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If he doesn’t kick me in the nads for how I’m treating him after a week of this, then I will.
After a quick peek back at Lance, who is all but frolicking in the large patch of grass like he’s chasing an invisible goblin, I pull out my phone and tap the cryptic “T” on my contacts list.
The phone rings once. Then twice. Then three times.
My chest tightens. He’s going to ignore my call. He’s going to let it go to voicemail. He’s giving me a taste of my own puckery medicine, ignoring me with a cold, cold shoulder.
Then he answers: “Hey.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Trevor.”
“Had to slip into my room. My roommate’s outside the door,” he adds in a whisper.
“Elijah. Right.” I smile. “You kept me waiting, intern.”
“Oh? We’re back to playing the boss-intern game?”
“You know the boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Trevor sighs into the phone. “Sorry, boss, but I think I’m going to need a reevaluation of my job description, seeing as bending to your every neurotic whim isn’t exactly on it.”
I grin despite myself. Oh, Trevor … “An employee of Benjamin Gage has many responsibilities.”
“Is the top of that list of responsibilities to be invisible and work thanklessly?”
My mouth locks with my next words unsaid, hanging on my lips. I shut my eyes, then shake my head. “So … you noticed the oddness today, too.”
“I noticed.”
“Today was weird.”
“Really weird. I mean, I know you keep to your office most of the time … but not even a glance my way? Not even a mention of my hard work? Or how cute I looked in my shirt and tie? I picked them out for you, I’ll have you know.”
“For the record,” I state, “I did glance your way, and the only thing that greeted my eyes was the sight of your sexy booty across the room. That wasn’t very nice of you.”
The sound of Trevor’s breathy, voiceless chuckle fills my ear. It makes me smile, hearing it.
“Secondly,” I continue, “if you expect a high-five and a sugar cookie every time you do something good at the office, then you need a hard reminder of the dick you work for. Oh, and also the fact that you’re an adult, and every job in the world is like that.”
A brief moment passes before he says, “I don’t suppose there are many jobs anywhere that aren’t, in most ways, thankless.”
“How mature of you to note.”
“But maybe …” He hesitates. “Maybe we don’t have to be … so professional at work.”
I smirk, looking off toward the setting sun. The sky is a furious orange from one end of the jagged skyline to the other. “Yeah,” I agree quietly, all too aware of how uncomfortable today felt. It was like having your underwear riding up your crack all day long, and we all know how awkward that moment is when you’re pretty sure no one’s looking and it’s safe to finally pull your wedgie.
“We can still keep things a secret,” he goes on.
“Yes. It’s important.”
“I’m just thinking that maybe we shouldn’t give each other so much of the cold shoulder. I think it’s making things—”
“More suspicious,” I finish for him.
“Exactly.”
“We should just be ourselves.”
“Totally ourselves.”
“Me, the boss.”
“Me, the intern.”
“Benjamin Gage.”
“Trevor Woodard.”
I hear Lance whimper behind me, standing at the door and waiting to head back in, but apparently not wanting to go without me. I smile as I study him across the terrace. “Lance loves the toy you got him, by the way. He’s playing with it right now.”
“You’re not a good liar.”
“No, really. He loves it. He leads an army of sword-wielding pup soldiers now. They’re questing for the Holy Grail.”
“He dug a hole, buried it, and peed on it.”
I snort. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“I’ll bring him a round table next time.”
“Want to come over for dinner tomorrow?” I ask abruptly. “We can try having that night I wanted to give you all over again, except this time, we leave out the spontaneous round-trip flight.”
“But I liked the spontaneity.”
Lance paws at the door, still whimpering. “Oh, a dinner at my place can be plenty spontaneous. Trust me.”
He takes a breath. “Well, the truth is … I don’t think I should be coming over every other night. I think my frequenting your place isn’t a good way to practice discretion. Not when—”
“Your roommate. Right.” I grit my teeth, frustrated by the circumstance.
“Maybe next week sometime. Or next weekend.”
“Next weekend?” I blurt, incredulous. “You’re going to make me wait that long for your ass?”
“Well, if it’s my ass we’re talking about,” responds Trevor, his tone light and superior, “then you may have to wait a bit longer for that. I don’t just hand my ass out to anyone, considering …” He clears his throat. “Considering that I haven’t exactly handed it to anyone at all, ever, per se.”
