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I reach up to my nape on a scowl and rub the tension away as my phone rings. “Violet,” I answer, standing and stretching my legs.
“Hey, Ty, would you mind making a trip to this end of the office to check something over for me?”
“What is it?”
“Just some imagery for the CW article that’s due to run next month. I have the latest version up on Photoshop. I’m shading, and it would be really helpful if you look in while I do it to see if I’m getting it right.”
“Why?”
“Well, the image is of you.”
I look at the door of my office. God damn it. “Sure. I’ll make my way up now.” I drop the phone in the cradle and take a deep breath. Straighten to my full six four. Roll my shoulders back.
I swing the door open with conviction and march past Gina’s desk. “Violet needs me,” I say before she can ask where I’m going. I force my eyes to avoid scanning the office floor as I go, and force my ears not to listen out for . . . nothing. And when I pass Sal’s office, my jaw tightens, my neck muscles aching with the strain not to turn my head.
I make it to Violet’s department and relax a little. “Hey.” She slips her glasses on and positions her Trackpad where she needs it.
“What’s the problem?” I close in behind her and lean on the back of the chair, looking at photo of the rather dashing man on the screen. Me.
She clears her throat. “You said you wanted this headshot in the article, right?”
“Right.”
There’s a lingering pause. “You’re sure?”
What’s up with her? “Yes, I’m sure, what’s the issue?”
Peeking up at me, she gives me a nervous smile. “It’s probably just the light, hence why I’m shading.”
“For the love of God, Violet, will you just spit it out?”
“You look gray.”
I jolt, throwing her a horrified look. Her nervous smile stretches. “I don’t look gray.” I return my attention to the screen, my eyes narrowed and scrutinizing the image. There’s no gray. And then suddenly she clicks her trackpad and there is gray. “What the fuck?” My hands go straight to my temples and feel.
“Like I said, just the light.” Violet clicks the trackpad again and suddenly my gray is gone.
I feel sick. “Keep the shading.” I turn and bump into Mac, and I can tell by his straight lips that he just witnessed my mini meltdown. “Don’t say a word.” I storm past him, reaching up to my temples again as I head back to my office.
“Hey, is Gina in today?” Mac calls, and I look back on a frown. Then I remember. They had a drunken snog.
“Yeah, why?”
“She’s never at her desk when I pass.”
Mac has absolutely no reason to pass my office. None at all. I smile on the inside. She’s avoiding him. Good. She’s way too good for Mac. What was she thinking? “I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
“Cheers, Ty.” He disappears into the kitchen, and I round the corner, checking my reflection in a glass pane as I pass. No gray. It was the light . . . right? “Must be,” I say to myself, coming to a screaming halt when I hear a soft, erection-inducing laugh. I look up and see Lainey leaning over Gina’s desk, chuckling as Gina makes some weird hand gestures and laughs along with her. I bite down on my teeth. I’m glad someone around here has something to smile and laugh about.
“Ty,” Gina sings, and Lainey swings around, her hair wafting the air as she goes. The top few buttons of her blouse are unfastened, revealing the smooth skin of her décolletage, and her slim trousers hug her hips beautifully.
I close my eyes briefly and fight for composure. And when I open them, her laughing eyes are still blinding, but her smile now small and almost embarrassed. “Mr. Christianson,” she murmurs quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear.
I swallow and force my legs into action, passing the women. “Ladies,” I say, taking the handle of my door.
“Ladies?” Gina laughs. “I’m about as much a lady as you are a gentleman, Ty Christianson.”
It never usually bothers me when Gina throws her sarcasm at me. But today, it does. I turn, finding my assistant giggling, and Lainey looking small and awkward, her eyes now refusing to look at me. “Mac’s on his way to see you,” I declare, and my assistant shuts her trap in a second, shooting up from her chair.
“I need the ladies’.” She runs off, achieving a remarkable speed, considering the height of those ankle breakers. “Cover for me, Lainey,” she calls, disappearing around the corner.
“Okay,” Lainey yells, and then proceeds to fall apart laughing, having to wedge her hand into Gina’s desk to stabilize herself. And what do I do? I stand here, stock-still, staring, but despite the vision being out of this fucking world, my anger and resentment bubbles dangerously. Wouldn’t it be lovely to laugh like that? Wouldn’t it be fucking perfect if I could follow Lainey’s lead and forget?
