Round 4

A fter a few sleepless nights and a mostly completed assignment, the absolute last thing I wanted was to attend this week’s strategy meeting.

My boss, Jeffrey Markham, the M of M&G, stopped me after the meeting and smiled—the kind of smile that made the food in my stomach want to revisit my mouth.

“Could we have a quick chat in my office?”

I nodded, running through all the reasons he could possibly need to talk to me alone.

Shaun met my gaze, his eyebrows drawn together much like mine were, as I followed Mr. Markham.

A large wooden desk, about three times the size of mine, sat in the center of the room.

“So,” Mr. Markham said and gestured to the two red velvet chairs, “you’re a really great worker, and I am glad to see you on our team. You’re not just a diversity hire.”

I smiled awkwardly, very awkwardly, while taking my seat. “Uh, thank you?”

He turned on his coffee machine and then faced me, leaning forward onto the elbows of his gray jacket, which matched his pressed gray pants. He was above average in height and width, with broad shoulders and a puffed-out chest. “The thing is, you are incredibly distracting.” He stared at my chest, and unease settled in my belly.

I was relieved I had thrown a scarf around my neck that morning to hide the somewhat revealing neckline of my blouse.

“Excuse me?” My heart pounded louder than the purr of his coffee machine.

His lingering gaze snapped up. “I mean, chatty. You’re incredibly chatty, and it’s distracting. I’m going to need you to rein it in.”

I rubbed my clammy palms against my skirt and cleared my throat with the intention of telling him I didn’t appreciate his comments. Or telling him I worked more than anyone else in this office. I should have pointed out I was the only one who had almost finished the degree they encouraged us to do. I should have mentioned I arrived in the dark and left hours after it turned dark once again. I should have said all of this, but instead I nodded, ignoring the thickness in my throat.

“I understand,” I said. “Is that all?”

He sat back, and the leather squeaked underneath him. “You’re an attractive young woman. If you keep your head down and work hard, there’s a promotion in your future.”

I was certain my awkward smile had turned into a grimace. I had lost the ability to talk and continued nodding, much to my dismay, until eventually the conversation ended.

When I left his office, I went straight to my desk. My stomach still roiled as I tried to make sense of what’d happened.

Shaun rolled his chair toward me. “What was that about?”

Without responding, I kicked his chair, sending him wheeling back to his desk.

I opened the office messaging service.

Rose Jones: Got a warning for being too chatty.

Shaun Ashdern: What do you mean?

Rose Jones: What do you mean what do I mean? He said I was too chatty and I was distracting… So, stop talking to me. YOU never get into any trouble. Golden boy.

Shaun Ashdern: Ouch.

Shaun Ashdern: But fair.

Shaun Ashdern: Coming to game night?

Rose Jones: It’s my turn. I’d never miss it.

Shaun Ashdern: What are we playing?

Rose Jones: Do some work before I get blamed for distracting you.

Shaun Ashdern: Fine.

When I arrived at Shaun’s place, I was—as usual—greeted by William, by not being greeted at all.

Apparently, gaining social skills on The Sims was more important than in real life. I grabbed a chair and sat next to him.

He looked at me with a deep frown and adjusted the glasses he rarely wore. “Pippin.”

I ignored that, eager to win this round of Playing Nice while finding a way to irritate him at the same time. “What’s your Sim’s name?”

“Go away.” He nudged me with his elbow.

I tried to make eye contact, which was how I gauged how much longer I could tease him before he exploded. “What’s your Sim’s wife’s name?” I pointed at The Sims lady walking around the house he’d built.

He ignored me.

I lowered my finger toward the power button. “Oh, what does this button do?”

He broke his focus and took off his spectacles. “Rose, I’m working.”

Oops. His gaze was darker than I’d expected, and he used my real name.

Retreat. Retreat .

I stepped away from his computer. “You have a really cool job.”

The easiest way to decompress William was by talking to him about the games he designed and reviewed for a living. It was every geeky teenager’s dream.

“What do you want?” he asked, slipping the spectacles back on and turning his focus back to his game. “Are you still trying to win Shaun’s stupid game?”

“No,” I lied.

He smiled at his screen, his dimple coming out to play. He didn’t buy that at all.

