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Because she hadn’t even looked at him until he’d gotten a promotion three months ago.
Now…she looked.
And looked some more.
And genuinely drove him fucking nuts, jumping into his limited time that was free of meetings or trying to tackle his inbox, and making it so that he felt like he had to be a dick to get her to leave him alone.
Not that she seemed to take a hint.
Case in point, he didn’t bother looking up from his computer. “Not a good time, Bianca.”
Silence.
Though, unfortunately, it wasn’t punctuated by her footsteps as she walked away from him and his office.
It was,unfortunately,punctuated by a sigh.
A long, disgruntled sigh.
“I was hoping that you could look at this work order.”
“Can’t,” he clipped. “I’m slammed today. You can send it to Stephanie”—his assistant—“and I’m sure she’d be happy to walk you through the process. Again,” he added, knowing he was a bit of a bastard for saying that, but wanting to make it clear that there was a firm boundary between them.
Again.
More silence.
Long enough that he risked a glance up, hoping that she’d gone.
Fate wasn’t that kind to him.
Bianca was still there, still leaning against his doorframe, in heels, a low-cut shirt that practically begged everyone, man or woman, straight, gay, or in between, to stare. Because she had a gorgeous rack, and pretty much everyone could appreciate beauty.
If only that beauty wasn’t attached to her mind and personality.
See? Bastard.
But her tits (and annoying persona) aside, he didn’t date people from work, especially not subordinates.
That was a recipe…for making his job even shittier than it already was.
The economic climate meant that it wasn’t a great time to look for a new job, so he was sticking it out for now, waiting for things to settle before he made a shift.
But he would be making a shift.
Because his job as it was, the extra responsibilities, the extra headaches and employees he suddenly needed to manage (all without extra pay or benefits) meant that he was unhappy.
So, biding his time, planning ahead, considering where he might want to go.
And putting in a shit-ton of applications, tidying up his resumé, squeezing in as many interviews as possible.
Which weren’t many.
He glanced back down.
“Jeremy.”
Sweet Christ.
