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“Why do you keep answering like this?” By this he means in a cutesy way. I’ve been changing the tagline each time, but the gist of it is always the same.
“Because it annoys you, and it’s the only way I can fight back against your malicious hazing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says deadpan, but I hear a note of mischievousness in there. “I’m going out tonight. I need you to pick up my suit from the dry cleaners and bring it to my house.”
I drag in one deep breath through my nose and release it slowly.
“Hm, that sounds like a lot of fun, but I happen to know you have several killer-looking suits in your closet. And rumor has it, they’re feeling pretty lonely and forgotten. I bet if you wore one of those, it would boost morale for your entire closet.”
He’s not having it. “I need my dry cleaning by six.”
“Bysix…?” I draw out the word and then let it dangle in a question.
“Yes. By six.”
“No, I’m saying, by six what?”
“Six on the dot. Not before, not after.”
I groan and refrain from banging my head on my desk. “No, Derek! You’re missing the wordplease! I need for you to at least say the wordpleasewhen you’re being a demeaning poop-nugget.”
“And I need for you to use real insults like a grown-up, but we can’t both get our way. Feel free to quit if—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the speech. I’ll have your suit to you by six.”
I hang up before he has a chance to not say thank you.
Nicole’s advice pings in my brain, but how can I be expected to turn the tables on him when he’s in the offseason and seems to have all the time in the world at his fingertips to boss me around? And don’t even think I haven’t noticed the way he’s been avoiding his friends. Never hanging out with them or returning their calls and texts. It seems Derek’s entire life is devoted to training and ruining my life. Which at first, I thought was simply because he hates me…but now, I’m thinking it’s for an entirely different reason I’ve been overlooking.
And then it hits me. The most glorious plan ever. But I’m going to need to recruit some help.
If it’s a suit Derek wants…it’s a suit he’s going to get.
She’s late. It’s six-thirty and she’s not here with my suit. I need her to be here. And I need that suit. Actually, I don’t need the suit, because like she said, I have plenty of suits to wear. But how can I annoy the shit out of her if she’s not here? She’s supposed to be here.
I pace by my front door.
Back and forth, back and forth with my phone pressed to my ear. The call rings repetitively but never connects. Now I’m not just pissed, I’m concerned. Nora’s been answering my calls and texts promptly every day for the last two weeks. What if something happened to her? What if she got in an accident on the way here? On the way to bring me a suit that I don’t even need.
I run a hand through my hair, considering calling the hospitals, but just as I think it, I hear the sound of a car coming up my driveway. I look through the window just long enough to confirm that it’s her, and then without thinking, I charge out the front door and meet her in the driveway.
She steps out of her car and a breeze whips her hair into her face. Even though she has no reason to, she smiles when she spots mebarreling toward her. She is sunshine parting the clouds in my miserable day, and it makes me angrier.
It’s how I’ve felt the entire two weeks working with her. I’m supposed to hate her. I’m supposed to find her smile irritating. And those weird quirky catchphrases? Really supposed to hate those. But do I?No way.If anything, I have to fight with everything in me to not smile when she banters at me. To not wrap her in my arms every time she’s within reach.
Which leads to the familiar anger—but not with Nora, with myself.
Irritated that I’m once again having a positive reaction to the sight of her, I put my hands in my pockets. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
Her smile widens and she steps past me with a suit bag draped over her shoulder. “Sorry, Dere-Bear. My phone died about an hour ago. And I forgot that I took my charger into the office.” She peeks at me over her shoulder. “You weren’t worried, were you?” There’s a teasing spark in her green-gold eyes and I have to turn away, so I don’t kiss it off.
“No. Just need my suit.” Jeez, I’m tired of acting like an overbearing dick. I really thought she’d have quit by now. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Her smile falters a smidge, but she recovers it quickly. “Well, here it is! The suit of your dreams.”
Something about the way she says this sounds suspicious. It’s then that I really notice the garment bag. It’s not the usual clear one from my dry cleaner—this one is sleek and black and opaque. This one is from a designer.
“What the hell is that?” I ask her, even though I know what it is. She has the look of a person who just bested me.