“Claire and Lincoln aren’t coming. We need a fourth player for the ultimate gaming experience.” I widened my eyes in what I hoped would be an irresistible manner, although I can’t say I had a high success rate.

He pressed his pouty lips together and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” His gaze slipped to my chest where my scarf had shifted, but it zapped back to his screen a microsecond later. He blew out a short breath. “Hold off on beatboxing for another twenty minutes or so.”

Then Shaun pulled me away while bitching about our boss until Neema arrived with Bananagrams.

William trudged over and sat down on the large gray couch. He leaned back, stretching out his long legs in his sweatpants. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “I’m about to teach Rose a lesson.”

“You wish,” I snapped, spreading out the lettered tiles, face down.

As soon as the game started, I flipped my tiles, and my brain went into overdrive, connecting the letters. Word games were my strength, and the only person who ever challenged me was William.

But William was distracted by the silly words Shaun made, and I claimed victory.

“Rematch,” William said, taking all the tiles and flipping them face down.

Of course he’d want a rematch. And I’d win again. Except this time William was focused, and I was beginning to learn that, when William focused, there was little that could stand in his way. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he won.

I groaned and double-checked his words to make sure he hadn’t cheated. Damn him. He hadn’t.

I challenged him to another match.

Which I shouldn’t have.

After winning the last round, the dimple in his left cheek deepened at the corner of a smug grin. He walked back to his laptop. “Maybe next time you won’t ask me to join, and you’ll have a higher chance at winning.”

So annoying.

Ignoring him, I made my way to the kitchen and turned on the kettle, which William had specifically bought after he’d heard me complain about the lack thereof one too many times. The gurgling noise of boiling water blocked out Patrick’s entrance and his clipped footsteps. I looked up as he set a brown paper bag on the kitchen island between us.

“Hey, babe.” He took out a pack of caramel popcorn and tossed it at Neema. “It’s been a long day.”

For Patrick, a long day was twelve hours or more at the office. Yet somehow, every light brown strand of hair was in place, and there wasn’t a single crease in his black shirt. My days looked much different. After two hours in the office, I had usually managed to lose a hair tie and an earring, and accidentally sipped someone else’s coffee.

“Hey, you,” I replied.

He removed a maple syrup pie, and Shaun swiped it before it even hit the counter.

“And for you.” He handed me half a dozen chocolate croissants.

Apparently, forgiveness had a price. And it was half a dozen chocolate croissants.

He leaned across the counter and kissed my cheek. “I missed you, babe, but I won’t be staying long. I have—”

“Work,” I interrupted, harsher than I intended. “I figured.”

His leaf-green eyes were filled with apologies I was tired of hearing, and he was tired of making. “I need to talk to you about something.”

My breath hitched in the second that passed.

“My dad is promoting me to national sales manager.” He walked around the kitchen island toward me.

“That’s amazing!”

His frown lines deepened.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re saying something good, but your face is saying something else.”

“It means I have to leave town every now and again and take care of clients around the country.” The corners of his mouth resisted the urge to break into a smile.

I was consumed by the familiar pang of guilt for making him hate how much he loved his job. Slapping on a smile, I gave him what I hoped were what Neema called heart eyes . “We should celebrate.”

“We will, babe. We will when I get back. I found out today, but I have to fly off tomorrow morning. I’ll be gone for about five or six days, one week max.” He paused, waiting for my reaction.

“That’s really exciting.” I almost choked out the words. “Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

His face relaxed into a comfortable smile. “I should get home. I still have to practice my presentation a couple times before tomorrow’s meeting.” He took a pained breath and tried not to smile at the mention of his presentation. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Hoping to reassure him, I stood on tiptoes and kissed him on his lips—something he often shied away from in public.

His body stiffened, and not in a good way. He pulled away, his widened eyes searching the room to see if anyone had noticed my unacceptable public display of affection, but Shaun and Neema were watching TV and William’s focus hadn’t veered from his game.

Quickly, he made his escape, as if to avoid another surprise kiss.

As soon as I closed the door behind him, William turned toward me, a curve playing on his lips. “You must be a terrible kisser.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.”

His smile fell, and for a second, another expression crossed his face. Before I could place the look, he glanced back at his screen and cursed out loud.

Again. And again. And again. He had been attacked by a screaming witch.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy that.