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

by Tiffany Costa

  A series of numbers caught my eye. A phone number. No name. Since I highly doubted he brought an economic history of Russia to a bar, I assumed this was a business related number and it unsettled me that he wouldn’t have written the number down in a more… memorable spot. How would he ever even know where let alone who this number was?

  Maybe he was the kind of man that brought an economic history of Russia to a bar.

  Pretentious ass.

  I had to focus.

  I closed all of the books and went back to the dense history I’d started before. As I read, my mind kept wandering. I couldn’t focus longer than a few sentences before I started dissecting every last exchange between Isaac and myself in the past hours.

  I needed a calmer space to read. But didn’t want to retreat to my office and lose this pissing contest. It was important that I showed I wasn’t someone to step on and boss around.

  With a sigh, I measured the mess around me and decided I’d just organize the boxes by country at least. Hauling each box and sorting them by country only took ten minutes at most, and the cheap thrill it gave me wasn’t enough. Like an addict, I needed more organization, more decluttering, more of the zen feeling I get when mess turns to tidiness. One glance at his bookshelves and I was running my fingertips against the spines, some worn and well-read, others brand new, untouched. The built-in shelves were bursting with volumes neatly lined up, no rhyme or reason to the order, and just as many books haphazardly squeezed in Tetris-style. The sight was like nails on a chalkboard.

  “I’ll do the rest.”

  Yeah, okay. All Isaac had done while I read on his couch was wander around shuffling papers from one pile to another. I could have done what he did in five minutes.

  So, with a swell of resentment, I pulled every last one from the shelves and threw them in piles by continent. He probably was taking lunch and would be gone for an hour. I could finish this by then. I wouldn’t be able to categorize them further than continent, but that was better than nothing.

  I was quickly blockaded in, tripping over piles of books with not a single inch of floor space to be found. I kicked off my heels and threw them across the room over the fortress of books. They landed by the couch with a heavy thud.

  It calmed me to no end to organize the books. First, the sheer number of them was wonderfully thrilling to a bookworm like me. Then, stepping back and seeing them all lined up, none of them tilting over, no more random folders stuffed between them, it was glorious.

  He better like it.

  It only took me forty-five minutes to get the wall-to-wall bookshelves organized. So I turned to the boxes I had sorted. I pulled out the stacks labeled with Eastern European countries and started with Russia. If I could get that organized by the end of the day, then at least we’d be getting somewhere. There must have been hundreds of articles printed from the internet, half as many newspaper clippings, wrinkled and smudged. They were in folders with labels. But so many folders had the same label. So, it didn’t seem like a very efficient way to find what he was looking for. Some just had dates, and I started to gauge that I wouldn’t finish before he got here.

  Another thought plagued me. Why didn’t he just save articles on a drive? It seemed a huge waste to have it all printed. If they were digital, he could at least search for them much more easily.

  I reached a file folder labeled “Adela.” I opened it, expecting another jumbled interview to file away by date. A half-naked woman looked back at me, sultry eyes staring straight into the camera lens. I snapped the folder shut, my gut dropping to my knees. The folder burned in my hands, curiosity scalding my good sense.

  I peeled open the plain manila file folder, a wicked intruder to a stranger’s private life. Adela had long blonde hair that tumbled in waves over her breasts, and dark-rimmed glasses she bit between pretty, full red lips. Her lingerie was reminiscent of a businesswoman, a costume, a playful fantasy. She looked so confident and sensual, arching her back in one picture, biting her lip in another, crawling to the cameraman. I was fascinated by that, having never been able to be comfortable like that in my own skin. I certainly never, ever, took pictures like this. She had these printed for Isaac, I assumed.

  If I had done the same for my ex, Anthony would probably have laughed at them and gotten mad at me for it… He didn’t encourage my sexuality. I was always “so cute,” never sexy. Never like this woman looking at me now, teasing me through the male gaze, completely aware of the fantasies she conjured up. In control of the imagination of whoever looked at these.

