Page 5 of Strictly Against Policy

“Good, Dr. Lee,” I said under my breath. “I’m gladly counting the days until you leave.”

CHAPTER 4

Jonathan

The boundary between professionalism and impropriety is a fairly thin line when you work with someone who was beyond capable of provoking you.

I didn’t know how easy it was to cross that line, but now I do. All because of Lina Lee, so I’d learned to keep my mouth shut ever since. I avoided being alone with her anywhere inside the pharmacy. Or outside, when it was even easier to cross that boundary.

That was never the kind of manager I wanted to be. I had my fair share of horrible bosses when I was a young adult working part-time jobs, and I hated them. I told myself that if I ever got the chance, I would never be the kind of leader who was vindictive.

Despite my clear decision to avoid her, I knew exactly where she was. I even knew which direction she breathed in. I could easily track her out of the corner of my eyes, by the scent of her shampoo, or even by the sound of her footsteps.

It had been a week since she started working here—since I had treated her like an asshole. It had also been a week since I last looked her in the face.

I hadn’t apologized.

It didn’t make me feel any better about it, but the boulder-sized ego I was carrying on my shoulders kept stopping me.

It left me with nothing to do except let Lina fuel my anger, my agitation, and letting her consume my mind. I went to sleep thinking about her and dreaming about her. Ever since she started working here, I woke up every day with her at the center of my sanity.

I was obsessed with her.

I kept analyzing her expression from that night in the parking lot. Each time I went back to that memory, I could taste the bitterness of the words I threw at her. They were meant to put Little Miss Perfect in her place. But they only intensified her presence in my head—her flawless and unbothered expression, and her retort. ‘Don’t worry, Dr. Lo. The feelings are mutual.’

I didn’t want to think about her. But I couldn’t stop either.

“Let me guess”—stated my older cousin, Shoua—“it’s Lina again.”

I hadn’t even sat down at the bar yet. Despite that, I was certain her name was branded across my forehead like she owned me and every inch of my mind. I took a deep breath and let the chatter, the laughter, and the various orders of drinks from patrons ring in the air. The brewery we were at was popular and packed with plenty of people for a Friday night. But it wasn’t packed enough to drown out my silence.

I glanced at Shoua. Her eyes were bright and curious. It felt like she was watching me, like she was waiting in anticipation. For what, exactly? I wasn’t even sure. I had already made it clear how much I despised working with Lina.

“You look horrible,” she kindly pointed out. She looked up at the tall and burly man beside her as she sipped her mojito. “Want to bet it’s Lina keeping him up at night?”

Anthony Hughes, her boyfriend and my childhood friend, grinned. His light-brown eyes twinkled with amusement. Over the loud chatter of the brewery, he let out his iconic yet annoying hyena-like laugh. It was nothing short of a high-pitched yodel.

“I’m gonna bet a kiss that it is,” he nodded at her.

She beamed, running her hand through her thick and straight black hair. Her cheeks flushed red over her bronzed skin. I rolled my eyes like a kid stuck between two lovebird parents. I waved down the bartender, ordering a stout. I needed a drink to deal with these two for the rest of the night.

I asked them, “And what about it? I don’t like Lina Lee.”

“Ding ding!” chimed Anthony, leaning in to peck Shoua on the lips. She giggled happily while I groaned into my hands.

“She’s annoying, alright?” I countered.

The couple turned to look at me with the same expression: raised eyebrows and amused smirks. “Is it her work ethic that’s bothering you? Or is it something else?” asked Shoua.

As a fellow pharmacist, Lina Lee wasn’t lazy.

When our techs were busy, she didn’t shy away from doing even the tiniest of tasks. In fact, she went above and beyond to do her job. It was just the way she went about it—the lack of warmth in her voice when she spoke to our patients, her vacant expressions even when interacting with our team. It was no different from her high school self, the way she blended into the walls with her stiff, mechanical personality.

The only thing that had ever made her expressive was when she did better than everyone else.

The world around me ceased as memories of her from high school drifted to the forefront of my mind. How could I forget the way her mouth had coiled into this egotistical, serpentine smirk after she had walked out of our high school counselor’s office?

She didn’t need to say anything for me to know I’d lost our rivalry for class valedictorian. It was a competition she had proudly come to me with, issuing the challenge face to face at the beginning of senior year. She acted like we hadn’t been academic rivals since freshman year, fighting to be the top student after being placed in the same Geometry, English, and Biology Honors courses.