Neville reflected during his fifth consecutive day of working late that the problem was that he no longer had the heart for this.
He stood at the kitchenette, preparing Grayson's afternoon tea as he had learn. His hands knew the motions by now, so he could do it even though his mind was elsewhere.
To the silver eyes going dark with something that might have been desire. To the warmth of lips pressed against his own. To the whispered words that lingered in his memory.
None of it was real. Not anymore.
Neville carried the finished cup to Grayson's desk, set it down at the precise spot that allowed for easy reaching without disturbing Grayson, and retreated to his own workstation.
He pulled up the next item on his task list and forced himself to focus on the dense legal language.
"You've been distracted."
Neville's fingers paused, and he looked up to find Grayson watching him. He held the teacup loosely in one hand.
"My apologies, Mr. Maxwell. Did I miss something?"
