He can’t be that bad,I’d thought.
He’s just misunderstood.
I’m used to dealing with difficult, brilliant men.
Ha!
When it’s obvious that Dr. Ramsey isn’t going to come out of the clean room in his lab to finish our conversation, I stand there, glaring at his back for several seconds before stomping back over to his desk for my bag. I shoot him the finger on my way out.
Not that he notices.
And then I just feel petty.
What is wrong with me?
Out in the hall, I pause, pressing a palm to my chest for a second. My heart is pounding, so I breathe in deeply through my nose, hold it, then exhale slowly through my mouth, mentally pulling up my dealing-with-difficult-people mantra.
Max Ramsey does not intimidate me.
He does not.
I am his equal in every way that matters.
He does not—
Before I can mentally repeat it again, I hear the ding of the elevator followed by voices from down the hall.
I don’t want to be caught lurking outside his lab, so I quickly duck into the women’s restroom, which is blessedly empty.
I set my bag down on the counter.
Then pick it up and glance around for a hook, because who knows what’s on the counter here.
I can practically hear Ramsey sniping about contaminants.
I meet my gaze in the mirror, glare at myself, and set the purse back on the counter. No way I’m letting that jerk get in my head. No. Way.
Anger surges through me.
That man . . .
Had I ever met such an infuriating man in my life?
Everyone was right about him. He is a total . . .
At times like this, I wish I cussed more.
But Momma always said cussing just shows people you don’t have a big enough vocabulary to say what you really mean. While the communications lecturer in me can appreciate the linguistic flexibility of certain curse words, the Southern girl in me knows my momma is right.
Besides, as Clive has told me repeatedly, when it comes to holding my own professionally, I have enough obstacles to overcome without cussing like a sailor.
I had weaned myself off curse words a long time ago. And now that I need them, they don’t come naturally.
But that man . . . he is . . .
Extremely difficult.
Implying I’d wiggled my behind to get his attention?
