No.” Brock, who was currently hovering behind my chair Friday morning, reached around me and snatched the mouse out from underneath my hand. “I think you need to click that.”
“No, I don’t.” I smacked his hand away, taking control of the mouse as I tried to move the graphic over so it was centered. Brock’s sigh stirred the hair along my left cheek, sending a shiver curling down my spine.
“All you have to do is click on the centering button.”
“Yeah, I already did that.” I leaned to the right when he tried grabbing for the mouse again. I swatted his hand again. “Don’t you have something better to do?” I asked, scooting my chair back, which forced him to step aside. I looked up as he moved to lean against my desk. “Approving advertisements is my job. I would already have this done if you weren’t in here trying to backseat computer click me.”
“Backseat computer click?” His forehead creased. “That sounds kind—”
“Don’t even say it.”
An innocent look crossed his face. “Apparently it’s not me who has their mind in the gutter. I was going to say it sounded like a video game.”
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, carefully, I moved the mouse just a fraction of a centimeter, successfully centering the block of text. “Ah-ha! Done.”
“You’re so talented.”
I shot him a look, and he grinned.
Paul appeared in the open doorway. He was a tall and lithe, middle-aged man with fair blond hair and bright blue eyes. Dressed in the Lima Academy polo and black nylon pants, he blended in with any number of the sales associates out on the floor, but he was one of the trainers from the second floor. He’d been here since the Academy opened.
I didn’t know him very well since the trainers and scouts were mostly Brock’s responsibility, but whenever he looked at me, like he did now, I had the harsh impression that he thought my position was pretty useless.
Most of the employees appeared to accept me, like Andre had insisted would be the case, but Paul looked at me like I was about as wanted as a cold sore.