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“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“Hmm?”
“For your help. What’s the deal? That’s how you operate, isn’t it? Everything’s just another deal?”
“No deal. You looked stressed and I knew I could help, so I helped.”
“You’re not going to demand I go on a date with you? Rub your feet? Bow down and proclaim you’re the greatest man alive?”
He looked up, pursing his lips in thought. “That depends. Would you actually rub my feet? I haven’t broken in these new shoes yet and they are killing me.”
“No,” I said.
“Then I did it out of the goodness of my heart.”
My instincts said that I shouldn’t show weakness. Mother would’ve told me it was best not to let your subordinates know how valuable their help was, no matter how desperately you might need it. Inflated senses of worth were a recipe for unhappy employees, after all. But I found myself softening my glare. “Thank you,” I said.
He gave a genuine smile that made my stomach clench. For his many faults, the man had a frustrating way of making me feel good. When he wasn’t actively trying to sabotage everything I’d ever worked toward building in my life, that was.
“You’re welcome, Lizz.”
I was too tired to tell him to stop calling me that, which I suspected was a mistake because his smile widened even further.
This man was all kinds of dangerous for me.
14
TRAVIS
My new office setup wasn’t so bad. Elizabeth’s desk had been moved to the corner facing out and mine was put in behind a hastily erected wooden partition. They’d thrown some fake plants around the room, a few pictures, and some furniture to make it feel more worthy of being part of Glass Design, but it was definitely a little janky. If I leaned far enough to my left, I could see past the partition to where Elizabeth was frowning at her computer screen.
“Did they reply to our email yet?”
“Yes,” she said.
It was Monday, and our first day sharing the office. Elizabeth didn’t seem as excited about the arrangement as I was, but she’d come around eventually.
“And?”
I nearly fell out of my chair from leaning so far to keep her in my view. She lifted her eyes to meet mine, then her lips grudgingly twitched into a half smile. “We got it. And don’t worry, I’ll tell Mrs. Glass you helped me.”
I hopped out of my chair with a fist pump. “Hell yeah! That’s great. And definitely don’t tell her that. I don’t need any credit.”
“I’m not going to owe you any favors.”
“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?”
I was standing with my arm against the partition now and she was in full view. I could see her shapely legs under the desk, but only up to her knees. I dragged my gaze back to her eyes. She had on a black power suit today. It looked like she was prepared to go into a courtroom and indignantly tell a judge he had no right! No damn right!
“Stop that,” she said. “You’re looking at me strangely. More strangely than usual, that is.”
“What do you say we grab lunch together to celebrate?”
“This is the payment isn’t it? I knew you wouldn’t just help me to help me.”
“Woah there,” I said, holding my palms up like I was at gunpoint. “You’ve got to start seeing this differently, Lizz. I like you. I enjoyed both our dates, and I’d love to spend more time with you. Is that so hard to believe?”
Her voice was completely flat. “Yes.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
Her neutral expression faltered for a moment to show a hint of vulnerability. She smoothed her face back into a mask of stone, though. “It’s none of your business what I think about myself.”
I tried to imagine how she saw herself. She probably thought she was fooling everyone with that act she put on. Heartless. Cold. Grumpy. She must not realize how obvious it all was to someone who looked hard enough. Lately, I’d become addicted to the idea of how much I wanted her to see herself the way I did. Maybe that was insanity, but it wouldn’t be the first time I devoted significant time and energy to an insane idea. A shining example was the time I decided it was possible to potty train a snail. Spoiler: it was not, and Mr. Meatball ate him. The funeral was a real tear-jerker. I think by the time I finished the eulogy, even Mr. Meatball felt a little bad.
“Lunch? Yay or nay?” I asked.
“I don’t have time to go get something.”
“Say less! I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
“You don’t even know what food I eat.”
“Ah!” I said, holding up a finger. “Did you forget I’m highly observant? I know exactly what to get you.”
It was a little over an hour before I returned to the office. I had to stop by the apartment to play with my pets and get them some snacks, after all.
