Positively Pricked

by Sabrina Stark

  "I do not!" Paisley said.

  Liar. Just last week, I'd splurged on Chinese takeout on my way home from work. After walking in through the front door, I'd set the takeout on the kitchen table, and dashed into my bedroom to change. Five minutes later, I'd returned to find the food mostly gone – into Paisley's mouth.

  I gave Paisley an irritated look. "Oh, stop it. You own your own chopsticks."

  "So?" she said. "That doesn't prove anything." Her voice became shrill. "You think you're an expert on me? Well, you're not. So stop pretending that you are!"

  She leaned around me to glare at the professor. "I knew there was someone else."

  Under my breath, I said, "Yeah, his wife."

  In unison, Paisley and the professor said, "Ex-wife."

  Well, at least they agreed on something. Probably, these two deserved each other. Regardless, I wanted no part of it.

  Once again, I glanced at the door that I was still holding. Probably, I should let it smack me in the face, if only to put me out of my misery.

  I looked back to Paisley and said, "Honestly, I don't even like him."

  "You do, too," she insisted. "I see the way you look at him."

  "Oh, please," I said. "I don't even know his name."

  Behind me, the professor said, "You do, too."

  I turned to tell him, "I do not."

  "Oh come on," he said, looking decidedly disgruntled. "It's Fergus."

  Huh. Weird. I definitely would've remembered that.

  The professor pointed to the flowers. "It's on the card."

  I looked down. Attached to the arrangement was a little red envelope with no name on the front. In my haste to get rid of the guy, I hadn't even opened it.

  In a flash, Paisley reached out and snatched the envelope away. She ripped it open and pulled out a small pink card. She let the envelope flutter to the floor as she pulled the card closer to read it.

  When she finished, she gave a little gasp. She looked up and yelled, "You pig!"

  At me.

  Not at him.

  What the hell?

  My heart was racing, and my stomach was in knots. This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now. Fearing the worst, I looked to Carla.

  Sure enough, she was already reaching for the phone. When she saw me looking, she said, "I'm calling security."

  "No!" I blurted out.

  She froze in mid-motion. "No?"

  "Everything's fine," I told her. "I'll handle it."

  Behind me, Paisley yelled, "Oh yeah? Just like you handle his cock?"

  I almost shuddered. The guy was so not my type. I turned to tell her, "I haven't even touched him. And I don't want to. So just give it up."

  "Give him up, you mean?" Her voice broke. "Well, I'm not gonna. So you give him up."

  "Fine," I said. "Whatever. But you really need to go."

  "Why?" She gave a choked sob. "So you can screw him on your desk?"

  By now, I almost felt like sobbing too, but for entirely different reasons. Already, I could see my job slipping away, consumed by drama that wasn't even my fault.

  I turned to glare at the professor. "You," I said. "Get out. Now."

  "Why me?" he demanded. "I’m not causing a scene."

  Behind me, Paisley was crying openly now. "You've got everything," she sobbed, "and I've got nothing." She finished by wailing, "Not even Fergus!"

  I turned and stifled a curse. Rounding the corner just behind her was someone new. It was a guy in his early thirties, with blond hair and a slight build. He was wearing a suit and tie, and had his cell phone pressed to his ear.

  He stopped in mid-stride and stared at the scene in front of him – Paisley sobbing, me holding the door, and behind us, the professor doing who-knows-what.

  The guy's brow wrinkled, and he said into his phone. "I'll call you back later, okay?" He put the phone in his pocket and turned his full attention to us. He asked, "Is there a problem?"

  There were so many problems, I hardly knew where to begin. Still, I stammered out, "No, this is just—"

  Paisley sobbed, "She stole my boyfriend!"

  Damn it. "I did not," I said through gritted teeth, "as I've already explained."

  But Paisley wasn't done yet. She wailed, "And she's a liar, too!"

  The stranger's gaze zoomed in on me, and he frowned like he actually believed her.

  I told him, "I’m not a liar."

  And why was I even explaining myself to this guy? After all, he was a total stranger – or so I thought, until he said, "I know you from somewhere."

