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“Hey, Matt, good morning. Sure come in.” I say this with a commendable absence of sarcasm, considering he is already seated in one of the chairs across from me.
“I have a question about some of the disclosures you guys made last year in your Shoreditch project. Can we go over some of the attachments while you’re here?”
His face immediately lightens up; you would have thought I asked him if he wanted me to give him a lap dance. He jumps up from his seat and walks behind my desk.
“Sure thing, Ad.” His use of my nickname grates on my nerves, but I ignore it. The quicker I can get this done, the faster he will leave.
He stands behind me, and I start to open the files I need to discuss with him. His phone begins buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances down at it.
“Shit,” he mumbles as he appears to deliberate as to whether or not he should answer it.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask him as he just stares at his phone.
He presses the red decline button, muttering a decisive no. He puts his phone back in his pocket and smiles down at me. “Go on, show me what you need.”
I start to explain my confusion and pretty soon we are immersed in the work in front of us. His flirtatious demeanor is replaced with a focused one, and I try to forget my anxieties about being alone in my office with him.
Thirty minutes into our conversation my office door flies open and Simon walks in. His eyes blaze as he looks between Matthew and me. His jaw tenses. He looks amazing. God, why? Even when I hate him, I want him. I ache for him.
“Matt, I’ve been calling you.” His lips barely move as he grinds this out.
Matthew is smiling almost gleefully, when he says, “Oh, that’s odd, my phone hasn’t rung.”
My head snaps up to stare at him. What the fuck is he talking about?
“Are you ready for our meeting?” Simon asks. His eyes practically boring holes into Matthew. He has yet to even acknowledge me. I don’t know what I’ve done to piss him off now, but I am starting to feel pissed off myself.
Matthew, glances at his watch and sa
ys, “Well, we were supposed to meet forty-five minutes ago, and I’m meeting with Addie now. Can we reschedule for later today?”
“Actually, Matthew, I’m just about done with my questions, so don’t let me hold you up,” I interject. I am ready for both of these assholes to get the fuck out of my office.
“Oh, well, I just wanted to go over a few more things with you, Addie. Stuff I actually want you to take back to Jack.” His eyes flit back to Simon and he says very dismissively, “I’ll stop by your office later, mate.”
Simon’s right hand is clenching in sync with his jaw, and I just want him to leave. I haven’t really seen him since what happened at his apartment. I’ve studiously avoided him and having him in my office, looking like he wants to punch the wall is making me really uncomfortable.
“Fine, Matthew.” Without sparing me a glance he’s gone.
Matthew turns back to the document we have been reviewing and doesn’t say a word. I was actually done with my question when Simon came in, so I am waiting for him to tell me what else he has to say.
Yet, he continues to review the same document for a few minutes without saying a word.
“What else did you want to talk about?” I’m exasperated at this point and not really bothered about hiding it.
“Oh, nothing, Ad. I just wanted him to leave. Our meeting was forty-five minutes ago. He was calling me, but I am sure he was running late because of the baby.”
He says ‘baby’ with so much disdain I have to hide my flinch.
“Why did you say your phone didn’t ring?” I’m not sure why I am wading into this conversation with him, but I’ve spent time with “that baby” and I am pissed at the tone he is using right now.
“Because, like I told you before, he gets special treatment from everyone else. I won’t give it to him. That’s probably how he got this job. People making exceptions and excuses. I heard he was on scholarship at Harrow, you know.” He’s pacing my office now; looks like this is turning into another rant.
“His father is an African immigrant; did you know that? His mother is in fucking jail. People like him, they always need concessions. You don’t see me with a parent in jail. Raising a kid? Coming in late? It is so typical of them.”
Each word out of his mouth is like a slap. I can’t believe what I am hearing. Again. The first time I thought he was jealous of Simon’s success. Now, I know this is vitriol borne of hate; I don’t care what it costs me, but I won’t sit here and listen to this bullshit.
“Matthew!” My palms hit the table as I stand up. “Stop it!” I hiss, my voice reflecting the anger, and insult his words have inspired.
