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He isn’t necessarily an evil person, but I’m not willing to break my own rule of keeping it professional in the workplace. Plus, I generally dislike him.
Mr. Thornton almost appears amused at my attempt to stare him down.
My hair, which I had struggled to put into a bun, is now coming undone, stubborn curls falling around my face. I’m still wearing my ugly glasses, though, so my armor is intact.
His voice is smooth, that lilting accent curling around me like a heady scent. “You did say we should work together, didn’t you?”
I narrow my eyes, wondering what he’s getting at.
“You and I are going to have a lot of work to do, so I prefer you get your rest.” He steps back now, a smug expression on his face. “I don’t enjoy working with inept employees who are sleep deprived because of their own unwillingness to understand their limits.”
I scowl. “You’re also here.”
He shrugs. “Jet lag.”
I feel his eyes on the two heaps, suddenly realizing I had put labels on both sides of the table. When his eyebrows arch, a sinking feeling in my chest alerts me that he’s read them. Reaching down to pick up one piece of paper, he quirks the corner of his lip. “Very articulate, Miss Hill.”
I snatch the label from him, deliberately putting it back in its place.
From the gleam in his eyes, I can tell he isn’t going to let this go.
“I still have work to do.”
“It can be done tomorrow,” he smoothly replies.
I purse my lips, but he simply watches me. “Go home, Miss Hill. It’s late.”
The exhaustion of the day slowly creeps up on me, so I admit defeat and reach for my blazer. “I have a car. I don’t need—”
“It’s one in the morning. My driver will take you home.” His voice brooks no argument. I sigh, knowing he’s right. I’m too tired to drive.
I put on my blazer, then pick up the paper that reads, ‘Oliver Thornton knows jack shit’. After crumpling it up, I toss it into the trash bin and meet his eyes. “I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
He follows me out the door, waiting as I lock it.
Guilt nags as I process how he’s going out of his way to make sure I get home safe. “However, it was inappropriate.”
He follows behind me to the elevator, amicably agreeing. “It was.”
Side by side, we wait for the door to open. “So, I’m sorry.”
He waits for me to step into the gleaming metal box before inclining his head. “Apology accepted.”
His entertained expression makes me feel vaguely annoyed. “Good night, Mr. Thornton.”
“Good night, Miss Hill.”
He keeps eye contact until the elevator closes.
3
Oliver
Lana Hill.
I lean back on the chair, my eyes closed, as the fiery head of HR comes to my mind.
