See You Monday: An Office Romance (Weekday series Book 1)

by Tiffany Costa

  We laughed, her bright blue eyes dazzling. Her curls had left the restaurant neat and defined. They were now a halo of fire framing her tall hourglass shape. I noticed at dinner that when she was listening, she pulled her curls absentmindedly and let them recoil back up. But on the dance floor she raked her fingers through her scalp, tossing her hair over to one side, exposing her neck, letting her curls have a life of their own. Carefree. How could she be so carefree?

  At dinner, Kieran had vowed she’d help me forget my old life ever happened. In that moment, dancing in a trendy London club, with all those guys staring at me hoping my dress would slip up just a little farther, Anthony Whatever-the-Shit felt like an entire decade ago. I felt young in a way I’d never felt. Beautiful in a way Anthony never let me feel. Sexy in a way he forbade me to be right from the start.

  “Your friend is watching us again.” Kieran wrapped her hands around my waist, grinding her hips against me, signaling back to the bar.

  She was talking about a blonde that kept catching my eye. He was wearing a simple white tee shirt, dark jeans, and an easy smile. More than once he’d lifted a shot at me and downed it.

  “What a creep,” I groaned. But I wasn’t creeped out. It piqued my curiosity that he was watching me. The last person to ever look at me like that was… maybe no one. Maybe Anthony, in the beginning. But not quite like this because we’d been set up by our mothers on that "blind date.” Through the fog of alcohol, I couldn’t recall a single other time a man from across the room had made it obvious he was interested in me.

  “You should go get a drink. I bet he’ll pay. And maybe you’ll get laid instead of eye-fucking all night.”

  I didn’t want to get laid. I rolled my eyes. “I’ve never done this.”

  “If he’s an asshole, thank him for the drink and walk away.”

  “Just… walk away. Won’t he be mad?”

  “Maybe, but who cares? You don’t owe him anything.” She laughed and smacked my ass again. “Go on,” she shouted. “I’ll stay close.” Kieran headed to the bar, a few feet away from me, and melted effortlessly into a group of women who accepted her without hesitation. I could never have that kind of confidence.

  Swallowing down my nerves, I weaved through the crowd and flagged down the bartender. She was wearing a glittery crop top and tiny little shorts. I didn’t have the courage to tell her she looked incredible, but in my head I did. That was enough for me, a baby step.

  “Can I get a shot of tequila?”

  The guy next to me whipped his head around. “A fellow American in London,” he said, flashing a smile. “And she’s pretty too.” He blurted.

  I rolled my eyes and blushed a little, feeling embarrassed by my obvious accent. My palms got uncomfortably sweaty and my heart pounded against my rib cage. Nope. This was not for me. I thought immediately. I gave him a nod as if to say I’m not interested but he turned to me anyway and asked where I was from.

  “New York,” I replied. “You?” Ugh, why was I encouraging conversation? Now that I was next to him, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, happier when he was just a distant admirer.

  “North Carolina. I’m here on vacation.” He put an elbow on the bar, forcing himself closer to me. His chest brushed against my arm.

  I felt a jump in my stomach. I was so nervous, a million insecurities sounding in my head all at once. “I’m here for work.”

  “What do you do?”

  Ah, I can answer this. I was a little flattered he’d asked. I was half expecting him to spit out a cheesy pick-up line, like they did on television. “I work for an international human rights organization in the research division. I research and write up articles for the quarterly reports so that our outreach team can take the—”

  He dropped money on the bar for my drink and cut me off. “Wow, that’s so interesting. Are you here with friends? These are mine,” he motioned to a group of guys behind him. “You seemed to be having fun with that pretty red head. You in a group?”

  With that, I was finished wasting my time. Why did I come up to this guy again? I took my drink and left him with a curt thanks. He was much better just being a fantasy in my head. A little piece on my mantel that watched me and inflated my ego. His eyes followed me the rest of the night, even as he chatted up other women.

  I loved it, denying him access to my time, my body. Me. I loved the way my belly flipped when I met his hungry gaze and flashed him a grin.

