Chapter 15

Still, for the entire metro ride home, I dwell over K-2P's assessment of Thomas. My droid has always been distrustful of my previous boyfriends and with good reason. I'm surprised he'd champion Thomas.

But maybe K-2P is a better judge of human character than I am. Is Thomas really one of the good ones? From what I've seen so far, sure. Maybe he doesn't take things seriously enough, but that wouldn't be a drawback in a relationship. I'd be earnest enough for the both of us, and having someone taper my doom and gloom attitude would be a welcome novelty.

I'm aware of being too much of a buttoned-up worrier. So, yeah, someone with an easygoing personality could help me get out of my shell. But that's not the issue, is it?

No, the problem is that Thomas is going to become my boss soon. Already, as a very young woman in a male-dominated field, I have to work twice as hard to get any credit. But I have worked twice as hard. Trice as hard. All my life. And over the years, I've built a reputation for myself.

Now everyone gives me the recognition I deserve. The people in my department are happy to follow my lead—at least the ones who are left. A few of the oldies handed in their resignations when I was appointed head of research and development, refusing to report to a woman under thirty.

But those who stayed, the new hires I brought in, and the other department heads respect me now. But were I to openly date the CEO, assuming Nolan Mercer was willing to make an exception to the anti-fraternization policy for his son, that would all change in a heartbeat. I'd become the gold digger trying to sleep her way to the top. None of my accomplishments would be my own anymore.

Already, things get vicious when I have to compete for budget allocations with the other directors; imagine if I were sleeping with the man making those kinds of decisions. No, Nolan Mercer would never allow that. He'd probably suggest I transfer somewhere else, but I don't want to. And anyway, Thomas is heir to the kingdom. I could be accused of getting favoritism in any role or division at Mercer Industries. Plus, being director of RD in robotics is my literal dream job. I can't risk it for a relationship that might fail like all my previous ones. What would I be left with? A broken heart and a crappy job?

But even if Mercer Sr. didn't force me to change role, a company is a vicious gossip mill. It'd grind my reputation to smithereens. And I've worked too hard to throw it all away on a handsome face and a pair of pretty eyes—smoldering as they might be.

Right.

I get home and sit on the couch to eat a depressing tub of plain yogurt.

No matter that keeping my distance from Thomas is the smart choice, it doesn't change the fact that I'm attracted to him and that the next eleven weeks are going to be pure torture.

As I sit there, feeling sorry for myself and licking the spoon after the last mouthful of yogurt, a thought suddenly barrels into my head. I drop the empty tub and the spoon on the coffee table and surge toward the entrance hall where I abandoned my bag on the floor.

I rummage inside, searching like a crazed person looking for an antidote to a poison they just ingested. Only the thing poisoning my heart is the impossibility of having anything with Thomas, and I'm not sure what I find in my bag will cure me of that disease.

The handwritten blue note could very well inject fresh toxins into my system.

Still, I sit on the carpet, sagging against the wall and hugging the note to my chest before even reading it.

I wait for my heart to stop beating so fast it seems to want out of my chest before I finally lower the note and drink in every word.

I would comment on your leggings today, but since we're strictly friends, I'll abstain.

The man is a tease, and he's worn me out, prompting me to do something I'd promised myself I wouldn't do. I search my desk for a Post-it block and a pen and craft a reply:

This is a special waiver; you can comment on my leggings.

The next morning, as soon as Thomas exits the office to shadow yet another team leader, I get up from behind my desk and tiptoe to the door. I poke my head out to make sure no one's headed this way and close it. The blinds have been down since my striptease last week, so I'm free to sneak to Thomas's desk and hide the note in his bag.

He won't read it until tonight. And I'll have to wait until tomorrow evening to read his reply. The wait is going to be excruciating. And the game I'm playing is extremely dangerous. But I can't help myself. For the first time in my life, I'm acting recklessly, I'm willingly playing with fire. But, gosh, getting burned never felt so tempting.

When I arrive home that night, I find another note in my bag. It says:

Why is your hair pink at the tips?

I grab a pen and write my reply on a separate note:

Because pink is fun.

The next morning when I arrive at the office, I know Thomas has found my note from the day before from the way his eyes linger on me a little longer than usual, smoldering away. I pretend not to notice and go about my day like an innocent little engineer who's not secretly flirting with her future boss.

But that night as I arrive home, my fingers are itching to read his note, and I'm delighted when I see it's on the longer side.

Thought I had to lure you out with a direct question, but I see that's no longer necessary. Thank you for the special waiver allowing me to comment on your legwear. I wanted to say that while your butt looked truly spectacular in those leggings, it didn't need any extra support. PS. I still want to know why pink. PPS. Are we still being friendly?

He doesn't know I already answered his question, so I tease him a little.

Keep up, Mercer, you already have the answer. And that's all you had to say about my leggings? Yes! Still being friendly. Friends can compliment each other's appearances. Like you can say I have a nice butt, and I can say you have pretty eyes without crossing a line.

Thursday night's note is brief but searing:

My idea of fun and yours are pretty different.

I tease some more:

What's your idea of fun? Do you need a special waiver to elaborate? Have a nice weekend, Mercer.

He'll read this tomorrow, on Friday night.

And as the moment arrives, I take out my own Friday night note filled with trepidation:

Just pretty? I thought my eyes were smoldering. And the things I have to say about your butt wouldn't just cross the line, they'd obliterate it. So my hands are tied here. Have a good weekend, Campbell…

I grab a notepad and recompose our two separate threads of conversation. I stick his notes to the sheet of paper and write the answers I gave below. Once I'm finished, I re-read the first one.

Why is your hair pink at the tips?

Because pink is fun.

My idea of fun and yours are pretty different.

What's your idea of fun? Do you need a special waiver to elaborate? Have a nice weekend, Mercer.

And then the second.

This is a special waiver; you can comment on my leggings.

Thought I had to lure you out with a direct question, but I see that's no longer necessary. Thank you for the special waiver allowing me to comment on your legwear. I wanted to say that while your butt looked truly spectacular in those leggings, it didn't need any extra support. PS. I still want to know why pink. PPS. Are we still being friendly?

Keep up, Mercer, you already have the answer. And that's all you had to say about my leggings? Yes! Still being friendly. Friends can compliment each other's appearances. Like you can say I have a nice butt, and I can say you have pretty eyes without crossing a line.

Just pretty? I thought my eyes were smoldering. And the things I have to say about your butt wouldn't just cross the line, they'd obliterate it. So my hands are tied here. Have a good weekend, Campbell…

Yeah, I'm afraid that line is already wobbling dangerously. Good thing next week I'll be mostly gone to a conference in Rome. I leave on Wednesday, 1 November, so I'll be at the office only Monday and Tuesday, which is great as I won't miss Halloween. We don't have an official company party, but 31 October is still a fun day at work. Everyone dresses up and, at the end, we vote on the best costume. The winner earns bragging rights for the entire year, a ring of power replica that gets the champion a boon from each of us, and an ugly-ass trophy with the words "Top Nerd" etched on the base that they get to display at their workstation until the next vote.

Last year, I earned second place dressed up like a ghostbuster. This year, I'm planning for something slightly more feminine. I was thinking of going as Rey from Star Wars.

I wonder what Thomas will dress up as.