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Cooper
An hour later, I walk into the Foundation, and the woman behind the reception desk nearly jumps out of her seat, her sharp haircut swaying.
“You’re Cooper Davies,” she announces as if this might be news to me. As her face reddens, she digs a deeper hole. “Damn, you’re even hotter in person.” Before I can respond, she catches herself and switches gears drastically, turning deadly serious. “You’re late.”
It’s my turn to redden, knowing I’m already fucking this whole mentoring thing up, and it hasn’t even begun yet. This is not how I wanted to start this, especially with Sloane’s negative opinion firmly in place to begin with.
“Yeah, sorry about that…”
“I’m Fiona. Sloane’s assistant.” She glances over her shoulder toward the closed office door behind her. “She’s not happy, just an FYI. You might want to prepare yourself.”
I can feel my throat tighten in anticipation of the reception I’m going to get from Sloane. I knew it would be bad, but Fiona’s warning only makes it worse.
“Noted. Thanks,” I nod, smiling.
She glances down at her desk phone, biting on a nail nervously. “It looks like she’s on a call. Have a seat, and I’ll tell her you’re… here.”
I can sense the unspoken word, ‘finally,’ in her tone, but I don’t argue as I find a chair to wait.
A full half hour later, the door to Sloane’s office opens, and she saunters out, handing a stack of files to Fiona. She sees me out of the corner of her eye and turns as if surprised by my appearance. I can’t tell if it’s an act or not. She could totally be fucking with me, pretending to be shocked. She knows damn well we had an appointment. Yes, I’m fucking late for said appointment, but this is a stretch.
“Mr. Davies,” she says, putting her hands on her hips, “how kind of you to join us.” Her brows draw down in disappointment, and I’m right back at the principal’s office again.
I get up from my seat, wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my jeans. “Ms. Castle,” I nod. “Apologies for being late. I--”
“Let me give you a quick heads up about something, Mr. Davies,” she steps up to me, and though I tower over her, it feels as though she’s meeting me eye to eye as she pushes her shoulders back. “My time is valuable. We’re only given so many hours a day, and I prefer to spend mine with people who can appreciate that fact. Believe me, I wouldn’t think about wasting a minute of your time.”
I can tell by how she says this she means she wouldn’t spend a minute longer with me than she had to. I really don’t know why this woman hates me so much.
“I’m trying to apologize--”
“Don’t bother. I’m already working to find your replacement. You can go.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she nods at the exit.
“But, Sloane--” Fiona even tries to get a word in, but Sloane just raises a hand without looking back at her, never taking her angry gaze from me.
It’s only now I realize we’re making a scene and have attracted an audience as people from other offices and kids from the hallway peek in to see what’s happening.
Fuck.
I can already hear Mac and the rest of the band yelling at me to get my shit together.
“Yeah, no. I’m not going anywhere,” I say, pushing past Sloane and heading into her office, where I sit in one of the chairs. I can be just as fucking stubborn as she can, so if she wants to play? Let’s play.
The door to the office slams behind me, and she falls gracefully into her desk chair and starts intently typing on her laptop.
“What is your problem with me?” I ask. “I tried to apologize for being late, but you’ve had it out for me from day one. What gives?”
She types a little more, then turns the laptop around, and I’m face to face with the Blindsided article and photos from last night splashed on the screen. I cringe. This is not good.
“What gives?” she snarls incredulously, pointing at her laptop. “This. This is what gives.”
“Look, I can explain.”
“Oh, really? Please do.” She crosses her arms again and leans back in her chair.
Fucking hell. What the fuck am I saying? How do I explain any of that article?
I rake my hands through my hair, then down my face, scratching at the stubble on my chin. “Okay, maybe I can’t explain it, but it’s not like it happens all the time. It was a one-off night, just blowing off some steam.” I shrug, knowing how lame I sound.
