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Mr. Brockton hung up and glared at me, as if he wasn’t expecting me or as if I had done something wrong. I shifted nervously in the spotlight, wondering if I made the right decision by taking the job. He seemed gruff and entitled, two things that were off-putting. But there was something that made me think there was more to him than a cocky exterior.
“You’re right on time,” he observed.
“Of course,” I demurred.
“Are you getting settled in?”
“Yes, but who do I talk to about a computer?”
“Yes, of course.” He crossed to his desk, checked something on his computer screen, and frowned. For a moment, I thought he had forgotten about me. He seemed so absorbed in whatever message he was reading. But then he resurfaced and gave me the information I needed. “Go down to IT. They’ll take care of you.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Fourth floor. Room 417.”
I couldn’t help tossing another longing glance at the pastries. This time, Mr. Brockton caught it and offered me one. I tried to stand on principle. I didn’t want to look greedy on my first day. But he assured me that they were there for everyone, and he couldn’t possibly eat them all himself. I would be doing him a favor if I took one or two off his hands.
I licked my lips, forcing myself to walk to the buffet instead of rushing at it. I picked up two jelly-filled doughnuts (because he’d said I could take two) and a napkin. Walking from the room, I couldn’t resist biting into one. It might have been more professional to wait until I was back at my desk, but I was starving.
He gave me a quizzical look, which I just ignored. There was no false advertising involved. I was who I said I was. He didn’t ask me where I was getting my meals, and I didn’t offer it. If he assumed I was overly interested in breakfast foods, that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
I sat down to finish my meal before heading off to find a computer. It was a good thing that I took the time to eat, too, because I didn’t have another chance. I had to spend hours getting through all the red tape before IT set me up with a desktop. And it was another three hours before I could sort through all of Mr. Brockton’s appointments and make sure he was all set for Wednesday.
No one seemed to notice that I skipped lunch, and I didn’t enlighten them. Not only did I not have the funds, but I didn’t bring anything either. There would have been no point in taking a full hour off to sit in the break room and stare at my phone. I was ravenous by the time I got back to the shelter, and shepherd’s pie had never tasted so good.
Chapter 5
Nate
It didn’t escape me how Ava eyed the pastries. Personally, I didn’t even like them very much. My mother ordered them on the assumption that I needed something to offer clients and visitors. They worked very well for that purpose, and occasionally I indulged. They were replenished every morning before I arrived, coming directly from the bakery down the street. That was another one of my mother’s brainstorms. She thought it was important to support the local economy, and that by showcasing a local small business in that way, I could gain the approval of the city council or something. I didn’t listen to half of what she said.
My father, on the other hand, liked to carry a big stick. He made a big deal about pushing startups out of the clothing market. If he saw a new designer who showed potential, he would scoop them up before they could pose a threat. It was his way of eliminating the competition. That, and sometimes he played dirty.
Years before, I saw him pick apart a rival company, trashing their brand until all they had left were boxes of product they couldn’t unload. Then he swooped in and bought the whole thing for a discount, donating the clothing to some third world nation. It was all very petty.
I didn’t know how my parents got involved with each other in the first place. They were polar opposites, as far as I could tell. Hopefully, I got some of the best from both. I liked to think that I could be savage when I had to be, and yet supportive and nurturing when life called for a softer hand.
I was getting those vibes from Ava. She was punctual and efficient, but there was something about her that was off. It had to do with the way she zeroed in on the pastries. I got the feeling that she didn’t eat very much and that it wasn’t by choice.
Most women I dated were averse to anything with carbohydrates. They wouldn’t go near a pastry if their life depended on it. Ava was just the opposite. She took two every morning for breakfast, and I didn’t see her eat anything for the rest of the day. Granted, I was busy and couldn’t keep track of my secretary’s break schedule, but I didn’t think she was taking her lunch breaks.
I never once found her anywhere other than right outside my door. Her butt was planted firmly in her chair, and she answered every call on the first ring. I couldn’t complain. In three days, she managed to clean up a year’s worth of Lauren’s crap. Suddenly I could find files on the shared drive, and there were notes for each of my meetings delivered to my inbox with plenty of time for me to read them.
I knew I’d made the right decision, but I found myself confused. What strange diet was she on that involved eating sugar for breakfast and absolutely nothing else? Why did she wait each morning for me to offer them to her, instead of just taking one? Didn’t she recognize them for what they were? It was a shared plate of food, not my own personal pantry.
The next time I saw her, I decided to ask.
She came into the office on Thursday, ready to take notes. I was in the habit of rattling off things that I wanted to see happen, and I was pleased that she’d started bringing a notepad into our meetings. I opened my mouth to go over the day’s events but saw her looking sideways again.
“You don’t have to ask before you take one,” I said.
She looked back at me with a wild and apologetic glance, as if she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I stood up, crossing to the opposite side of my desk so I could disperse some of the tension.
“Why are you so in love with the pastries?”
She looked away, an embarrassed smile on her lips. “I’m not in love with them.”
“Are you taking your lunch breaks?”
