“Sir, I honestly don’t know which folder that is. I’ve put a few folders on your desk today, but without knowing what’s in that one, I really couldn’t tell—”
“Do you think you’re funny?” he asks. “I get that I’m not the easiest person to work for, but this is so far over the line you’re in another country.”
“Sir?”
He slams the folder on his desk.
“You know, I’d expect this from that friend of yours, but coming from you—this is really too much.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him.
“You mean to tell me that you’re not the one who printed off a copy of my bank statement, put it in a file and set it on my desk?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He takes a breath.
“You really didn’t know what was in this, did you?” he asks, starting to cool down a little.
“No sir, I didn’t. Why would someone—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You can go.”
“Sir?”
“I said go!” he shouts. “I’m not going to tell you again!”
So I go.
With the door closed behind me, I try not to look at all the faces looking at me. Although I’m technically off the hook, this office is great at one thing and it has nothing to do with finance.
As I make my way toward Atkinson’s office, as I have absolutely nothing else to do right now, and I’d really like to take my mind off of everything, I can hear the not-so-hushed voices.
“Yeah, he just came in screaming. I think she’s going to get fired.”
“Look at her—no, not now, she’s looking over here. She looks like she just got fired.”
Somewhere around the eighth utterance of the word “fired,” I’ve had enough.
“Oh, will you all just shut up?!” I shout. “Every time someone leaves the room, you’re all pick, pick, pick, pick, pick, pick, pick as if your lives are such a pretty picture!”
“Leila?”
“What?!” I yell, spinning on my heel.
I turn around and, standing there like a scolded child is Mrs. Weinstock, one of my five bosses.
“Mrs. Weinstock,” I say, “I am so sorry.”
“Would you come and talk to me in my office?”
“Sure,” I answer, my voice suddenly small again.
Kidman is the filthy old man. Atkinson is the drill sergeant that wants you to scrub the floors with a toothbrush—although, to be fair, he’s only had me do that once. Iverson keeps calling me Kayla and hasn’t once given me clear directions on anything, so when I invariably screw up, he’s always got something to say about it. I still haven’t met Mrs. Beck.
Mrs. Weinstock, on the other hand, she is the master of the guilt trip.
With that soft-spoken tone and those big eyes, made even bigger by the thick glasses she wears—I swear, for the sole purpose of adding to the puppy effect—she can make you feel worthless just by looking at you.
Once I’m in her office, she asks me to close the door behind me.
“Have a seat,” she says.
She’s the oldest forty-something woman I’ve ever come across in my life and somehow, that only makes her entreaties all the more gut-wrenching.
I sit and wonder whether she’s got me in here to make me feel terrible about yelling at everyone in the office, or because Kidman told her that I put that file on her desk or what.
“How are you doing? You seem a little stressed,” she says.
“It’s been a rough day,” I tell her. “Then last night, there was this whole thing with my roommate…”
Even though I know better, those big brown eyes just make me open up. I can’t help it.
“I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” she says. “I just got a call. Someone from Claypool and Lee—did you know they’d be calling me for a reference?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I thought we talked about that.”
“Well, we did,” she says, “but I didn’t think you’d actually go through with applying somewhere else. I thought we’d made a nice home for you here.”
“Ma’am,” I start, “it is absolutely nothing against you. I’ve just been looking for something more permanent.”
“I thought you’d want to stay here,” she says. “But you’ve never once asked me if we had anything open for you. Why is that?”
“To be honest, ma’am,” I start, “I haven’t had the greatest experience here. I really don’t get the feeling that anyone really wants me around.”
And now she looks like she’s going to cry.
“I’ve always been so nice to you, Leila—”
“What did you tell them?” I interrupt, as I’m starting to get the feeling that she just torpedoed me.
“I told them that we sure didn’t want to see you go,” Mrs. Weinstock says.
“Did you give them any reason not to hire me?” I ask.
“Now, why would I do that?”
Yep, she’s actually crying now. I really hope I got that other job; otherwise, I might just end up getting fired by Rose Nylund.
“I didn’t say that you did, Mrs. Weinstock,” I answer, but she’s too busy wiping the tears from her eyes with a tissue to pay me much attention.
This is torture.
Right now, I kind of wish I was back in Kidman’s office.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just hate to see talented people like you go.”
“Well, they’re just calling references,” I tell her, hoping that might comfort her enough to get her to stop the sobbing. “I probably won’t get it. Annabeth’s up for the same job and she’s the likely choice.”
“Annabeth?” Mrs. Weinstock howls.
Oh, great. Annabeth’s going to kill me for that one.
“I can come back,” I tell her.
“You’re all going to leave me!” Mrs. Weinstock cries and with that, she’s overplayed her part.