  Did he? I didn't think so. Maybe he'd seen me on TV?

  Paisley turned to the guy and said, "Oh, great. Have you fucked her, too?"

  I wanted to strangle her. "Listen," I snapped, "I don't need this. Not here. So why you don't take your drama somewhere else?"

  The guy's frown deepened. He looked to me and said, "Can't you see she's upset?"

  Oh yeah. I could see. And I could hear. Probably, so could everyone within a five-mile radius. I snuck another quick glance at Carla. She was still holding the phone's receiver, as if unsure what to do.

  That made two of us.

  And of course, it wasn't lost on me that the guy who'd caused all of the trouble, Fergus the Lumberjacking Professor, was letting me bear the brunt of this attack.

  I turned to him and said, "Didn't you hear me? I told you to get out!"

  Once again, he didn't budge. "But we're not done," he insisted.

  I wanted to scream in frustration. "With what?"

  "Plans," he said. "You said we'd meet up later tonight."

  At this, Paisley gave another sob. "I knew it." And then, obviously speaking to the stranger, she said, "And she's my roommate, too."

  I didn't even turn to look, but in the background, I could hear the new guy making soothing sounds to my sobbing roommate. "Oh, come on," he was saying, "You're worth ten of her."

  Well, this was nice.

  Paisley gave another choked sob. "You really think so?"

  "Sure," he soothed. "And you don't need this. You know that, right?"

  After a pause and a stifle, Paisley mumbled, "I guess so."

  As for me, I was still glaring at the professor. "Get out," I told him, "or I'll have you thrown out."

  He lifted his bearded chin. "No."

  I made a sound of frustration, "What do you mean, 'no'?"

  In the background, the new guy was still talking to Paisley. "Now come on," he soothed, "give me a smile." There was another sniffle, followed by another pause. A moment later, the guy said, "See? It's not so bad."

  Turns out, he was wrong. It was bad. Very bad. Because the door behind Carla had just swung open, and there he was – my boss.

  And he didn't look happy.

  Chapter 31

  An ominous silence descended hard and fast, broken only by the sound of a single sniffle coming from Paisley.

  We were all looking at Zane, who stood silently in the doorway. His jaw was tight and his eyes were hard as he assessed the scene in front of him.

  I sucked in a breath. There was something about him, something quiet and ruthless, that made me want to take a couple of steps backward. But I didn't, unlike Professor Fergus, who was backing slowly away, whether he realized it or not.

  I wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. Already, I was mentally packing my bags – or boxes, as the case might be. Fortunately, almost nothing in my office was mine, not even the coffee maker. The only things I'd need to grab were my purse and favorite coffee mug, and maybe the half-eaten crackers that were supposed to be my lunch.

  How depressing.

  It was Carla, still holding the phone's receiver, who finally broke the silence. "Mister Bennington…"

  Whatever she'd been planning to say next died on her lips as Zane snapped his gaze in her direction. She blanched and returned the phone to its cradle without another word. She looked absolutely terrified, probably for the same reason I was.

  H
ello, unemployment line.

  A wave of guilt washed over me. Probably, I was doomed no matter what, but Carla didn't have to be. This wasn't her fault. She was just an innocent bystander. And worse, she'd actually been trying to do her job, until she'd been stopped.

  By me.

  I spoke up. "Carla had nothing to do with this."

  Zane turned his gaze on me, and my mouth suddenly went dry. Desperate for a distraction, I snuck a quick glance at Fergus, who eyed my boss with something that looked an awful lot like fear.

  Reluctantly, I looked back to Zane. He still hadn't responded to my statement, and I felt the sudden need to elaborate. "She wanted to call security, but I, uh, wouldn't let her, actually." I cleared my throat. "So this is my fault, not hers."

  Behind me, Paisley said, "That's for sure."

  I wanted to turn around and slap her. Who knows, maybe I would be slapping her before the day was done.

  One thing about Paisley, she had no idea when to quit.

