On Monday morning, Graham slithers up to my cubicle.

“Did you have a good weekend, Noelle?” He peers at me over the rim of his coffee mug, taking sip after endless sip.

“Yeah,” I smile. “It was really nice. Thanks.”

It was beyond nice, but I’m not going to tell Graham—or anyone other than Claire—that. After waking up Sunday morning, Zach and I spent several more hours rolling around in bed. Then we had breakfast together out on the patio. A walk around the lake completed the perfect day. When it was time to leave, I had to drag myself to the car.

But now that I’m back to work, it’s time to focus on the task at hand. The most important piece I’ve ever written.

The plan I have is a risky one, but it’s worth taking. If I’m going to crash and burn, I might as well do it pursuing something worthwhile.

“Really nice?” Graham repeats, eyebrows rising. “You’re smiling awfully big there, missy.”

“Yes, Graham. Really nice. How was your weekend?”

He waves his hand. “Same old, same old. Hey, I heard you’re working on something really special for stick-up-his-ass Ford.”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing glamorous, really. Just a piece on a tech billionaire.”

“Hm.” He studies me, and I hate that I’m wondering if he thinks I only got this assignment because I’m a young, decent-looking female.

But that was only part of the reason. Ethan told me himself that my writing is good. I’m going to choose to really believe him.

“See you later.” Graham pats the flimsy partition and leaves.

I watch him go, my eyes trailing to the doorway that opens to the main hallway. Ethan’s office is down there to the left. I don’t know if he’s here today. The Franciscan Tribune is one of many papers that he owns. It was just luck that I caught him here when I stormed into his office last week.

I would love to see him, though. Not even to do anything. Just to say hello, to ask him a little bit about his weekend.

As if on cue, my cellphone buzzes. A message from Ethan.

Come to my office, he instructs.

I have to bite back a smile as I text back a quick ‘on my way’.

Standing up, I straighten my pleated skirt and grab a notebook. This summoning is either about work or something else… But I need to be prepared.

I do my best to keep my face smooth as I walk down the hall and announce myself to Ethan’s assistant. I’m sent in right away, and the door swings closed behind me.

“Noelle.” Ethan rises from behind his desk.

I swallow the ball of nerves that worked its way into my throat during my walk down the hall. Ethan is so handsome I can’t help but come undone in front of him. As he reaches for me, hands going to my waist, I count my reactions.

There’s lust. Giddiness. Guilt. I don’t know which one to believe in, so I let them all wash over me. No fighting what’s happening. As I’m learning lately, just going with the flow is often the best choice.

“You look delicious today,” Ethan rumbles, his eyes drinking me up.

My lips twist up. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“How is the article going?” He juts his chin up in interest.

So this is about the article.

“Good,” I slowly answer. “That second interview went really well. Zach gave me his backstory. You know, about growing up and school and all…”

I trail off, studying his face to see if any of this is enticing. Ethan’s face is expressionless, though.

Taking in a deep breath, I steel myself. Here goes nothing. “Don’t you ever wonder about how he’s doing now?”

Ethan stiffens. “Why would I?”

“Because he used to be your friend.”

Ethan disparagingly shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean anything, Noelle,” he barks.

I flinch at the tone of his voice, and he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not mad at you. I’m the one who assigned you this article, so if it’s causing me any problems…”

A sad look flashes across his face, but it’s only there for a second. No sooner has it arrived than it’s gone, replaced by a mischievous grin.

“Did I tell you yet how fucking sexy you are today?”

“You might have mentioned it,” I coyly answer.

I let Ethan pull me to him, and when he kisses me, all the passion of that day in my apartment comes right back. I drop my notebook to the floor as he pulls me in tighter, his tongue probing my mouth.

Want thrums through me, tight and needy. We kiss heartily, Ethan walking me backward as we do so.

My rear hits the edge of his desk, and his hands go down on either side of the wood. With his palms planted on the desk, his mouth jumps south. Hungry sucks on my neck make me sigh. He knows just where to kiss, how hard to bite…

A sudden knock on the door makes us both stand up straight. My heart pounding, I smooth down my hair as we exchange a quick look.

Ethan clears his throat. “What?”

“Your nine o’clock is here, sir,” says someone—his secretary, I think.

“I guess I should get back to work,” I whisper, scurrying to pick up my dropped notebook.

Ethan lightly grabs my wrist. “Soon.”

My pulse doubles. “Soon,” I repeat.

His gaze dances down my body. “It took everything in me not to come find you this weekend.”

I swallow hard. What is he suggesting?

“I’m pretty easy to track,” I smile. “Just look me up on any social media site.”

“I’m not on those,” he smirks, coming closer.

I lift my face to his, breath hitching. “I know,” I whisper.

There’s a second knock. Somehow, we forgot ourselves yet again.

“One second,” Ethan harshly says as he releases me.

He opens the door for me, and I hurry out, making a point to not look at the secretary or the man waiting in a nearby chair. I’m almost certain that what Ethan and I were just doing is written all over my face.

The open-working space is quiet, only soft murmuring and the clicking of keys filling the air. Everything that just happened in Ethan’s office runs through my mind again, his touches, his words…

His words.

It hits me like a freight train. I’ve spent a ridiculous number of hours scouring the internet for clues as to what really went down between Ethan and Zach. I figured from the get-go that social media was a bust, as neither one of them have profiles on any social or networking sites.

But that doesn’t mean the answers I need aren’t on one of those sites, right under my nose.

Opening up my computer’s browser, I go straight to Facebook. Since I know Ethan and Zach went to Stanford, and I know the year they graduated, I have a running start. There are groups for each graduating year, but they are all closed, unfortunately.

But at least I can click through any photos that were used as profile pictures. I lean close to the screen as I browse, inspecting every pixel of color.

Smiling students on green, grassy lawns. Tailgating pics. A million graduation photos. Some mild party shots. And then…in the background of a picture at a house party, there it is.

My answer.