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“There’s a unique nature to your contract,” I ground out as she stopped midway up to face me. She looked a bit smug when she caught my eyes where they shouldn’t have been.
“Yes, there’s a unique nature to my contract, but if all the same rules apply to me, then what I simply ask is that you respect me in the same way you do everyone else. Anything short of that is completely hypocritical,” she said. Then as if she hadn’t just laid into me, she lifted her voice and smiled. “Anyway, may I go on my lunch break now, sir?”
“Why are you doing that?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Doing what?”
“The way you’re calling me ‘sir.’ It’s odd.”
“I’m just trying to be as professional as you want me to be.”
My laugh was brusque as I confirmed my suspicion that she was essentially taunting me with the word.
“I believe the term you’re looking for is passive aggressive.”
Sara bristled. “What would you prefer I call you?”
“Julian.”
“Alright, Julian. Is it alright if I go on my lunch break now?” she asked, back to flashing me that deliberately over-polite smile that made me want to punish her in a million ways I couldn’t think about right now. Suppressing my fantasies, I mirrored her corporate smile.
“You may go to lunch.”
“Thank you, Julian.”
“You’re welcome, Sara,” I said, keeping my poker face straight as I watched her ass twitch away.
Fucking fuck.
I was supposed to enjoy this – having a new employee who was eager to fulfill her every duty and simply do her job. Considering my need for efficiency, I should be grateful to have someone as ready, willing and able as Sara on my team.
The only thing was that she was playing my game a little too well.
And the fact of the matter was that I already hated it.
10
SARA
There was progress in the elevator by Thursday morning, and it came with the riders I’d nicknamed Gucci and Bald Guy – Gucci for her bag, and Bald Guy for, well, obvious reasons.
Alright, I congratulated myself after both got in and gave me that silent but cordial greeting. Two nods. I’d collected two whole nods and a few lunch buddies during m
y first week at the very cliquey Hoult Tower. The developments were small, but it was still something in terms of knocking the wall down.
But upon getting into the office, I found that a new one was officially up.
Like yesterday, I got no hello from Julian as he passed me with Colin and a few others. He was dressed to kill in a three-piece suit that stopped my heart for as many beats, and yes, he was busy, but he did take the time to flick those blue eyes over to me and slide them down the front of my wrap dress. He remained thoroughly stoic in the process, and while the others managed a nod or a “morning” as they passed, Julian opted out of either.
It could mean nothing, I tried telling myself.
But then there were the two occasions during which my entrance to a particular room resulted in his exit within the minute, with barely a glance in my direction. Again, no solid confirmation of bad blood, especially since we still spoke cordially about the Roths, but still.
The strict lack of non-work eye contact or conversation was enough to have me consider that we were in some kind of office Cold War – some bid to out-professional one another, and to be honest, it was a well-matched battle. We were both proud, tenacious and stubbornly single-minded. We could very well do this dance forever.
That idea didn’t interest Lia.
“I don’t think you’re bringing it hard enough,” she decided as we sat in Hoult Tower’s tenth floor pantry – the fancy word for their cafeteria. “This could be a double date right now, but it’s not.”