  And, as if that weren't bad enough, the new guy jumped on the bandwagon by calling out to Zane, "Your employee slept with her boyfriend." He said "employee" like the word really meant disease-ridden ho-bag.

  Zane's gaze shifted to Fergus. "You the boyfriend?"

  Fergus gave a tight nod.

  I spoke up. "And just for the record, I didn't sleep with him, not that it's anyone's business."

  "Liar," Paisley said.

  The urge to get slappy grew just a little bit stronger. To no one in particular, I announced, "I don't even like him."

  "Oh yeah?" Paisley said. "Then why'd you accept the flowers?"

  Without bothering to look at her, I said, "What was I supposed to do? Throw them in his face?"

  Paisley muttered, "Well, you didn't have to take them."

  Through this entire exchange, Zane's gaze remained firmly on the professor, who'd taken a few more steps backward. He glanced toward the door and mumbled, "Well, uh, I guess I should get going."

  I gave him an annoyed look. "So now, you're willing to leave? I've only been asking you for fifteen minutes."

  The professor stiffened. "It wasn't that long."

  Behind me, the new guy called out, "So this is how you run things?" Under his breath, he added, "I don't know why I'm surprised."

  Obviously, this was directed at Zane, who paid the guy no attention. He was still focused on Fergus, who seemed to wilt under the weight of Zane's stare. Silently, the professor began sidestepping his way toward freedom.

  He looked utterly ridiculous, but then again, I probably did, too. I was still holding those stupid flowers and the door. Without thinking, I released the handle, letting the door swing inward.

  Unfortunately for the professor, this is when he decided to make a break for it. The door smacked him in the face, and he stumbled backward, saying "Hey! What'd you do that for?"

  "I, uh…" Had I done that on purpose? Honestly, I couldn't be sure either way. But I did know that I wasn't feeling terribly guilty about it.

  Behind me, Paisley said, "Oh, my God. Are you okay?"

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn't, even as the professor bolted forward and yanked the door open as wide as possible before dashing through the opening like a robber of the smash-and-grab variety.

  I turned just in time to see him scurry down the hall, with Paisley darting after him, calling out, "Do you need a ride?"

  Together, they disappeared around the corner, leaving me to deal with the fallout on my own. No doubt, this was for the best, and yet, I couldn’t help but think they were weasels for doing so.

  And once again, I was holding the stupid door – but only because it had been either that, or let it smack me in the face. As for the new guy, he was staring, slack-jawed, after the two escapees.

  "See?" I told him. "They totally deserve each other."

  With that, I reluctantly turned back to Zane. He was eyeing me with an expression that I couldn’t make out. But he definitely wasn't thrilled.

  Yeah, welcome to the club.

  But I didn't say it. In fact, I didn't say anything. I wanted to, but no words came to mind.

  Zane said, "My office. Now."

  For once, I couldn’t exactly blame him for being so rude. I let go of the door and trudged forward, letting the guy behind me grab the door-handle – or not. At this point, I hardly cared who got smacked by the stupid thing.

  The whole situation was incredibly depressing. I'd kept this job for just a couple of months. And as much as I hated to admit it, I'd actually come to like it a lot more than I'd been expecting.

  Oh sure, Zane was impossible, but even that made the days a lot more interesting. And then, there was the pay. I'd definitely be missing that, especially when it came time to buy groceries and what-not.

  Zane turned away and began stalking back toward his office, leaving me to follow after him. From somewhere behind me, I heard the new guy call out, "Hey, we had a meeting!"

  "Later," Zane told him without even bothering to look.

  Whether the guy heard him or not, I had no idea. But I did hear Carla offer the guy coffee or water and assure him that Mister Bennington would be with him in a moment.

  But first apparently, "Mister Bennington" would be dealing with me.

  Chapter 32

  When his office door shut behind us, I felt myself swallow. I waited, expecting for him to stride to his chair and take a seat, leaving me to stand before him, like some sort of criminal awaiting judgment.

  But he didn't. Instead, he turned to me and said, "Tell me."

  Confused, I stared up at him. "Tell you what? That I’m sorry? Because I am. Really."