  Sex was always about Anthony, that’s it. He wanted sex. He was the sexy one.

  Celeste, she was just an innocent participant. She didn’t have feminine wiles. Perfect little virginal Celeste.

  The cringe reached the most remote cells in my body.

  I remembered the last and only time I tried to seduce him like this, in a sexy maid outfit, and he’d laughed at me and told me to take my makeup off before kissing him. I felt so small, then. Washing the makeup away in the bathroom with my tears… that was the last time I ever felt sexy. That was the time of death for my sexual exploration. My stomach turned as I remembered having sex with him after that… cold, quiet, from behind so that he couldn’t see the pain I gave up into the pillow.

  What excuses had I made for him? What idiotic tale had I spun to soften the blow of that dehumanizing experience? That he wasn’t into that? It was early on in our relationship. We were just learning each other’s bodies and desires. At the time, it seemed so plausible. So true.

  “You’re not like that.” He had said to me.

  And I’d just believed him.

  Stupid. I hissed at myself now.

  I closed the file on Adela. I was jealous of her. Whoever was on the other side of the camera lens had been encouraging, supportive… probably turned on. I wondered if it had been Isaac. Maybe Adela was a girlfriend…

  Stuck in a box labeled Ukraine. Wow. He really knew how to treat a lady.

  Maybe these were done by a photographer. Either way, she oozed sex appeal and I was jealous that I’d never be that.

  Maybe I should take pictures of myself like this, I mused as I put her back in the box.

  A jolt of panic accompanied the plunk of the file. He’d know I went through this box. He'd know I saw this. Did he even know these were here?

  I took a bet that he didn’t and shoved the folder into his desk where a normal person would keep nudes. Then I took it back out and shoved it into a box labeled “France.” He might not even know these were in his office at all. And if he found them suddenly in his desk… he would definitely know I saw them. So I gambled that Adela was forgotten, and put her in France to remain forgotten.

  I was a little sad for her, then.

  The door swung open behind me and my heart leaped to my throat.

  “Make yourself at home.” His voice was flat and dry as he motioned to the room. “I thought I told you to read.”

  If only he knew just how comfortable I’d gotten just a second ago.

  “I thought I’d be more useful doing this.” I retorted. Emphasizing the I in this new team.

  His expression didn’t change at all. “I really wish you hadn’t. I won’t be able to find anything.” He mocked me by using the same inflection in his tone.

  “Well, I have a system.” I started to cross over to the library and became acutely aware that I was not wearing my shoes, like a heathen. Awkwardly, I crossed him as he started towards his desk. “Sorry about this. I was tripping over the…” I was cut off by his condescendingly raised eyebrows. I plopped down to buckle the thin ankle straps of my shoes and stood my ground. “Don’t look at me like that. If you had to scale Mt. Books-About-the-Kremlin, you’d have removed your stilettos, too.” I stood up and smoothed the front of my pants making sure they weren’t too wrinkled at the crotch, but covered them in dust instead.

  Today was going too well. I should play the lottery. I thought sourly.

  “
Those sensible shoes are looking much more appealing right now, huh?” His eyes burned into my exposed ankles.

  It was so stupid, but I blushed. “I won’t need sensible shoes after I’m done because there won’t be any obstacles to break my ankles over.”

  “Mt. Books-About-the-Kremlin better be in chronological order.” He passed me the latte as I crossed back to the library. He was holding back a grin, I could tell.

  Stupidly, I lowered my guard in his teasing gaze.

  Okay, maybe our little tiff was over.

  It was my turn to be smug. “By date publicized. I organized the whole library by continent and then country. I did it geographically, by what’s farthest away from England.” I motioned like one of those game show girls presenting the prize. “Everything to the left is North and Latin America, everything to the right, Europe, Africa, Asia. I can make labels tomorrow. Then I did the same with these boxes against the wall. I started on Russia, since that was our current project. I’m going to take out the files from the boxes and divide them into the file cabinet.” I strutted over to the cabinet in question. “Interviews on top, News articles in the middle drawer, printed Internet sources on the bottom.”

