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That damned look.
Anytime he said anything to me this week, I swore he did it with this look. This mix of smugness, pity, and amusement. It had been gnawing at me all week and I truly couldn’t hate him more for it, despite the fact that yes, I’d been totally off all week.
Since coming back to LA, there’d been no extra talking on my part. No joking. No banter. In fairness, I’d been really busy. But I’d been busy before and still had time to give Adam my usual shit.
But this week is different.
Because every time I stepped foot in his office, I felt the desperate, flustered need to get out. STAT. My words weren’t coming to me the same. I felt less coherent and eye contact in itself was suddenly a job.
It was draining. Being within five feet of Adam was rough, so his office to me was now like a war zone.
And to make matters worse, I couldn’t stop thinking about the dream.
The fucking dream.
The one where Adam called me into his office, his gaze steely as he reclined in his seat and instructed me to undress for him.
It made me gasp myself awake the first night I had it, which was super awkward considering I was rooming with Deb, who I really didn’t know that well. Hopefully, she didn’t hear it. But if she did, I didn’t want to know.
I had more than enough messing with my head.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back,” I said, taking the file and turning on my heel.
But not before I caught his little smirk to himself as he went back to work.
Ugh.
What happened that weekend happened to both of us, but in classic A
dam fashion, he seemed totally fine. Undistracted and unfazed. Meanwhile, I was struggling bad, and all he could do was find it amusing.
It pissed me off.
But I couldn’t call him out on it without bringing up the whole weekend I never wanted to talk about again, so I tried to detach myself, focusing instead on simply doing my job and acting as professional as possible and avoiding any unnecessary or prolonged contact with Adam.
Was that normal for us? No. Did we both know that? Yes. But I was in survival mode right now, so I didn’t care. I was just doing whatever I needed to do to get past this period where the majority of my energy was spent warding off sexual thoughts about Adam.
It’ll go away, I assured myself. Over and over.
It’ll go away.
But on Wednesday, I entered his office to find him sitting on the couch, which was by no means an unfamiliar sight.
But he was holding his phone in his lap, and something about the manspread he had going in that blue suit sent my mind straight to the gutter. It was like full-on going to battle having to stand in front of him, absorbing the full pressure of his gaze while giving him the rundown and fighting off every dick-related thought that existed in my mind.
The worst part was stumbling twice on my words, earning myself a condescending look.
“Do you need a minute?” Adam asked, sounding frosty. And annoyed.
Probably because I’d been short with him. Avoiding him. Trying to pass off a million unusual behaviors as our office normal, which he clearly didn’t appreciate.
It was definitely tense.
But since it was my only move, I kept telling myself to take it day by day. That things would get slowly better. Just watch, I told myself. Things will feel so much more normal by Thursday.
But then Thursday came.
And it couldn’t have been worse.