  And I meant it, too. After all, this was supposed to be a place of business, not a place of roommate-boyfriend drama.

  He frowned. "What the hell?"

  I gave a confused shake of my head. "Is that another way of saying, 'Apology not accepted'?"

  "Fuck the apology."

  "Excuse me?"

  "What I want is the guy's name."

  Now that surprised me. "What? Why?"

  "Fergus," he said. "That's the first. What's the last?"

  At that moment, I wasn't sure that telling him would be such a great idea, even if I knew, which happily, I didn't. "Actually," I said, "I don't know."

  He gave me a look and waited.

  "Honestly," I said, "it's not like we're close."

  His gaze dipped to my hands, and his mouth tightened. I looked down and wanted to cringe. Oh, crap. I was still holding the flowers. I was so frazzled, I'd practically forgotten.

  Stupidly, I tried to explain. "They were, uh, some sort of office warming present."

  "Is that so?"

  I bit my lip. "Yes?"

  He gave me a dubious look. "Uh-huh."

  "Well, that's what he said, anyway."

  From the look on Zane's face, he wasn't thrilled with this answer either. He said, "We have security for a reason."

  "I know." I sighed. "And Carla wanted to call them, but…" I hesitated. "I didn't want to cause a scene."

  Zane gave me a good, long look before saying, "A scene."

  My nerves were frayed, and my stomach was in knots. I heard myself say, "You know, it's really confusing when you do that."

  "Do what?"

  "Ask a question without a question mark."

  He looked toward the window and muttered, "Fuck the question mark."

  When he kept looking out the window, I turned my head to see what I was missing. But I saw nothing new, just the usual stunning view of the city below and the clouds above.

  I looked back to Zane and studied his face in profile. His eyes were hard, and posture was tight. He was still looking away when he said, "Next time, call me."

  Okay, now I was really confused. "Why would I call you?"

  He looked back to me and said, "Because I don't give a flying fuck about causing a scene."

  In spite of everything, I almost laughed, because it was so terribly true, as I'd s
een way too often.

  Zane said, "You think I'm kidding?"

  "No," I said. "I think it's pretty obvious."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning you create more scenes than anyone I know."

  "Do I?"

  "Definitely. Almost everywhere you go, there's a scene."

  "Maybe," he admitted. "But not by me."

  I gave it some thought. In a weird, twisted way, I knew what he meant. He might curse. He might break deals and tear up contracts. He might even insult whoever he was talking to. But it was never Zane who lost his cool.

  It was always the other guy.

  Even today.

  And yet, for a moment there, I hadn't been so sure.

  It made me wonder what else was going on. Normally, I spent a lot of time with him, but this morning, he'd been holed up in his office, doing who-knows-what.

  I just had to ask, "Is something wrong?"

  "Yeah," he said. "Some bearded fucker was harassing my—" Abruptly, his words cut off, as if he wasn't quite sure what to call me.

  Beyond curious, I waited, wondering what he'd say.

  Finally, he said, "Employee."

  I wasn't sure why, but the word felt oddly unsatisfying.

  As a nervous reflex, I tried to make a joke of it. "What? You forgot my job title?"

  His gaze met mine, and he was quiet for a long moment before saying, "Something like that."

  Slowly, it was dawning on me that I hadn't been fired, and the way it looked, I wasn't going to be. One thing about Zane, he didn't beat around the bush.

  No. If he planned on firing me, he'd have told me right away, and maybe added a nice "fuck off" to seal the deal.

  That was, after all, his style.

  And yet, as long as I'd known him, I'd never seen him curse out an employee, not even me.

  That reminded me of something. "Carla's not in trouble, is she? Because I wasn't kidding. She had nothing to do with it."

  "You think I don't know that?"

  "No." I hesitated. "Or yes. I don't know. I'm just saying, I don't want to cause her any problems."

  His jaw tightened. "If you wanna worry, worry about yourself."

  At something in his look, I felt myself tense. Maybe I'd been reading his reaction all wrong. Maybe I was about to get fired. Bracing myself for the worst, I asked, "Why's that?"