16

Kassie

Got In All By Yourself

Not one thing could put down my first day in the graphic design department. Not the first-day jitters or the tiny hangover I was sporting or the second blouse I had to change into after my first one became a casualty in my roommate's spray paint experiment— nothing . Nothing could ruin my good mood.

"You got this, bitch," I murmured under my breath. "They're going to be like—oh my god? What did we do without her?"

Walking past the gym, I slowed down just enough to sneak a peek. But I didn't have to. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, right on cue.

Mr. Intense: GOOD LUCK TODAY.

I bit back a grin, walking down the hallway. He still had the caps lock on. I was fake-dating a caveman. There wasn't anything that Ryan despised more than technology. I'd read that enough in his memory packet. Favorite video game? No. No, with the little period written right after it. Hilarious.

Typing up a thank you message, I wasn't quick enough before his other messages came through.

Mr. Intense: REMEMBER THIS IS JUST A FRONT

Mr. Intense: YOU'RE NOT ACTUALLY WORKING THERE

Mr. Intense: WEARING A MARRS SHIRT IS ALSO OPTIMAL

There went all my good grace towards the team captain. I rolled my eyes. There was no way in hell I was wearing some university merch for my first day. It just wasn't happening.

What is this man's obsession with seeing me in dark blue?

He didn't need a response, not after that. Besides, I'd see him tomorrow.

Sliding my phone into my back pocket, I pulled open the door to my new job. It wasn't sleek and pristine like the rest of the training center. Bright-colored notices were tacked up on the corkboard, people lounged in their chairs close to the glass walls, and the coffee machine looked used and abused.

My kind of people.

When I met Henry Miller again, it wouldn't be for some silly essay. We'd meet as colleagues.

At the closest desk, I gave a little wave. "Hey, hey, hey. I don't know who to talk to, it's my first day."

"First day?" The guy behind the desk grinned and started sifting through papers in a filing cabinet. "Wow. Welcome! What's your name?"

"Kassie Ragar."

His fingers stopped flipping through files comically fast and he stilled over the filing cabinet, like his system needed a reboot. Quickly, he shifted back in his chair. A big smile crossed his face that didn't meet his eyes.

"Welcome," he said slowly, still giving that weird, creepy smile.

I hesitated. "Is…is something wrong?"

"No, something wrong? What could be wrong?" He flashed the Marrs sign. "Go Romans!"

Uh…okay.

"So, here's what you're going to do," he told me, gesturing towards the hallway, surrounded by smaller offices. "You're going to go right down that little hallway over there, okay? You're going to meet Sandra. She's the nicest person in the world. She'll be your point of contact for this office. Do you understand? Do you need me to go with you?"

He wasn't being passive-aggressive. That was the craziest part. Like, he was nice but almost a nervous nice that left me more confused than anything.

"I can…find it," I said.

"You know what? I'll come with you."

With my new babysitter, we took the twenty-second walk into the office and it was the quietest twenty seconds I'd ever experienced in my life. The silence was so deep, I could've swam through it. At least the office was nice. People swiveled in their chairs and chatted with each other in the early work day.

Until my new babysitter introduced me.

"This is Kassandra Ragar," he announced solemnly, a weatherman letting everyone know that the flood was here and there was no escape.

Immediately, everyone straightened up. The chatter died.

"Kassandra." A lone woman stood up from the back and nodded slowly at me, with a huge Twilight Zone smile. Definitely Sandra. "We're so excited to have you here!"

"It's—um—it's Kassie," I told her with a wave.

"Kassie," people around the room started to reaffirm, repeating it. "Kassie, Kassie, Kassie."

"What the hell?" I whispered under my breath as Sandra drew me away from everyone, leading me deeper into the office.

"We don't officially open until nine, but everyone's welcome to come in whenever," she gushed, walking past other offices where people tightened up the second they saw me. "Your desk is right down this way."

"Um…I don't mean to be rude…" I trailed off, tugging at my sleeve.

"You couldn't possibly be!"

"What's going on? Why is everyone…talking like this to me?"

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and I knew I wasn't imagining things. "We just want you to be comfortable!"

"Well…I'm real excited for this…opportunity," I told her, meaning every word but still waiting for the taut smile on her face to relax. "I'm just an undergrad but I appreciate you guys making room for—oh."

The office was nice. But no computer. Just a desk and a chair.

"Okay." I sighed. "I feel like…everyone's scared of me?"

But why would that be? What could possibly make them scared of me, an animation student they hadn't even met before, unless…someone talked to them first. And who else would do that besides my uptight fake boyfriend, captain of the football team?

I put a hand to my forehead. "Oh my god . Did Ryan come here?"

"He…did."

" Christ ."

"And he wanted to make sure you were comfortable!"

"What did he say?" I groaned.

"Mr. Cross was very sweet," she assured me and her eyes darted to the window, overlooking the training center field. "He wanted us to know how important you are to him and how busy your schedule would be with the Birchwood Conference. Which we're completely in support of."

I breathed out through my nose. "You've got to be kidding me."

"And he did mention…a temper."

"His temper?" I frowned. "I mean…he's just…protective. He didn't mean to—oh my god, you mean my temper."

Ryan Cross waltzed into my future job and announced to everyone that I was this fragile kid's toy that could also come unglued and start chucking staplers at everybody. No wonder they were scared shitless in the office. They thought I was out here to break windows.

"I don't have a temper," I blurted out. "I'm a great worker. Before this, I worked seventy hours a week, mostly at bars! I can hold my own, sure, but I'm reliable and I'm an animation student and—"

"Which is not graphic design," she told me gently.

"No, it…it isn't," I admitted. "But I really wanted to learn and—"

"Kassandra, we're professionals who handle one of the biggest universities in the country. We have a lot of expensive programs we work with, all calibrated for what we do." She hesitated, watching me. "We just…think your time could be used for better things. Like your studies!"

"Oh."

"But we adore Mr. Cross."

I signed a contract to be his fake girlfriend, not heap praise on the man who was going around campus, warning people that I was dangerous.

"If you need anything, I'll be your point of contact," she assured me. "Coffee, tea, anything. I'm right here."

"Got it," I sighed.

"Why don't you take this time to figure out something nice for Ryan? That could be fun," Sandra suggested at the door. "I'm sure he'd just adore that from you."

Like a paintball in his locker?

I slipped off my backpack. "Sounds like a plan."

I knew one thing for certain. No matter what I said, I still had the football player's presence hanging over me. My entire time here would be exactly like this. Unless…I could prove my usefulness.

With my free time, I could make a project of my own.

I just need some tools .

Walking away from my office, I tapped my pen against the sketchbook, taking a stroll around the graphic design department. Everyone straightened up when they saw me but they relaxed a little when I stayed quiet and out of the way.

One of the guys at the desks turned back to his keyboard, typing in the computer's password.

Quickly, I jotted down the letters and numbers in my sketchbook, humming under my breath, pretending to smudge something.

One down. The rest to go .