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Spencer was waiting in the lobby, his coat slung over one arm as he typed away furiously on his phone.

There was something about seeing him engrossed in his work that fascinated me. 

Ever since he'd taken over the paper it had become his life blood, his very reason for getting up in the morning. He'd always been passionate and driven; when I stopped him from drinking himself into oblivion in college, I could see that. His dreams were vast and unable to be contained, he'd opened up to me about everything. How from as soon as he could clutch a pen, he wanted to write. He'd go through reams and reams of paper filling them with all the crazy schoolboy ideas in his head, stories galore. How as he got older those dreams morphed, changed into something else – publishing. He was intrigued by the way publishing houses and news outlets worked, and wanted nothing more than to immerse himself completely in their day-to-day operations. He was interested in politics, in entertainment, in law, dabbled in economics from time to time. Writing was his thing and he did it well.

That was when I enquired with my managing partners, not long after starting as an intern at Boone and Webster, about whether they had any contacts. Mr. Boone, the friendly man I'd come to consider as a father-figure in such a short time, had passed me the number of Jerry Anderson, telling me in no uncertain terms to mention the name of Eric Boone – who he owed a favor.

Looking at Spencer now, so immersed in his work, took me right back to when he'd told me that he'd secured the internship at The Global. His eyes had lit up in the most amazing way as he'd spun me around the room in his excitement, repeating his thanks over and over again, a whisper in my ear. It was difficult now, now that I knew the way he felt about me, to tell whether that was platonic.

Creeping up behind him, I jumped onto my tiptoes and covered his eyes with my manicured hands. Spencer stumbled back one step, evidently surprised.

I giggled as he grabbed my hand and swung me into his arms, dipping me down low. His eyes sparkled, shimmering blue with mischief.

"Hello, beautiful."

I grasped the lapels of his jacket as he put me back onto my feet, "Hey, you."

"God, you look even more stunning than you did this morning." Spencer put a finger under my chin and moved his lips towards mine.

I moved away, no matter how much I wanted to lean into him, "Spence!" I chastised, looking around, "Not here."

He frowned, loosening his grip on me, putting me back on my feet again, "Okay."

"Don't be like that." I responded, clutching his arm.

"No I get it." He replied, pouting.

Reaching over to his face, I planted a kiss on the edge of his mouth, "You know why, Spence."

"I get it." He nodded, "It's okay. You're just very beautiful, difficult to remain self-possessed around you," Spencer kissed the shell of my ear, placing a hand on my back, "Shall we go?"

"Of course."

Stepping outdoors, I didn't even have to utter a word before Spencer draped his suit jacket over my shoulders.

"When did you get so sweet, Haywood?"

He grinned cheekily, "Always, baby, you know that. It's cold out. I should've told you to bring a coat or something. We can swing by the apartment if you want? Pick something up?"

"Me? I've got your jacket! You must be cold. Okay, we may as well go back to the apartment I guess. Were you taking me somewhere far?"

"Just off Broadway, baby, no big deal." He smiled, stopping in front of Boone and Webster's building, "How was your day?"

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