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Which reminded him that Cheryl was staring at him, patiently waiting for an answer. He needed to get on with the BS-ing.
So, he smiled, he bullshitted.
And he thought he did a decent job at spinning the truth with the lies, giving the softball question an answer that sounded genuine and personalized to the company.
Either way, that was the end of the interview, and he was in his car, heading back to work a short time later—the former felt like he was actually doing something to make his professional life better instead of just being miserable and feeling sorry for himself; the latter felt like shit, mostly because he walked into his office and Bianca was there.
He ground his back teeth together, paused in the doorway, and called, “Shan?”
His admin was coming out of the break room with a mug of coffee. She glanced up when he called her name, but her gaze went right to the window in his office, to Bianca standing inside, and her face filled with thunderclouds.
“Want me to take notes?” she asked as she came close.
“Please, God,” he muttered.
A nod, punctuated by her grabbing a pad and pen, and then she preceded him into the office, plunking herself into a chair in front of his desk and clicking her pen. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Bianca looked from Shannon to him.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged.
And then he and Shannon waited.
For a long time.
“I need some help,” Bianca finally said.
He lifted his brows.
“With the Murphy project.”
“Tell me about it.”
More waiting. A glance toward Shannon as though she expected the other woman to up and disappear.
When she didn’t, Bianca huffed out a breath and snapped, “Never mind.”
A moment later she was stomping out of his office.
“Trouble,” Shan whispered once she’d gone.
“Yeah,” he muttered and sighed. “Thanks.”
She nodded, clicked her pen again, and grabbed her things. “Anytime.”
He went back to his day, but not before he walked down the hall and made another report to HR.
* * *
She was here.
It was Sunday dinner.
He was trying to play it cool and not be a controlling asshole, but she was carrying a ton of fucking bags and struggling to open the front door.
Literally, every bit of civility demanded he take the bags, that he carry them in for her.
That he, at the very least, open the fucking door.