  Kieran indulged me, happily performing for our gaggle of admirers. She made me feel like we’d been friends forever, and this was just another night in our long history. I hoped so much in that moment that it was. I needed someone carefree like her to show me how to stop being so serious. I had to relearn how to be young because I’d never been given the chance to know how.

  We left at around two in the morning, holding hands and wheezing from laughter. It felt so good to be wasted. For the first time in weeks I’d truly escaped and forgotten my past. I was euphoric with Kieran’s arms around my waist and mine wrapped around hers.

  “I’m going to pee my pants,” I stumbled over her. She caught me before we both plummeted to the pavement. “I’m having so much fun.”

  “You are a wild child,” she tripped over her own feet. We leaned against a street light in a fit of giggles.

  “Is it wrong that I liked that guy watching me?” I hiccupped.

  “No, I love an audience.” She put her hands to my hips and steadied me against her.

  “Made me feel so…” I searched for the right word, “desirable.” I finished.

  Kieran tucked some of my hair behind my ear and held my cheek in the palm of her hand. “Anthony really did a number on you, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I answered, a wave of melancholy rushing over me. I willed it away and leaned into her. Kieran kissed my forehead and hailed a cab.

  We spent all of Sunday nursing our hangovers and watching trash television.

  CHAPTER 3

  Isaac

  “Morning, Isaac!”

  “Morning, Kit.” I didn’t even look up from my phone, as usual. Every day was the same, I skimmed the news and acknowledged everyone who was in before me. I had a habit of being late, and no one thought much about it anymore.

  Kit was a sweet undergrad who didn’t hide the crush she had on me. Or any of the other senior writers. As our receptionist, I didn’t even know what she did all day besides daydreaming and reading romance novels at her desk. I suppose she answered the phone, too, but I’d never seen that in action.

  “I wanted to remind you that Celeste starts today,” she called out to me.

  I looked up from an article about gentrification in London’s dodgy end. “Who?” I replied. Then it hit me. “Right. Thanks.” Shit. I had forgotten.

  My office was a complete wreck. It was always messy, but last week I let it get to epic proportions. It looked like a bomb went off in a paper factory. Although I didn’t usually care, I always felt a twinge of embarrassment when it was someone’s first impression. My grandmother's voice rose up in my head, disappointed. Too bad it was too late to panic tidy. Celeste would just have to deal with it.

  By the time I reached my door, Kieran was already standing there. The woman next to her, at least fifteen centimeters shorter, shifted anxiously from one foot to the other.

  She had inky black hair that fell in a sheet down past her long neck. I followed it all the way past the swell of her breasts. Bloody hell her hair went down to her hips, well past the high rise of her sharp black slacks, and the slope of her waist. Who could keep up with that kind of mane? I hardly kept my unruly hair together longer than an hour a day. She paired the somber trousers with a pale, frilly pink blouse that was cut just two fingers above indecent. Celeste smiled nervously at me through a pink lip and dark-rimmed glasses.

  Perfectly professional, but I had to shake off the immediate attraction I felt.

  Damn it. I had a thing for comically short women in business attire. My history
with women was a long string of law students, bookkeepers, a bank teller, and once I dated a secretary. Awful mistake that one. Never dated within the office again. It makes things very awkward when they leave you.

  But Celeste didn’t look anything like I imagined. Her resume put her steadily in the fifty-something-year-old-crotchety-frumpy-old-scholar category. However, I was walking toward a woman who was maybe five years my junior and exactly my type…had we met at a bar.

  Or at a conference.

  Or anywhere but a millimeter outside my office.

  And the glasses. God, those make me positively weak.

  “Morning Mr. Thompson! I just wanted to introduce you to Celeste. Celeste this is Isaac Thompson, the boss man.” Kieran grinned. She was the office flirt, always joking and entirely affable. She had zero enemies and was an essential team member. She knew everyone and everything that was going on, acting as an assistant to our exec upstairs. She presented Celeste with a flourish of her wrist. “Ta-da!”