“Oh, will you stop it? You’re a grown woman. People get hired, people leave. That’s just the way it goes. You can’t guilt everyone into doing whatever you want them to do.”
Her expression changes in an instant. “You don’t talk to me that way,” she barks. “I am your superior, and you will address me with proper decorum.”
“You know what? I am so sick of all the crap you people pile on me every time I come into work. I’m just trying to do my job and do it well, but every single time one of you asks me to see you in your office, I want to throw up, and you, Mrs. Weinstock, you’re the worst one of all with your whole grandmother act. You know what you are?”
“What am I?” she asks, and I think we’ve gotten a little off topic.
I let my temper simmer for a beat.
“You are someone who asked me into her office to tell me something, and I’ve got a feeling you haven’t told me half of it yet. If you bombed my chances with Claypool and Lee, fine, I’ll find something else, but I’d just like to know so I can stop putting your name on my resumé.”
“For your information, I gave you a glowing review, and I called you in here to tell me that I was their last call. The job is yours if you want it, although I sure don’t envy them putting up with your behavior.”
“Maybe if you—wait, what? I’m hired?”
“The man told me to have you give him a call when you had a free moment and they’re going to work out a time to get you in for training.”
“I’m hired?”
She goes to respond, but the suddenness and volume of the “Woo!” that comes out of me overpowers anything she might be trying to say.
Chapter Fourteen
Lightly Baked with Just a Dash of Salt
Dane
It only took an hour for Wilks to show his talent as the new executive chef of l’Iris. By the time dinner service started to slow down, there was really nothing left for me to do that couldn’t be done just as well by someone else, and I offered to give Wilks the kitchen.
Apparentl
y, his first name is Jared.
I never really bothered to learn that kind of thing, but it’s his kitchen now.
After the discussion with Wrigley and obligatory coital session that followed, I started to feel a little bit better. Still, it’s going to be a little weird going home tonight.
Maybe Leila’s out with her new boyfriend. Before I’m even to the door of the apartment, though, I can hear her inside singing along to some pop song.
I can’t just hide from her forever, so I unlock and open the door. Once it’s closed, I decide that maybe I can just hide from her forever, and I make it to my room without alerting her to my presence.
My phone’s in my hand a few seconds later.
“Hello?”
“Wrigley, I don’t know what I’m doing here. This whole thing is so uncomfortable. I don’t think I can go through with it.”
“You’ve got to talk to her, Dane,” my new girlfriend says. “I’m not opening up the candy store until you’ve figured out what this is between the two of you.”
That was the agreement before I left for work this morning, but it’s making less and less sense with every passing moment.
“She’s with someone,” I say.
“Right now? The guy’s there?”
“No,” I answer. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him when I came in.”
“Wait, you’re not hiding in your room like a little bitch, are you?”
“She’s out there doing jazzercise and singing along with shit off the radio.”
It’s a while before Wrigley’s done laughing.
“She’s in a good mood,” she says finally. “Now is as good a time as any.”
“Why am I doing this again?”
“Because,” she answers, “I don’t want to start an exclusive relationship with someone whose heart isn’t into it. This is strange enough for me, I’m not about to jump in further if there’s nothing but undertow.”
“But—”
“I know it’s probably nothing,” she says, “but on the off chance that it’s something, you need to talk to her and see where you stand.”
“Can we be in a relationship, but you go back to being callous and sex-crazed?” I ask.
It’s too much to hope. She just laughs and hangs up.
Wrigley was right about one thing, though. Sneaking into my bedroom, closing the door and calling wasn’t really the strongest move I could have made.
There’s nothing left for me to do but go out there and see what I feel when I do.
I open the door and about startle the shit out of Leila.
She turns off the radio, shouting, “Jesus, Dane, when did you get home?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” I start. “There’s something I need to talk to you about—”
“You’re not going to believe this,” she starts, a look of excitement on her face.
“What?” I ask.
“I got the job!” she exclaims, turning the radio back on.
“That’s great!” I say with a smile. “What job?”
“That’s right, I didn’t tell you,” she says. “I’ve been putting out my resumé for a while now, but I hadn’t heard anything back. Today, I got the call, well one of my bosses got the call, but that doesn’t matter. I got hired on full time at Claypool and Lee! I start in a couple of weeks!”
“Claypool and Lee?” I ask.
She flips the radio off again.
“Oh, right,” she says. “I probably should have run this by you.”
“What?”
“The job’s in Jersey,” she says. “I’ve got to start looking for places.”
“New Jersey,” I say. “Wow. So, what happens—”
“I’m not just going to kick you out,” she says. “I’ll talk to Traven and see if we can get you put on the lease as the primary. I know the place is kind of pricey, but I’m sure you could find a roommate.”