  “Good. No need to touch anything else. It’s going to storage.” He picked up the phone and buzzed Payton. Our conversation continued without regard to the ringing on the line.

  “You’re going to send it to storage without looking at it?”

  “If it was important I'd have filed it correctly or put it on my desk.” He answered.

  I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, “That gives me anxiety.”

  Isaac licked the foam from his top lip and shrugged, grinning. “Well, then we make a perfect pair because I feel nothing. It cancels out.”

  “Why don’t you keep your digital sources on a drive?” I asked while Isaac dialed Payton again. “I can organize it for you if we merge files.”

  “Celeste, I’m dyslexic. I can’t focus properly when I read on a screen. I prefer to have a physical copy.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, nodding stupidly. It should have clicked when I realized most of his articles were large print.

  Payton’s robotic voice let me off the hook. “Yes, Thompson.”

  “Payton, are Celeste’s boxes ready? Come up here and bring a cart with you for the file room.” Isaac didn’t wait for a reply. He just hung up rudely.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything in there you might need?” The images of Adela were burning a hole through the box I shoved them in.

  “No. I need to focus on this project.” He picked up a manila folder and perused its contents, leaning against his desk. I took it as my cue to let him tackle the sorting himself and I sat on the sofa with my latte and opened my laptop back up.

  The first sip of milk-stained espresso gave me instant pleasure. So much, that I dropped the book next to me, held the paper to-go cup with both hands, and closed my eyes. My hands were frozen from nervous energy, the hot coffee thawing my fingers.

  “Better than Starbucks, yeah?” Isaac smiled over the rim of his coffee.

  “Yes.” I took another sip and lavished in the way the cinnamon enhanced the bitterness of the espresso. “Where is this from? It’s divine.”

  “I’ll show you tomorrow.” He set his coffee down and started rummaging through the piles on his desk. I focused on the coffee and juggled my pens and the book he’d given me while I read.

  I’d gotten lost in the Bolshevik Revolution and leaped out of my skin when the door to the office flung open. A metal cart squeaked into the room piled with my belongings. New York had packed up my office and shipped it here, no questions asked.

  A tallish man with copper hair followed, kicking the door closed behind him with his foot. “Hello, you must be Celeste.” He shook my hand firmly, judging me with hazel eyes and a raised brow.

  “You must be Payton,” I replied sweetly.

  “You’ve caused quite the buzz around here. Hardly any work is being done. And now I can tell everyone that you’re beautiful to boot.” He was wearing a pair of brown slacks, a black fitted tee-shirt, and a tweed suit jacket to pull it together. The kind where the elbows had patches of deep brown suede sewn on.

  I flushed at his compliment. He was objectively good-looking, though not my type, with pale skin and freckles dusting his nose and high cheekbones. He had hollows in his cheeks that were desirable for high fashion models. He was very slim, taking enormous strides that were longer than his legs would naturally go. It gave his walk an awkward sway. He was shorter than Isaac, but still much taller than me… well, everyone was taller than me. At five foot two, tall was a relative term.

  “Is this all my stuff?” I asked, peeking into a box and finding all my citation guides at the very top.

  “All that New York sent us,” he pushed the cart into my office and left it there. “You should come out to lunch with us. We’re all dying to meet you.”

  I chill crept up my spine. I wasn’t up for socialization just yet. “Maybe when I’m settled in. I usually eat at my desk.” I responded, hopeful that he’d drop it.

  “We’re all so eager to make an impression on you that even Mr. Thompson cleaned up his office.”

  Something about the way he called Isaac “Mr. Thompson” seemed laced with disdain. I got very uncomfortable with the energy he was bringing with him.

  Isaac shook his head, looking unfazed by Payton’s glare. “Very funny, Payton. If you must know, Celeste and I organized it this morning.”

  “Really? What was your first thought when you came in, Celeste?”