  Celeste shoved her gently and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said calmly. However, a quick glance and I could tell by the thrumming pulse in the hollow of her throat that she was nervous.

  “Likewise. Call me Isaac.” I shot Kieran a look. She knew I hated formality. “I hope you’re finding yourself at home in London.” I held out my hand and shook firmly.

  “I am. It’s so beautiful.”

  I’m not that tall of a bloke, but she had to tilt her head up to meet my gaze, her eyes watching me from under thick black lashes. I had to look away before my mind wandered to lurid images of those eyes peeking up at me like that in a totally different situation.

  Sometimes I hate being a man.

  “Well, you’re not living in the dodgy end, so of course it’s beautiful. Let’s go in.” I said rather shortly.

  I could feel them exchanging a glance behind me.

  Maybe I should have stalked her social media before meeting her. Then I wouldn’t have been surprised by her appearance. I’d have been prepared and probably, most likely…definitely more able to keep my mind to myself.

  I wondered what Kieran might have told her about me.

  My reputation for being a certain way preceded me. I was well aware of the office gossip. The way everyone assumed I had a different woman every night of the week. How my attention span was speculated to cross over to the realm of sex and love. It didn’t. But I allowed the rumor to fester. It was flattering, after all.

  Then there was my work reputation founded on a lot more truth. We all got along well, but nobody really wanted to work directly with me.

  I don’t blame them. I thought as I opened the door to my fortress of chaos. It felt homey to me, but I wasn’t so daft to think anyone else liked working like this. I was the proud tyrant of my own paper hoard. And, I admit, I had a short temper with people who couldn’t appreciate the method to my madness.

  Or couldn’t sort through it fast enough to do as I asked.

  I need to work on my patience.

  I shoved the door open and cringed a little at what Celeste was going to think. I was glad my dick finally shut up as I held the door open to let her in and she passed me swiftly. She smelled divine, an intoxicating mix of the floral scents of her perfume and faint deliciousness of coconut underneath, a body lotion probably or hair product.

  Women truly are the superior species.

  CHAPTER 4

  Celeste

  I followed Isaac past the threshold into his office. The door hardly opened, slamming into something that was behind it. I slipped in sideways to accommodate my bag and he shut the door behind him. Or the door shut itself, I couldn’t tell. Stacks and stacks of clerical boxes lined the room. His desk was somewhere beneath a pile of paper, paperweights, folders, books, and… Was that a wrapper?

  Where was his computer?

  Where was the trash can?!

  I tried to hide the growing anxiety welling up inside of me, the all too familiar hum of nervous energy building in my chest.

  Two walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, one with floor-to-ceiling windows, and there was one wall left bare. It was home to a large leather chesterfield sofa and a lonely filing cabinet. Also hidden by a stack of boxes. The sofa was well worn, his laptop perched on a side table, attached to an extension cord. I followed the line of the chord to see that it got lost between the piles of boxes and papers.

  Aha! There was the lonely wire trash can. Empty. With a box balanced precariously over it. A lot of the towers teetered dangerously on the edge of a potential avalanche. But this particular one irked me beyond comparison.

  Behind me, I heard him shuffling the stacks on his desk, the heavy thud of them filling the awkward silence. I turned to where he’d revealed a pair of nail-head leather side chairs that matched the chesterfield across the room. It felt like if I sat, the mess would cave in on me and bury me in a paper tomb worthy of Seshat.

  “Excuse the mess. It’s a controlled chaos, I swear.” He motioned to a seat and I took it. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, pulling on a fistful of his dark hair. “Only it’s not usually this bad.” He sat across from me, his long legs almost touching mine. I was flushing red and knotted my hands in my lap, looking anywhere but at him. How could he work in this clutter?

  After that last small wave of anxiety passed, I looked right at him. “So, Kieran tried to explain my position here, but I’m still a little unsure what my job title means.”

  Isaac waved to the piles on his desk and chuckled. “Well, as you can see, I’m not very organized.”

