18. Fitting In

Jane

I had a hard time falling asleep last night. It was my first evening here that wasn't spent alone in my wing, and it was perfect. Simple, yet exactly what I needed. I finally peeked beneath the surface, and I feel like I'm really starting to get to know Colton.

I muffle another yawn.

"Am I boring you zat much?" Agnes snaps. "Monsieur Green said to let you be more involved in making ze decisions, but if you can't even listen to me for five minutes . . ."

I snap my head toward her. "He said that?"

"He texted zis morning, yes."

I smile to myself. I thought he'd forgotten. "Good. And yes, I will take care of things. I'm just really tired since I went to bed pretty late last night. Colton and I talked until two a.m."

She straightens in her chair. "Didn't Monsieur Green ‘ave a business dinner last night?"

"It got canceled, but it's okay. I made French toast."

She arches an eyebrow. "For dinner."

"Uh-huh. It was fun. We paired it with champagne and played Monopoly."

Her body goes even more rigid. She's probably in shock because of the impropriety of it all. "Well, I'll let you ‘ave a look at ze different bands I found," she says, getting up. "I ‘ave some laundry to do."

"Okay," I say, relieved that she's letting me do this by myself. "Thank you."

A few hours later, I've chosen a band, and I spent hours online browsing Pinterest boards to find a decoration style I like. I'm not entirely set on my choice, but I made progress. After that, I braced myself and finally drove one of Colton's cars—the Range Rover—to go to see Marlene for a touch-up prior to an open call. The resumes I submitted these past few weeks didn't yield anything, so I thought I'd try my luck today. Unfortunately, my number was never called.

Finally, it's dinner time, and I find myself bubbling with anticipation. I'm eager to see Colton again, and I feel like a dog waiting for her master to come home. The way I phrased that just gave me major creepy vibes, especially since he's technically my employer and all that. Actually, friend. I think we could become friends, which would make this entire arrangement a lot more comfortable.

"Hey," I say, spotting Colton at the kitchen table. He's wearing a suit, as always—dark gray tonight. "Don't you ever wear regular clothes when you're at home?" I ask, sitting down across from him.

"Hi, Jane," he says, barely looking at me. "These are regular clothes. It's comfortable."

I'm taken aback by his cold demeanor. After last night, I thought something changed.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, unable to help myself.

"I'm fine. And you?" he asks, finally meeting my eyes. His gaze isn't as cold as his tone. It's more indifferent.

"Yes." I nod. "Fine."

Except I'm not, and everything about this exchange is weird. But I don't know how to talk to him when he's like this. He was a completely different person last night. Maybe it was the champagne or the French toast. Or both? I have to consider getting him on an alcohol and sugar diet so I can actually have conversations with him.

Agnes clears her throat as she brings the dish to the table. A subtle saline smell hits my nostrils, and my eyes widen in horror.

"There's fish in there."

Agnes stops serving him mid-air. "Oh my. You're right. Ze mussels. I'm sorry. I completely forgot, it's such a small part of paella."

And then I see it. The malice in Agnes's eyes. No, she didn't "forget." She was taking a stab at me. Any doubts I had about her not liking me vanish. This woman despises me.

I plaster a smile on my face. I know better than to waste my time fighting Colton's longtime head of staff. "It's okay. I'll just eat something else."

"I'm sorry, Jane," Colton says, concern flashing in his eyes. "Do you want to order out? Or maybe Agnes could fix you something else," he says as he casts her a pleading glance.

"I'd be happy to. I'm really sorry," she says falsely.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just make something myself."

Agnes gives me a little bow and sits down at the table to eat while I go make myself some pasta.

By the time I return to the table with my food, their plates are empty, and Agnes is clearing the table.

"Sorry we couldn't wait for you," she says. "But cold paella isn't very tasty."

Colton gives me an apologetic look.

"No problem," I say, flashing another fake smile. For a second, I think Colton is going to stay at the table with me, but he stands up, wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin.

"I have work to do," he says simply, then disappears from the kitchen.

Colton

I've been a jerk these past couple of days. I know that. Just when Jane and I started getting closer, I shut it down for my own good. And hers. It's better I don't get too involved. She's just another one of my employees, after all, and we need to keep some distance between us.

But humans are weak, and the fact that I'm standing in front of a pet store right now is proof of that.

The place is quite busy, and many of the owners actually shop with their pets. I didn't know that was a thing. Does the pet have a say in what their owner buys?

I spotted the store when I parked for my meeting, and I thought I could buy a few things for Truffles. So Jane can forget that I've been a cold prick these past few days, and because I crave her smile. The genuine one, not the polite grin she's been giving me every day.

As I enter the shop, causing the bell to ring, a golden retriever barks at me as soon as I step through. He probably knows I'm not exactly a pet lover.

I speed-walk to the back of the store, and the dog's barks give way to the hum of motors in the fish tank area. This is the kind of pet I should be getting. Peaceful.

Finally, I find the cat section, and the amount of stuff for sale makes my head spin. Two entire aisles are reserved just for food. Then, there's one for beds and litter boxes, another one for trees and scratchers, and a last aisle for toys of every size and shape.

I'm pretty sure Truffles doesn't have much to play with. I grab a couple of toys, a scratcher post—better that than my furniture—and some kibble because I don't know how much Jane has left. But when I'm walking toward the register, my eyes fall on the most beautiful cat tree. It looks fun, seems comfy, and would go well with my interior. The beige and brown color scheme features a mix of wood and plush carpet.

After paying for my purchases, I have to make two trips to the car just to fit it all in. Good thing I took the Range Rover today, the added bonus being the floral remnants of Jane's perfume inside—but I'm happy to do it. Truffles is being forced to live in a small area of my house, so I want her to be comfortable. I see how much Jane loves her.

When I get home, I unload everything and leave it piled in the living room.

"Hey," Jane says, striding from her wing with her purse in hand and an annoyed expression on her face. She stops, her brow wrinkling. "What's all this?"

"There was a pet store near my meeting," I say, then realize how defensive that sounded. "I thought Truffles could use some stuff."

Jane's eyes widen to match her smile, and my heart gets trapped in my throat. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

"It's fine. I wouldn't want her to get bored and scratch up all my furniture, so, you know . . . Better safe than sorry."

"Right," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, thanks. In that case, I'll take the cat tree to her ASAP."

"Leave it here," I say. "I'll put it together tomorrow."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure I can figure it out."

"I don't mind, really," I say, putting my hands in my pockets and a smile on my face. "By the way, I was thinking we could go out to dinner tonight, if you want? Another sighting of us in public wouldn't hurt."

"Oh, sure. I just have to run to the store real quick." She adjusts her bag's shoulder strap, the tension on her face returning. "Agnes didn't see that the grocery list had two sides, and she forgot all my stuff."

"Okay. Do you want me to come with you? We can drive to the restaurant afterward." Weak. I'm so weak and unbalanced. One minute I barely talk to her, and the next I can't give her space. But it's reflective of the battle raging inside of me: One side craves spending time with Jane, and the other doesn't want to be in the same room as her.

She bites her lip. "Okay. I'll go get changed."

She takes the rest of Truffles' stuff and disappears behind the door to her wing's corridor. A few minutes later, she reappears in a beige blouse that's tucked into a black skirt. Her cinnamon hair is brought up into a simple bun, and she put some medium-pink lipstick on. The fact that she can look so spectacular in such a simple outfit baffles me. But I have a feeling Jane looks incredible in anything she wears.

"Ready," she says, looking at me with a perplexed frown, probably wondering why I'm ogling her.

Clearing my throat, I say, "Let's go."