“Yes.“
“Then why are you still here?”
My shoulders straighten.
“I wanted to get a few things done, and I wasn’t sure about the system or structure for the workday. Usually, on your first day, your boss would walk you through the expectations, but I’m on my own with this.”
“You’re an adult, so I didn’t think I would need to hold your hand. In the future, you can leave at four without stopping in here,” he says, tone bored.
I glare at him, letting out a deep sigh and putting my hands on my hips.
“Is this going to be an issue?” I snap, not taking the time to actually think about what I’m about to say. Finally, he looks away from his computer, and his eyes land on me reluctantly. It’s almost as if he’s been doing everything in his power to avoid looking at me. In the unforgiving fluorescent lighting of an office, his glare is harsher, more frustrated, less patient. I wonder for a moment if that’s some kind of workplace persona he puts on. Sure, he was a bit quiet and stern last night, but nothing like this.
Then again, maybe that’s just because the woman who ran out of his room after a one-night stand is his new assistant.
“An issue?”
“Yes. Is my working here going to be an issue? I get that Sutton hired me, and you were unaware of those details, but you seem incredibly irritated that I’m here.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself, Ms. Taylor—I have no opinion on your working here, so long as you get your job done. We had a night together, and that is all. We are not here to be friends: we’re here to be coworkers. If my attitude is too rough for your delicate sensibilities, please let me know, and we can talk about whether you’re a good fit for this position. As for me, I won’t have an issue with you. Is this going to be an issue foryou?”
It’s a clear challenge, and with the way he’s looking at me as if already assuming I’m going to back down, I know there’s no way in hell I can do anything but step up to it. I’ve worked in the public elementary school system for years. If he thinks some corporate paper-pushing is going to break me, he has another think coming.
So I give him a wide, fake smile. “No, it won’t be a problem at all. See you tomorrow, Graham. Have a great night.”
Then I leave. I fight the urge to look back until I’m all the way out of his office, finally braving the tiniest glimpse back.
When I catch his eyes still on me, his jaw tight and his gaze burning, I know I won this battle.
I smile the entire drive home.
SEVEN
The next day, I show up at eight on the dot, waving as I pass Decker in the main room. Deck works as the gym teacher at Seaside Point Elementary during the school year, and each summer works on Grant’s crew. If I were to guess, I’d say he’s assigned to the Daytrip job to keep an eye on me as I start my new job. Once at my desk, I log in and check my email, where four messages from my boss already sit. His door was closed when I came in, and occasionally his voice mumbles through the thin wall. When I head into the breakroom to grab a coffee and a donut (again, my lucky day—there’s a chocolate frosted), I see him for the first time of the day.
I’m stirring creamer into my cup when he walks in, eyes cast down and a coffee cup in his hand, but he stumbles when he catches sight of me. Something passes over his face, so momentary that I don’t get to dissect it before his neutral mask is back in place. Not for the first time, that urge to see what happens when he’s truly knocked off his feet, what happens when he lets his true emotions shine through, surges through me.
I don’t give in to that urge, instead choosing to remain neutral as I give him a small wave and a smile.
Normal. I can act normal, right? Just…smile, wave, and get my job done.
He gives me one of those small, cordial but annoyed nods before he busies himself with his own drink. It’s not until I’m headed for the door that his voice calls from behind me.
“What are you wearing?” he asks. When I turn, his eyes scan me, not with interest, but confusion, as if he can’t make sense of what he’s seeing. Today I’m in jeans, a colorful pastel top, and pink sneakers. I went a bit bolder with my earrings, a pair of red hearts that I normally wear on Valentine’s Day, but when I saw them in my jewelry box, they made me smile. It looks similar to what I’ve seen Sutton wear, so I thought it would be fine, but maybe I was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying not to feel self-conscious with a man like Graham Hawthorne. Something tells me that with this man, being confident in my choices is half of the battle. “Is this outside of the dress code? Sutton told me that there wasn’t really one, so long as I looked put together.”
“No, no. It’s just…very colorful.”
“I’m a very colorful person.” Tipping my head a bit to the side, I give him a once-over, the same way he gave me, and his body stiffens just a bit. “Is color not allowed?”
Eventually, he sighs. “It’s not really professional.”
I cross my arms, recalling Sutton’s reassurance.
Don’t back down to his surly attitude.
Don’t give in to his taunting.
