I’ve given high-stakes presentations in front of CEOs. Negotiated pay with a stick-up-her-ass HR executive. Navigated the subway alone at midnight. I’m not letting a cocky bird withwaytoo much audacity litter this office with my sandwich bits and make me look like a fool on my first day of work.
There’s no time for an internet search on how to pick up a duck.
Two big steps get me right on top of it, where I reach down and scoop it up. It squawks, a wing bashing me in the face as I stumble toward the door. Something sharp scrapes down my stomach and I drop the bird, frantically palming my shirt for blood. But the only evidence is a trail of loose threads in my sky-blue blouse.
This top was one of my favorite sale rack finds.
I turn, murder in my eyes. “You fluffy little piece of?—"
“What in the hell are you doing?” The sharp exclamation comes from the open door behind me.
I pivot, wild eyes landing on the owner of the deep, angry voice.
His are just as infuriated as mine, two golden orbs glaring from a rugged, scruffy face that can’t be much older than mine. It’s all framed by messy dark hair, just long enough to curl against his forehead and ears.
I quickly scan his dark blue rain jacket and brown pants stained with black grease. When I zip back to his face, I spot a smear of that grease near the corner of his mouth, which is turned down in a scowl.
A scowl directed at me.
Seriously?
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just trying tosave this officefrom a wild bird,” I snark, because does this guy not haveeyes?
“Save the office? Wild bird?” he echoes, shaking his head in disbelief. He takes one heavy step inside, and the office suddenly feels smaller. It’s clear this isn’t a crochet-blankets-and-garden type of man. The exact opposite, I’d guess.
“You’reassaultingDave.”
My jaw drops. This has to be a joke. But the structured lines of his jaw are set, humorless beneath all that thick scruff.
His broad hands settle on his hips, shoulders straining against his jacket in what’s probably an intimidation tactic. I straighten.
“I’m not assaulting him,” I say evenly. “I came into this office, saw an animal that belongs outdoors, and decided to take care of the problem and remove him.”
Soft grunts fill the air behind me. I twist to find the bird feasting on my sandwich, pieces of spinach and bread dribbling from his beak onto the floor.
You’re kidding me.
This isnothow my first day on the job is going to go. I’m too prepared, I’ve worked too hard, and I’ve proven myself too many times for my first impression to be this terrible.
My hands find my own hips. “This mess? The one he’s making right now while you stand there all high and mighty and angry-looking?” The man’s lips thin. “That’syourfault, because you’re too busy scowling instead of helping, or getting out of the way.”
He runs his tongue over teeth, looking like he’s trembling with the effort of keeping his body right where it is. It’s a solid body too—one clearly built from muscle, standing a few inches taller than my five-foot-nine. It could probably pick me up and toss me out, and the duck would definitely cheer him on.
But the fact that he stays in place suggests he’s not that kind of man.
No. He’s the kind that attacks with his words, because he slowly articulates, “I’m standing here all angry-looking because this is my fucking office, onmyfucking farm.”
It’s like I’m a balloon, and he just jabbed a hole in me. I stare at him, gob-smacked, as his words barrel on.
“That,” he points angrily at the duck, who’s still gobbling my sandwich, “isDave. My duck.” That pissed-off finger points to the floor. “And this office isclosedto visitors.”
Oh, he misunderstands. “But I’m not a visi?—”
He continues over my explanation. “Tours are by-reservationonly, and as the sign out front clearly indicates, those begin by the dock. Oyster pickups need to be made ahead oftime and are fulfilled on the side of the building. None of those arrows point you to this door, so there’s no reason for you to be here, in this room,especiallywhen no one invited you inside.”
His voice is even louder now than when he started, and a vein strains against his corded neck.
He has no idea who I am. And now, I’m wondering if he just lied about who he is. If he’s actually in charge, he’d know I’m starting today.
