You Are Still Mine
His fingers are warm—a normal, human sensation that has nothing to do with the electric shocks Amy makes me feel.
“Camila Contreras,” I reply. “Is my reputation really that bad?”
“Not yours, but the position's,” Julian jokes, leaning against the counter in a relaxed manner, subtly invading my personal space, though in a friendly way. “The average lifespan at that desk is ten days, but judging by the way you look, I think you could break the record.”
“How do I look?” I ask him, curious.
Julian leans in a bit closer, lowering his voice to a playful tone.