That’s not what’s making me feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.
Wrigley was right. There’s no doubt about it.
I’ve got a thing for my roommate and it’s a big one. I’m not even making a penis joke there, that’s how serious this is.
“Check this out,” she says. “I’m going to be working with some of the best financial minds in the country and after five years, they’re going to give me my own team. They’re putting me on track to be a partner someday, you know, if I don’t screw it up in the meantime.”
“Oh, you won’t screw it up,” I tell her. “You’re going to do great.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I don’t mean to just bail on you, but this is really the opportunity of a lifetime for me.”
“I’m happy for you,” I tell her. “Really, I am.”
“Then why do you look like you just got hit in the stomach with a tire iron?”
I almost correct her, as the visual in my head was very clearly a baseball bat with a bunch of nails driven through the end, but the amount of explanation involved there is just too much.
“Well, I guess that just about does it,” I tell her.
“No, seriously,” she says. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, but even I’m not convinced.
“Oh,” she says. “I know what it is. This is about last night.”
“Well…”
“May I ask why it bothered you that I was kissing Mike?”
“Mike?” I ask. “Isn’t he your friend from town?”
“Yeah,” Leila answers. “He was just having one of his moments and badgered me into letting him know if he was a good kisser or not. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing,” she says. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“What was your question?”
“Why does it bother you that I was kissing Mike?” she repeats.
“Why would it bother me?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
I sigh.
Am I really going to do this? Wrigley is a perfectly wonderful woman: totally out of her mind, but still, very much my type. Am I really willing to risk that for someone I hardly know?
Of course, I hardly know Wrigley, but that’s neither here nor there.
“I just didn’t know you were home,” I answer. “When I came in, I realized that I was probably intruding on something, but my phone rang before I could get out of here.”
“Oh,” she says. “So it didn’t bother you that I was kissing someone else?”
“Why would it?” I ask.
This is painful.
“I don’t know,” she says. “We almost, you and I, you know…”
She trails off; her newfound discomfiture is hardly helping things.
“What?”
“Okay, I didn’t black out that night,” she says. “After your friend came out of your room wearing—or not wearing…whatever—I kind of wished that I had, but—is this too weird?”
She’s talking really fast, and it’s a few seconds before I realize she’s just asked me a question.
“Is what too weird?”
“Talking about this,” she says. “I know you and that Wrigley chick have a thing and all that. I just don’t want to make things uncomfortable between us for the next couple weeks.”
That’s actually a pretty solid idea. She’ll move and I’m sure I’ll be over her in no time.
“I think I’m in love with you,” I blurt out.
That was stupid.
The remote falls from her hand and it looks like her jaw is trying to follow it.
“You’re what?” she asks.
“You know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. You got some big news today, and I think that’s what we should be talking about.”
“You’re in love with me?” she asks.
“Well, I…”
I stammer a bit, but I have no words to follow the string of unintelligible noises.
“When
did this happen?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Look, can we just forget that I said anything?”
“I just got a new job, and I’m going to be moving,” she says, putting her hands to her temples.
“Yeah, let’s just forget I said anything. I’m thrilled to hear about your—”
“Are you sure it’s not just a proximity thing?” she asks. “I know sometimes people—”
“Oh, let’s just drop it.”
She peers at me and I can’t bring myself to return the gaze.
“You are—seriously, why didn’t you say something before? You know, maybe while I was drunk and throwing myself at you?”
“Well, I—”
“Wait,” she says, “that’s right. There was a naked woman in your room at the time.”
She starts laughing and I want to kill myself.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “This really isn’t funny.”
She’s still laughing.
“Okay, well, I’m going to go now, but yeah: congratulations on the job.”
“Dane, I’m so sorry for laughing. It’s a nervous thing. I’m really not trying to laugh at you.”
“Really, it’s fine,” I tell her and turn to go back to my room.
“I wish you had told me,” she says.
I stop.
“I have feelings for you, too, you know?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
I’m no good at this whole vulnerable thing.
“Yeah,” she says. “After that night, I realized that I’ve been really attracted to you for a while. I’m pretty sure that’s why I hated you for so long.”
“So you hated me because you like me?”
“I’m a girl,” she says. “That’s kind of how we roll. You guys do it, too, you know. That whole pushing girls down in the sandbox cliché; that’s the same thing.”
“Yeah, well, good talk.”
“I really wish you said something.”
She’s still talking.
Why are we dragging this out?
“I wish I said something, but I’ve got this new job and I don’t see any way this is going to work, Dane. I wish we just—”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You don’t owe me anything. I should have said something sooner and I didn’t. That’s the way it goes sometimes.”
I turn the knob on my door.
“Are you going to be all right?”
Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) Page 62