most stylish women I know. She has to be as offended by them as I am. “Where is she?” She shrugs,
seemingly unconcerned that her co-worker is wandering around this building, lost and shoeless.
“How does she do this? Just wander around and lose her shoes? It’s completely unprofessional.”
Cara rolls her eyes. “You say this every day. You told her there was no dress code, remember?
She even cleared in with Janey.”
“Don’t even get me started on her wardrobe,” I mutter, grabbing my hair again. I’m going to pluck
myself bald and it’s that woman’s fault.
“There’s nothing wrong with her wardrobe.”
“No, not if you’re fine with shopping at Frumps R Us.”
“Zach, you’re a complete snob.” She’s laughing at me, and I don’t appreciate it.
“Cara, I simply have standards. Standards that she is not meeting.”
“Oh, I see.” She crosses her arms and leans her shoulder on the doorway. “So she’s not
performing? She’s actually awful at marketing?”
I scowl at her. “She’s amazing. Everything I hoped she would be, in that aspect at least.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
“Cara, we travel all over the country for work. Looks matter. And her looks are…well, she’s
pleasant to look at, and she’s…” Maddening. Distracting. Has the most kissable lips. And the shiniest
hair. “Anyway, I need to do something about her wardrobe.” I stare down at the damned shoes, “This
can’t continue.”
The elevator ding draws our attention across the office. There she is. The bane of my existence.
The woman who has taken up far too much real estate in my mind this week, wandering towards us,
alternating between taking bites of her muffin, dropping crumbs, I’m sure, and ducking her head into
cubicles. Searching, yet again, for her loafers.
I shoot a glare at Cara, who’s snickering behind her hand, then turn to glare at Maya. Declan and
Jonas have both emerged from their offices and are chatting casually with her as they help her search.
I’ve complained about this at more than one of our evening meetings, and the fuckers laugh every
time. Why aren’t they as bothered as I am? Why can’t they see how unprofessional this is?
She’s smiling at them. She’s chatting withthemin a way she doesn’t with me.
I don’t like it.
Grunting a goodbye, I stalk towards the group, but I’m focused solely on her. “Missing
