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“Do you like it?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then looked around. Oh, he didn’t like it. Then she glanced again at everything. It was probably a bit pink. The pictures that she’d hung were cool, but maybe he didn’t like images of different animals drinking tea with tutus on. Or he didn’t appreciate the neon green rug.
Yeah, maybe he just wasn’t into any of that.
“I can change it all,” she said hastily. “If you don’t like it.”
“Is this your office?” he asked.
“Uh, well, Grady said it was. But it’s your building. Which is why I didn’t paint the walls. Even though I thought it would be cool to put blackboard paint on one wall so I could write all my notes to myself.”
Maybe that way she wouldn’t keep losing her notes. She’d written a note with her computer password on it, and she couldn’t for the life of her find it. She’d had to change the password.
“Do it,” he told her.
“W-what?”
“Do it.”
“But that’s not just furnishings. It’s touching the walls.”
“Effie, I don’t like to repeat myself. Do. It.”
“Got it,” she whispered, excitement bubbling inside her. “Thanks, Steele.”
“Damn. Cute.”
“Sorry?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She frowned, unsure what was going on with him. “Did you need something?”
“New girl that started, she all set up?”
“Um, yes.” At least on her end. She’d seen her on stage and she was a good dancer, if a bit uninspired.
But that had nothing to do with Effie. Not unless she asked for her help like Cilla.
“Good.”
“Yep. Good.” She still had no idea what was happening. What did he want? Was he checking up on her? Oh my God. Did he not think she was doing a good job? What could she do better? She was trying as hard as she could not to get lost in her head. To focus. But there were times she went into la-la land. However, she always got here early and worked late to make up for any time that she daydreamed.
“Effie? You listening?”
“I promise I’ll do better!”
He rocked back slightly, eyeing her with confusion. “Do what better, Spitfire?”
“Um, whatever it was you were going to tell me that I wasn’t doing good enough?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You thought I was coming in here to tell you that you weren’t doing something well?”
“That’s not why you’re here?”
“No, babe,” he told her gently. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh. That’s good then. So I’m doing a good job?”
