Coffee dripped from my collar, burning against my skin.
Augustus's ruined shirt clung to his chest, the white cotton transparent where the liquid soaked through.
I'd been so lost in my head I hadn't looked up. Hadn't noticed him stepping into the elevator. Hadn't paid attention to anything except my stupid victory lap over successfully making coffee.
And now we were both drenched.
Heat flooded my cheeks. My silk blouse stuck to my torso, probably revealing the lace beneath.
Augustus could see everything—the coffee stains, my mortification, the absolute mess I'd become.
I should apologize. Say sorry. Take responsibility like an adult.
"You ran into me."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Augustus raised one dark eyebrow, water droplets clinging to his hair.
"You were standing in the elevator doors," I continued, momentum carrying me forward despite the alarm bells screaming in my brain. "I couldn't exactly stop mid-step."
"You weren't watching where you were going."
"Neither were you."
Coffee pooled around our feet. The elevator doors tried to close, bumped against Augustus's shoulder, and opened again with a mechanical sigh.
His jaw tightened.
"I was stationary. You walked into a stationary object."
"Maybe stationary objects shouldn't lurk in elevator doorways."
I sounded like a petulant child. I knew it. Couldn't seem to stop it.
Augustus's gaze dropped to my ruined blouse, then lifted to my face.
"My office. Now."
"I need to clean this up first." I gestured at the puddle spreading across marble. "The floor, and I should find a—"
"I'll inform the cleaners."
Augustus's hand closed around my wrist.
Not rough, but firm enough that I couldn't pull away without making it obvious I was trying. His fingers pressed against my pulse point, and I wondered if he could feel how fast my heart hammered.
"Augustus, I'm soaked—"
He steered me toward his office, ignoring my protest. The elevator doors finally closed behind us with a soft hiss.
Coffee squelched in my shoes with each step.
We crossed the threshold into his pristine domain, and he released my wrist only to reach past me and close the door with a decisive click.
The lock engaged.
I spun to face him, words dying on my tongue.
We stood inches apart in the sudden silence. Steam rose from both our ruined clothes. A droplet of coffee traced down his throat, disappearing beneath his collar.
His eyes darkened as they swept over me, lingering where silk clung to skin.
"Stay there," he ordered quietly.
Then he turned toward the private door I'd noticed earlier—the one I'd assumed led to storage.
Or perhaps something far more personal.
Augustus disappeared through the private door, and I stood dripping on his pristine carpet, arms wrapped around myself like that might somehow restore my dignity.
He emerged thirty seconds later carrying two crisp white shirts still in dry-cleaning plastic.
"Here." He handed me one without ceremony.
The fabric felt expensive beneath my fingertips. Egyptian cotton.
"There's no point crying over spilled coffee." He grabbed the second shirt for himself. "Which is why I always have backup clothes in my office. Something you'll need to keep in mind as my assistant."
Of course Augustus Evans had a contingency plan for every possible disaster, including clumsy assistants destroying his wardrobe.
I clutched the shirt to my chest, hyper-aware of how the wet silk clung to my skin.
"Turn around."
"What?"
"Unless you'd prefer I watch you change?" His expression remained neutral, but something flickered in those dark eyes.
Heat crawled up my neck. "You could leave the office."
"It's my office."
"Then I'll change in the bathroom—"
"We're both adults, Juliette. I'm sure we can manage." He took off his tie with infuriating calm.
Before I could formulate a response, he stripped off his ruined shirt without a word.
My brain short-circuited.
I'd seen Augustus shirtless before—summers at the Evans estate, pool parties when we were younger, and that one regrettable beach trip our families took when I was nineteen.
But an older Augustus hit different.
His shoulders had broadened since then, muscle definition sharp beneath fair skin.
Water droplets traced the lines of his abdomen, disappearing beneath his belt. A small scar I didn't remember marked his ribs.
He moved with the same economical efficiency he brought to everything, shaking out the fresh shirt as if standing half-naked in front of me was perfectly normal.
"Are you planning to stare all day, or actually change?"
I whipped around, face burning.
Fabric rustled behind me as he dressed. I fumbled with my own buttons, fingers clumsy and uncooperative.
The wet blouse peeled away from my skin with obscene sounds that seemed deafening in the quiet office.
"For someone who claims I ran into them," Augustus remarked from behind me, "you seemed remarkably distracted walking off that elevator."
"I was concentrating on not spilling the coffee."
"How'd that work out?"
I yanked his shirt over my shoulders. It swallowed me—the hem falling to mid-thigh, sleeves dangling past my fingertips.
It smelled like him. Cedar and something darker and expensive.
"You can turn around now."
He'd already finished dressing, of course. Tie knotted perfectly. Not a hair out of place despite the coffee disaster.
Meanwhile, I looked like a child playing dress-up in her father's clothes.
"Thank you," I forced out. "For the shirt."
"I'm only doing this because I have a meeting in five minutes." He adjusted his cuffs with precise movements. "Couldn't have my assistant looking too disheveled."
"Right. Wouldn't want to damage the pristine Augustus Evans image."
"Exactly." His lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. "Now roll up those sleeves before you knock something else over."
I glared at him, but started rolling.
His gaze tracked the movement as I revealed my wrists, lingering just long enough to send electricity dancing across my skin.
"Better," he pronounced. "Almost presentable."
"You're welcome, by the way."
"For what?"
"Giving you an excuse to show off your emergency preparedness." I gestured at his perfectly pressed appearance. "Must be exhausting being right all the time."
"Not particularly." He moved to his desk, gathering files with brisk efficiency. "Though watching you prove my point is occasionally entertaining."