Liam liked Abby a lot. But he was the new assistant CFO of Gladford Technologies, with a solid six-figure income. He had power and influence, drove a convertible Miata MX-5, and had just purchased a four-bedroom, four-bathroom luxury townhouse. Abby was an intern, making a few dollars over minimum wage. 

Intern at this company was a euphemism for paid servitude. It’d be inappropriate for him to pursue a relationship with her because of the power-inequity thing they warned about in the managers’ manual. Yet here he was, slipping into the atrium alcove where she ate lunch. He straightened his blue silk tie.

He wished he’d met Abby when he was an intern, living paycheck-to-paycheck and struggling to rise above his foster-care beginnings. Was that really only five years ago? 

Abby liked bargain hunting at flea markets, reading library books, and baking. She had close relationships with her large extended family. She used her mother’s family name, Chisholm, as her own.

Her girl-next-door demeanor belied her hard-driving reputation in the mergers and acquisitions department. She’d recently received company-wide accolades for a clever solution she offered when negotiations for a multi-million-dollar acquisition were floundering. 

The company-maintained atrium with treed alcoves and benches was a lunchtime sanctuary for an introvert. He’d eaten there alone since he was an intern. Then six months ago, Abby showed up. 

He found her sitting on his favorite bench and had to sit on the other one. Liam felt imposed upon. After a week of brief greetings and obligatory small talk, they started having more meaningful conversations. Lunch became the highlight of Liam’s day and why he looked forward to Mondays.

Two weeks ago, one of their benches was moved to a newly created alcove. Abby said she’d understand if he opted for the new, empty alcove as she scooted over, inviting him to stay. Her mocha-brown eyes pulled him in.

Office romances weren’t forbidden, just discouraged. Liam understood why.

If he asked her out, people might think he was taking advantage of her inexperience and his prominent position. If she said yes, people might think she wanted to use him for personal gain.

Abby looked up from the bench and smiled. She handed him a wrapped brownie as he sat. “I made caramel-decadence brownies last night. I brought you one.” 

“Thank you.” He’d save it for his afternoon coffee break. “Did you finish the book you were reading?”

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “It was so good! Had a surprising but satisfying ending. I think you’d like it.” 

Liam preferred science fiction. But since sampling Abby’s book recommendations, he was enjoying mysteries, too.

Abby cast a nervous glance toward the alcove entrance. He followed her gaze.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve mentioned there’s someone who works at Gladford Industries that I avoid during business hours…”

“Yes.” He remembered. He didn’t like the twisting in his gut the topic caused. She’d never said whether she was dating someone. Maybe they avoided each other at work to dodge the rumormongers. 

“Well, he’s meeting me here today.” 

Liam shifted further from her on the bench. 

She picked up a gift bag he hadn’t noticed on the ground at her feet. “There’s a baby shower I was invited to. I can’t go. He’s picking up the gift to give it to the parents for me. I wanted to warn you before he shows up. It might be awkward.”

Liam wiped his hands on his pant legs. He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “It’s okay. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“Good. I’m disappointed I can’t go. Ella is so sweet. I’m thrilled she’s finally having a baby.”

She showed him the items in the bag—a video baby monitor, clothes, and a blanket. She smoothed the purple and green striped blanket as she refolded it. “I knitted this myself.” 

“Who’s Ella?”

“She’s the chauffeur’s wife.”

What chauffeur? He was puzzling over her comment when a man called, “Abby?” 

“Yes, we’re here.”

Liam’s heart stumbled when Mr. Gladford, the six-foot-plus, broad-shouldered, billionaire president of Gladford Technologies, entered the sheltered space. Abby stood, picked up the bag, and kissed Mr. Gladford on the cheek. 

“Thanks for doing this, Dad. I’m so disappointed I can’t go to the shower.”

Dad?

“I’ll give this to John. He’ll give it to Ella.”

Liam stood. 

“Liam, good work on that third-quarter report.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Mr. Gladford’s handshake was respectfully firm. He turned to Abby. “Is he why you wanted the bench moved?”

“Yes. We met here when we were both introverting. I liked him and wanted to assess his feelings for me before he discovered that you and I are related. Moving the bench gave him the opportunity to go back to eating alone. It also gave him the option to stay and share a bench with me.” She smiled triumphantly. “He stayed.”

Liam exhaled. 

Thinking of her as merely clever was an underestimation.

“Is he your date for the party?”

“I haven’t asked yet, but that’s my plan.” 

Mr. Gladford scrutinized Liam while rubbing his chin. “People may gossip. Family may protest, thinking he’s using you for your influence. He started out dirt-poor. Has no family.” 

They were talking about Liam like he wasn’t there. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

Abby lifted her chin. “I don’t care about his family, where he started, or what people think. I like him.” Looking at Liam, she tilted her head. “You wouldn’t care what people thought if we dated, would you?”

Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “No.”

Mr. Gladford nodded and kissed Abby on her forehead. “Carry on, Princess.” He pivoted toward the stairs, flowery gift bag in hand.

Abby smiled. “So, my mother is throwing a party on my family’s yacht on the twenty-third. It’s my father’s birthday. I’d love to have you come as my plus-one. You interested?” 

This was a story they’d tell their grandchildren.

“Yes, I am.”