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“Good morning, Lucy. Nice dress you’ve got on there.”
“Thanks.”
Ugh.
“Got your nails sharpened, do you then? Interviews coming soon. Ticktock.” He ambles to the edge of my desk and peruses me from the neck down. I resist the urge to cross my arms over myself. I don’t know how Mr. Bexley hasn’t noticed Josh’s murderous glare refracted dozens of times. He continues his usual gimlet-eyed assessment of my appearance.
“Don’t,” Josh says to his boss, voice metallic.
“I’m pretty well prepared for the interview.” I look down at my front. “Mr. Bexley, what are you looking at?”
I calmly level my eyes at Mr. Bexley, and he physically jolts. He quickly averts his eyes and begins to comb his fingers through his sparse hair, his face burnished red.
Man, I kick ass today.
Josh clenches his jaw and looks down at his glass desk so angrily I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
“From the little sneak peek I had in Helene’s office, I do think you’re well prepared. Doctor Josh, we may need to discuss strategy.”
Holy shit. He’s going to tell Joshua about my project. I swing my panicked stare to Josh, who looks at his boss like he is an absolute idiot.
And then he reminds me that no, he is not my friend, and no matter how much kissing we do on his couch, we’re still in the middle of our biggest competition.
“I’m not going to need any help beating her.”
Chapter 18
He’s cold as ice and the tone gives me flashbacks. He says it like it is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. Silly little Lucy Hutton, impossible to take seriously, and absolutely no match for Joshua Templeman in any arena. I’m a joke. I’m not getting the job, because why would I? I have to be coached through a phone call.
“Maybe not,” Mr. Bexley muses. Clearly pleased to have kicked over two beehives, he plods off. As he waits for the elevator, he looks back at us.
“But then again, Doctor Josh, you may want to rethink that.”
The elevator door closes as Josh’s silently mouthed Fuck you fragments around us. Then he looks at me.
“I was lying.”
The silence rings like crystal wineglasses touched together.
“Well, you’re quite a good actor. I sure believed it.” I pick up my bottle of water and sip, trying to ease the angry tightness in my throat. I’m actually grateful to him. This is what I’ve been missing. We’re two racehorses pounding toward the finish line. I’ve been flagging, but I’ve just felt the first lash of the whip. I need to hold on to this fee
ling until I walk out of the interview.
“I always have been. I was mad at him for looking at you like that and it came out wrong. I’ve got a bad habit of snapping. Look at me, Luce.”
When I do, he repeats himself slowly. “I did not mean it.”
“It’s all right. It’s what I needed.” I use the same flat, icy tone that he’d just used with Bexley. I have no idea how I can make my voice so cold when anger feels like a blowtorch in my chest. I’m a good actor too.
His forehead has his trademark crease of concern. “You needed that? Me being an asshole? It’s all you seem to get from me.”
“You’ve just given me what I needed to hear.”
Life is all about perspective, and if I choose to believe I’ve just received a boost to my motivation from my competitor, I can ignore my bruised pride. I am going to keep my focus forward. My focus is now a laser beam that he has given me.
My computer chimes. Five minutes until I have my meeting with Danny to discuss working on my ebook project.
“Wait. We need to clear this up. I can’t quite explain it yet, though.” His face twists in agitation. “The timing is all off. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
