56. Emily

56

EMILY

T he halls were eerily quiet when I stepped off the elevator, the lights dimmer than I remembered them being, while the scent of freshly brewed coffee traveled all the way from the staff kitchen to my nostrils before I breathed the scent deep into my chest. It had this calming effect even though I was well aware caffeine's job was to aggravate your central nervous system, not settle it.

I decided to top off my travel mug, failing to question who powered on the machine until I was staring at an empty kitchenette. I was used to being the first one here. What I wasn't used to was having a full pot of coffee waiting for me when I arrived.

I glanced down each side of the corridor, finding them just as vacant, before making my way towards the machine. There was a cup already set out on the counter, not just any cup but my usual office mug, filled to the brim with my preferred blend of French roast—if the aroma was anything to go by.

I dropped my travel mug next to the sink and lifted the cup to my lips, taking a tentative sip. One cream, one sugar. Just how I liked it. While the coffee helped warm the ache in my gut, unease chilled my spine. No one around here paid enough attention to me to know how I took my coffee. No one cared enough to ask either. I was just another face. Another name. Another person to dislike for their simple existence in the competitive field of research and development.

Truth was, I didn't need friends. Not in the office anyway. It was much better to separate business and pleasure.

I rinsed out my travel mug and tucked it under my arm, turning out of the staff kitchen and making a beeline for my desk. Only to stop in my tracks as soon as my computer came into view. The overhead lights flashed on, momentarily blinding me as I set my cups aside and reached a hand out towards the gift box sitting atop my keyboard. Its shiny black paper nearly iridescent at this angle and the matching velvet bow soft to the touch.

Pushing up on the tips of my dress shoes, I peered over the dividers, the silence that usually eased me into a productive morning suddenly eating away at my sanity. When it was clear that no one was jumping down from the drop ceiling or crawling out from under the conference room table to scream surprise , I tugged on the end of the bow and watched the paper slowly fall away. Then I placed the plain black box next to my computer screen and gradually raise the lid while a million different possibilities flitted through my mind. None of them good.

Black was a pretty ominous color. And tossing a gift box on someone's desk was a convenient way to trigger the whole building to blow. Also a good method of biological warfare, if history were anything to go by.

Still, my curiosity got the better of me as I leaned forward to peer at the contents. Lifting a questioning eyebrow when my fingers dipped inside and plucked out what appeared to be a man's dress shirt. A used dress shirt, off-white, with a thin peppering of cologne clinging to the fabric.

It wasn't exactly a bomb but it wasn't a gift either.

I deposited the shirt back into the box, shoving the crumbled paper and rolled-up bow on top of it before slamming the lid shut and pushing it all aside. Deeming it tomorrow's problem. Today I had work to do. Work that didn't include bullshit chat messages or creepy black boxes. Though whoever it was, they could keep the coffee coming.

I raised my cup in mock cheers at the thought before setting it next to my mouse pad again.

I slept like shit and that hyper-realistic sex dream left me on edge. In more ways than one. I had all the aches and exhaustion of being thoroughly fucked all night long with none of the benefits of an orgasm. It seemed the men in my fantasies were just as useless as the men in my real life.

It really was a shame I didn't bat for the other team. Would have made things so much easier if I could avoid the opposite sex altogether.

The repetitive rapping of knuckles against my divider wall had me simultaneously looking up from my screen and groaning in my seat. It wasn't even seven in the morning yet and the office nonsense was already in full swing, or so it seemed.

"Morning, Emmy," Elliot hummed while I pivoted in my chair to glare at him from over one shoulder. He was standing uncomfortably close, his hands tucked into his pockets and his posture too relaxed for a man well on his way to getting slapped. He leaned forward, not bothering to hide the fact he was snooping. "Whatcha got there? Is it your birthday or something?" He tugged a palm free from his pants and gestured at the box.

"Something," I muttered under my breath, quickly deciding to grab my discarded gift and shove it against Elliot's chest. "You know what? Why don't you take it? I think it would look much better on you anyway." I spun my chair all the way around and crossed my arms. My legs following suit as my lips curled into a smirk.

Elliot stared at me for a moment, clearly not knowing what to do with the items stuffed in his hands, before breaking out of his daze and dropping everything into the bin beside my desk. "No thanks. I don't do sloppy seconds," he grunted, his mouth twisted into an almost snarl.

Good. I didn't know what exactly put a damper on his mood or took the skip out of his step. But I was fucking grateful for it.

Without another word, Elliot raked an aggravated hand through his hair and stalked off. Grumbling to himself instead of at me for once.