  I stammered, not knowing what to say. “I’m just glad to be here.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Payton replied, smiling, looking at Isaac. There was a silent conversation passing between them. Speaking with glares, eyebrows, and Isaac shaking his head no. “See you around. If you need anything,” he drew that word out dramatically, “just give me a ring. I’m at your service.” Sarcasm, disdain. Payton didn’t like me, and he left the door open on his way out.

  I forced a smile but felt uneasy. I shouldn’t read into anything he said, but it was hard not to try and decipher his words. I’m sure you are. What did that mean? I would not be going to lunch with him. Not without Kieran to help me navigate office politics.

  Isaac crossed the room and shut the door to the office. He turned to me, a hand still on the doorknob, and I waited for him to say something, anything, about that exchange. “Payton was next in line for your job. Actually, it was his idea for me to take on a co-writer.”

  “And I stole the job right from under his nose.”

  “You're the better candidate. Between you and me, Payton hasn’t had an original thought in a decade.”

  “You’re trusting me with a lot of blackmail right now.”

  “You won’t betray me,” Isaac lifted his brow as if challenging me to refute it.

  He was right. I needed this job. If I screwed this up, I’d be on a plane to New York and my reputation in the company would be soiled.

  “Take the afternoon to unpack your things,” Isaac said, reaching into one of my boxes and pulling out my rose gold computer mouse. “Cute,” he said, smiling, and plopped it back in.

  I started to unpack my things, thankful that not a single picture of me and Anthony was sent to London. A small mercy. In the other room I heard Isaac opening boxes and loading them on the cart. Payton came in and hauled carts of boxes off every so often. I kept my door closed, a direct invitation to leave me the hell alone.

  My office was a mirror reflection of Isaac’s but smaller with built-in bookshelves that I lined with my research, reference guides, and magazine files. I admired them after I finished, all lined up neatly in rainbow order, the pastel colors cheery in the otherwise white and sterile room.

  I hung my mail sorter on the wall and nailed my whiteboard calendar next to it. I pulled out my markers and filled in the dates for April. I usually doodled on my calendar also, mark
ing important days and events. However, I couldn’t bring myself to add any cheerful pictograms today. I didn’t really have any sense of direction or time. Setting up the calendar, writing in the date of my wedding, realizing I’d have been on my way home from my honeymoon yesterday, it just didn’t feel… good. It felt, empty. So I left my calendar blank, save the numerical dates, reflecting the feeling in my soul.

  I stepped away and studied my handiwork. It looked so happy and blog-ready. It brought me joy to see this part of me filling up the blank canvas of this new position. It felt at the same time comforting and strange. As if this piece of me should be unrecognizable, foreign… but it wasn’t. This cheerful, color-coded design was me. I felt I should be a mess, and black, gray, and somber. But there was joy in me, somewhere. It was there, the same way I felt peace unpacking my old life and inserting it into this new one. I hadn’t lost myself entirely. I was just… somewhere beneath my hurt, I existed. I needed to learn how to exist for me and not for others.

  As I pulled on my jacket I heard Isaac’s footsteps approaching me. He stood in the doorway and nodded in an exaggerated show of approval. “Wow,” he crossed his arms and looked around, taking a few steps into my office. “This is very… colorfully coordinated.” I met his gaze, black shiny hair fallen over his forehead, disheveled from a day of running his fingers through it. His jaw was angled and sharp from where I stood, casting a faint shadow on his long neck, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows exposing the tight, corded muscles of his forearm.

  A tattoo marked the inside of his wrist up to the crook of his elbow, black and simple. It was a geometric pattern I’d seen before but couldn’t quite place. Lines sprouted from the shell-like spiral overplayed on a compass rose, the minimalism striking against the paler skin of the inside of his arm.

  Isaac looked me up and down and he straightened when he caught me staring.

  “Do you need anything else?” I asked.

  He looked at his watch and rubbed his neck. “No, I’ll leave soon. You can go.” He returned to his desk as I trailed behind.