54. Emily

54

EMILY

I t was just another day in administrative hell. It was also a Monday, which only seemed to make matters worse. And I was two large coffees deep, a pile of documents clutched in one arm and a fresh mug in the other as I stopped a few feet short of my desk. I cleared my throat loud enough for most of the office to hear and watched as my chair spun back around to face me.

"Morning, sunshine." Elliot grinned like he hadn't just been caught with his hand in the cookies jar. His expression so smug it made my teeth grind in my jaw as I fought my need to slap him.

I waited, lifting a questioning brow. Urging him to explain without bothering to say more. We both knew what I was asking. What the fuck are you doing going through my password-protected files?

"Just updating your security software, Emmy. Shit's older than that dollar-store mug you're clutching." He gestured to my coffee, which I considered throwing in his face if it wouldn't be an insult to good caffeine, while attempting to disarm me with another smirk.

It didn't work.

"Emily, not Emmy," I was quick to correct before setting my mug down beside my keyboard and plopping my pile of paperwork with way more gusto than was necessary. "Sounds like IT isn't doing their job then, doesn't it?"

Elliot never dropped his grin as he pushed to his feet, making sure I took notice of the height difference as he tsked his tongue. "That's exactly what I'm doing, Emmy. My job ."

I crossed my arms over my chest while tipping my head back to meet his glare. I didn't know what it was about this guy but he got under my skin. "Is that so? ?Cause to me, it looks like you waited until I left my desk to start snooping through my files."

"Looks can be deceiving, sweetheart. You should know that better than most."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." He lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug, his hands tucked into his pockets and a cocky sway to his step as he turned to walk down the hallway, back towards the hole in the wall where all those zeros and ones went to die.

I watched until Elliot disappeared around the corner, then reclaimed my seat, tucking my legs under my desk and eyeing my screen. Not an icon, tab, or window out of place. Which didn't mean much of anything if the guy was as good as he thought he was. His attitude screamed I think I'm the smartest person in the room while his conventional good looks didn't do much to help matters. It was clear he was used to women fawning all over him. I just wasn't one of them.

Maybe that was his problem with me. The fact I wasn't throwing my panties in front of his keyboard. Because it was definitely something. He took every opportunity to try to unnerve me. If I were younger and a tad more na?ve, I'd think the fucker was flirting. But this was the office, not the playground, and tugging a girl's pigtail didn't mean you liked her. It meant you were an asshole who needed to learn to keep your hands to yourself.

It was nearly five before I peered up from my computer again, cracking my neck from side to side as I glanced around the almost empty office space. Marisela had back-to-back meetings with the board all day. Very need-to-know. And apparently I didn't need to know the shit that was going on behind those soundproof double-doors.

I was pretty sure I didn't want to know either.

I rested my palms on my desk, ready to slide back and stretch my legs, when a chat box popped up on my screen. I flicked a glare over one shoulder, that feeling of someone watching me sending a chill down my spine, before returning my attention to the little message tab.

UNKNOWN USER: It's late.

I rolled my eyes and typed out a quick response, some fucked-up part of my brain wondering if he was planning to ask me about my favorite scary movie. I was assuming it was a he anyway, seeing as the whole guy in a mask thing was popular nowadays. I mean, it wasn't my kink but I could certainly understand the appeal.

EMILY SHAW: Thank you, Captain Obvious.

UNKNOWN USER: Why aren't you home. Alone. In that empty bed of yours.

EMILY SHAW: That kinda talk isn't appropriate for the office. You do know these chats are monitored by HR. Don't you, Elliot?

It was a guess so I threw it out there. Worst case, I was wrong. Best case, I knocked the cocky bastard down a peg or two.

UNKNOWN USER: Keep calling me another man's name and you won't like the consequences, Emily.

EMILY SHAW: Oh, look at that. Now we can add threats to my sexual harassment suit. At this rate, my name's gonna be on this building by end of week.

UNKNOWN USER: Not before my name's on the tip of that tongue of yours. Begging me to stop… or maybe to keep going. We all know what a dirty little slut you are.

EMILY SHAW: We?

So this was a group effort? Likely one of the dozen applicants pissed off at me for landing a job I never wanted to begin with. That was before I'd seen the salary that came with my new title—there really was no arguing with all those zeros. Not with the amount of debt I'd accumulated over the years.

UNKNOWN USER: I think the black is more appropriate for you tonight. Black like that shriveled-up little organ in your chest.

EMILY SHAW: Grant?

I watched the little bubbles appear and disappear in the text box before they were replaced by one of those automated messages that informed me the user was no longer available .