  “Am I a secretary, your editor…” I cut him off.

  “No.” He spat back at me. “I need a co-writer, so you’re responsible to write for several topics that we’ll divide up later. I’m also currently not only writing for the quarterly report but also my own book on human trafficking that’ll be published through Human Rights International; if you want your name on that as well.” Isaac gestured to the piles and continued without pausing for a breath. “These stacks all make perfect sense to me. I read your report on Myanmar. It was captivating, by the way. So, when George called Michael, the head of the London office you’ll meet later, we had a meeting. They moved my former research assistant to another department and made you my co-author.”

  I could hardly follow his stream of consciousness. He made sense, sure, but his thoughts were as disorganized as this room. I felt like I should be taking notes just to look back on.

  “Your job is to help me organize my research. I was told you’re extremely detail-oriented, which I need. Read my drafts, fix them, write some of the parts I when can’t get to the point myself. There will be some dictation involved. Right now, we’re assigned to Russia.”

  I nodded. Overwhelmed by how fast he spoke and jumped from topic to topic. Oh my Lanta my boss—coworker—co-author—whatever, was a mess. I thought with wide eyes.

  Maybe asking for any position anywhere but New York wasn’t what I’d meant when I begged for the transfer. I wouldn’t be writing my own articles or doing my own research. This felt like a step down. Was this the price I paid for freedom?

  It struck me that I might have to work on the only empty space in the room, the sofa, or worse… a cubicle. I hadn’t had a cubicle in four years. “Where am I supposed to do this?” I asked.

  “Oh, right, I forgot. Come with me,” he stood and offered me a hand. My stomach flipped anxiously when I took it and let him help me to my feet. I was close enough to feel his breath on my face. The smell of his leather jacket mixed with aftershave was a familiar male elixir that had once driven me to madness. It felt good to know it did not affect me now, even though I could feel the sweep of his gaze on me, like a warm lick up my spine. He was attractive, but I was not attracted. Work would be much easier without worrying about what he thought of me. Professional. Concentrated.

  A part of me cringed that I even assessed my attraction to him like I was some weak feeble-minded woman, unable to
control myself around such a big handsome man.

  Gross.

  I can’t believe I ever measured myself in relation to a man’s opinion of me. I thought hatefully. Whoever the hell that woman was, she didn’t exist in this room. She didn’t exist within me at all, save as an embarrassing memory… an embarrassing habit I would absolutely break, even if it killed me.

  Isaac pulled off his jacket and tossed it on a wooden coat tree. He walked across the room as he did it and pushed a few stacks of books over with his foot, revealing a glass door I had previously thought was a window. I took a deep breath, calming my nerves. I would have my own space, thank heaven.

  He led me through the glass door into an adjoining office, much smaller than his, but thankfully it was completely empty, save a desk and a pair of blue chesterfield side chairs.

  “Is there a door to the hallway?” I looked around.

  “No, the downside is you’ll have to go through my office to get in and out. So maybe wear more sensible shoes. You’ll be trekking through the unknown most days.” He raised his brow to my pumps, a lopsided grin growing against his sharp features. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “I can handle your hurdles in my heels, don’t you worry.” I retorted, mirroring his grin.

  “I’ll be sure to clear a path.” He reached over to the phone on my desk and picked it up dialing an extension from memory. “Payton, are Miss…” he stalled, obviously having no clue what my last name was.

  “Just call me Celeste.”

  “Are Celeste’s things ready to come up here?”

  The person on the other line paused and responded slowly, an icy bite to his tone. “Yes, Mr. Thompson. Good morning.”

  I swore I saw Isaac roll his eyes. “Good morning. Bring them up.” He hung up and turned to me. “Payton is our assistant. Anything you need, just ask him. Nobody calls me Mr. Thompson. He’s just being—” Isaac never finished that sentence. His voice just trailed off as he shook his head.

  I nodded. We both turned to his office when we heard the loud thud of his door hitting the boxes behind it.