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I shoved my glasses back into place and scowled at him. He scowled back. We seethed like spitting cats for at least a minute before I broke first and looked away, suddenly preoccupied with re-twisting my hair into its bun.
"You should leave it down."
"You should just leave," I snapped. "This is completely inappropriate. I really have to–"
"Where did you go the other night?" Brandon interrupted sharply while he re-buttoned his collar. "I looked up, and you were booking it out of there. You literally left me with my pants down."
"I had things to do," I said lamely.
I sat back down in my chair and scooted so my navel was pressed tight against the desk. I braced my feet against the wood. I had no intention of being manhandled again for another impromptu kiss––if you could even call that mauling a kiss. Whatever, Crosby, you liked it.
"Things to do?" Brandon squatted in front of my desk so we were eye to eye. "So that's how it's going to be? Just give me a BJ on your roof and run away? No excuses, no apologies? Nothing?"
I didn't say anything, just watched the moving screensaver on my computer screen as I bit back tears. This wasn't fair. It really wasn't.
"When were you going to tell me you worked here, Skylar?" Brandon asked, this time a bit more softly. But only a bit.
"I don't know," I said sullenly, still unable to look at him. "Maybe I wasn't."
"Did you think I wasn't going to find out?"
"I don't know."
Brandon blew a long, thin stream of air through his teeth. "You're acting like a child."
Finally, I looked up. "Says the man who just barged into my office and grabbed me."
He stood up then and came back around my desk.
"Oh, no you don't," I said, scooting my chair away, which did effectively nothing as Brandon rolled me back out to face him.
He pulled me out of the chair again.
"Hey! I didn't want to get up!"
"I need you to talk to me like an adult!"
"No!" I pushed him away. "Stop grabbing at me! Jesus, didn't anyone ever teach you about consent?"
“Stop it!” Brandon growled, holding both of my wrists in vise-grips and pinning them to my sides. “Will you just fucking stop?! Calm down!”
Even though he had said the glass was soundproofed, it was the thought that people could still possibly hear us that finally made me quiet. My arms went limp, and Brandon dropped them. I wanted to skewer him.
“You can’t do this,” I gritted through my teeth as I skittered around him, out of his considerable reach.
He glared at the chairs that now stood between us, but stayed where he was.
“This is my place of work,” I continued in a low, even voice that belied my rage. “You can’t just bang around in here like a caveman."
“I’m this firm’s most important client,” Brandon retorted. “They wouldn’t care if I took you ten different ways on top of that desk.”
“Yes, but they certainly would care if I did, you arrogant twat!” Now my own smothered Brooklyn accent was coming out. “This is my career, my reputation we're talking about, Brandon! You don’t have to worry about yours because it’s already made!”
We silenced, caught in another interminable standoff. This time I won when his shoulders eventually drooped in acknowledgement. Brandon blew out a long sigh, covered his face with his hands, and groaned, loud and long, through his fingers.
“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll leave. On one condition.”
“What’s that?” I asked. I probably would have agreed to tap dance down Commonwealth Avenue if it meant getting him out of my office.
