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I try not to get ensnared by the view, by how his lean fingers fly gracefully over the keyboard or how his brows slightly dip when he’s on a task.
I try not to ogle his masculine face or broad shoulders that nearly burst through his shirt. Or how the cuffs are rolled over his powerful forearms, which are now veiny, unlike when we were younger.
I really try.
But most days, I fail. Most days, I keep thinking there’s no harm in looking.
I’m just…looking.
Not dreaming, hoping, or fantasizing.
That foolish side of me was brutally murdered a long time ago.
“Are you going to spit out what you’re here for or do you plan to stand there like a second-rate statue?”
I’m used to his cold shoulder by now, but I can't help the heat that burns my cheeks or the clamping in my stomach. Thank God he’s focused on his laptop or he would've caught me ogling the hell out of him.
He finally spares me a glance, his eyes closed off, frosty as arctic ice. It’s as if he wants to shake me or choke me these days. I don’t know which, or why he’s awfully hostile.
I’ve been trying my best.
But that’s never enough for the perfectionist jerk.
“Are you sick, Ms. Adler, or do you look like a dreadfully undercooked squid for sport?”
Inhaling a calming breath, I walk up to him and place the documents on his desk, resisting the urge to throw them at his illegally attractive face. “I finished the draft, proofread it, and sent it to the paralegal and emailed her a copy. I also squeezed in a ten-minute meeting with her tomorrow before lunch. Your dry cleaning was sent to your house and I emailed you a summary of the cases HR sent you.”
He flips through the pages while I’m speaking. He usually skims any work I do and still finds mistakes and snobbish remarks to say.
This time, however, I’m sure he won’t. I got Aspen’s expert view when we had lunch together today. She offered to help when she found me foaming at the mouth and calling Daniel a thousand colorful creative names.
So I spent the entire afternoon doing everything else on the list he sent me through the day.
It’s seven in the evening, two hours after the time I should’ve left, which is a record compared to the past two weeks. Since I used to leave extremely late, per his majesty’s orders. Sometimes, after they turn off the lights in the whole building.
Today, at least, I’ll be able to get back at a reasonable hour and actually cook something decent for Jay.
I feel like I barely see him these days and although Mrs. Potter watches over him, I’m still worried. Not to mention what he must’ve felt after he saw the court’s mail. He doesn’t tell me these things, but I know he hates his father as much as I do.
He’s scared of him, too.
As much as I am.
“Are you waiting for an award, Ms. Adler?”
I focus back on Daniel. “What?”
“You’re either slower than a vintage train or you prefer to play daft on a regular basis, both of which need to disappear if you want to remain in this position. Now, answer my earlier question, do you want a pat on the back or a biscuit for doing your job?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what are you waiting here for?”
“C-can I go home?”
“Get the fuck out of my face.”
I jolt at the abrasive tone. What the hell is wrong with him lately? He acts as if my existence is the work of the devil and he’s the angel sent to wipe me out.
