Temp

by Noelle Adams

  “I know that!” he interrupts gruffly, like he’s feeling too much to hold it in. “That’s the point. That’s why it’s wrong.”

  “And I’m telling you with absolutely no fuzziness that I did want. There’s no murky consent here. You didn’t take advantage of your position in any way.”

  He shakes his head. “But would you have even wanted to do it if I weren’t your boss?”

  “Well, I would never have even met you if I hadn’t taken this job, so—”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” I close my eyes and search my mind for something to say to articulate my feelings but not give too much away. “I freely consented. I never felt for a moment like my job was in jeopardy. Not once. And even now the only thing that’s bothered me is that you didn’t talk to me the whole drive. If you treat me with respect, if you judge me on my job performance and not on anything personal, then you’re not doing wrong by me. We’ve already agreed it’s not going to happen again while I’m working for you. So I think we’re settled. Right?”

  He takes a long, shaky inhale.

  “What?” I don’t like the way his expression has tightened.

  “I feel like I should report it or something.”

  “What? You mean to Human Resources or—” I gulp. “Oh God, Liam, please don’t.”

  “I don’t want to, but I can’t help feeling—”

  “No! Oh God, Liam, please. I feel fine about things right now. I promise I do. But I’m not going to feel fine about that. It would embarrass me. Deeply. For someone else to know what happened between us. Last night was personal to me, and—”

  “You think it wasn’t personal to me?” He’s scowling. At last. For the first time all day. The sight of it is almost a relief since he feels like himself again. “You think I want to expose my deepest... my... to some person I don’t even really know?”

  “So don’t. Liam, please don’t. If we had a continuing relationship, we would have to bring it out into the open. But we don’t. Nothing is going to happen between us again, so please don’t do that to me. I’ve only got a few more weeks working for you. Then it will be... it will be a nonissue. Please.”

  His mouth twists. “Okay. Okay. It still feels wrong... but okay.”

  I exhale in relief. I don’t feel good. I feel torn apart in about a dozen ways. But at least I talked him out of that.

  I EXPECT THINGS TO be a little awkward at first but eventually get back to mostly normal the following week. If we fall back into our typical working relationship, I’m sure I can make it through the rest of my time at Milford without issue.

  But Liam doesn’t act normal.

  He doesn’t act tense and silent like he did on the way back from the beach. And he doesn’t act gruff and grumpy and adorable in his characteristic manner.

  He’s controlled. Distant. Meticulously polite. Like a cool, civil stranger.

  Not like himself at all.

  He uses instant messages to ask me to come into his office instead of yelling out my name at the top of his voice. He poses the tasks he wants me to do as questions rather than abrupt demands. He always leaves the door to his office open even if I’m not in there with him. I don’t have to guard the door, and I don’t have to tell him to keep his voice down so he won’t disturb everyone else in the suite. He never looks at me with anything but an impersonal detachment. There are no hot looks. No warm looks. Not even any grumpy looks.

  It’s not him.

  It’s disturbing.

  He’s like a different person. It’s a perfectly polite, respectful person. But it’s not the person I care about.

  It goes on for two weeks, and I hate every minute of it.

  I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter. We just have to get through the rest of my time here, and then maybe we can talk openly about whether there’s any potential to our relationship. I thought maybe he’d be interested in that the morning after our night together, but as the days go by with one impersonal hour after another, I start to wonder if I was wrong.

  Maybe this is just his way of getting through the remainder of his time with me so he can be rid of the messiness I embody forever.

  By Thursday evening, two weeks after the retreat, I’m exhausted and depressed when I come home from work. My mother is her normal upbeat self, and I try to respond in kind as I chat with her as I prepare dinner, but I’m not in the mood for being cheerful. I’m not in the mood for anything except curling up in a ball under my covers and crying.

  I do okay as I make spaghetti (sauce from a bottle) and a salad (prebagged with toppings included). But as we eat, I keep falling into moody silence.

  “Polly, what’s been bothering you?”

  I blink and straighten up. Realizing I’ve been twirling pasta around my fork for way too long now, I let some of it fall back to the plate and finally take a bite. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re upset about something, and you have been for a couple of weeks now. You’ve been hiding it from me, but you can’t fool your old mom. It might help to talk about it.”

  “I don’t think talking about it is going to help.” There’s no sense in arguing with my mother since she obviously won’t believe my protestations. “It’s nothing big.”

  “It’s about Liam?”

  I jerk in surprise, the fork slipping from my hand. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I’ve lived a long time now, and I know how to recognize the signs. You’ve fallen for him?”

  I stare down at my plate, feeling a normal resistance to exposing my heart, even to someone I love as much as my mother. But I finally nod.

  “And he feels the same way?”

  My eyes shoot up to her face. Her eyes are very gentle. I shrug helplessly. “I don’t... I thought maybe... but now I don’t think so.”

  Despite the inarticulateness of my response, she seems to understand. “Well, he’s not likely to tell you how he feels about you while you’re still working for him.”

  “I know that. I’m not expecting him to. But he’s not acting the way he used to. He’s acting like... like he doesn’t even want to know me.”

  “So his behavior has changed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you can’t think of any reason for it?”

  “Well, I can think of... I mean, something did happen that might have... but I didn’t expect him to act like this. Like he barely wants to even look at me.” I rub my eyes and droop in my chair.

  “Maybe he’s just being careful. Things aren’t like they used to be in the workplace. I mean, bad men will always be bad, but good men have learned to be more careful. And I’m sure he’s a good man, or you wouldn’t have fallen for him.”

  “He is a good man,” I say with a sniff.

  “So maybe he’s just being extra careful. You can hardly blame him for that. Just think of all the horrifying stories we’ve heard over the past few years about people being abused as they just try to do their job. If he’s the good man I suspect he is, he’s not going to want to set even a toe in that direction. Don’t you think?”

  I stare at her, feeling a flare of hope for the first time all week. “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it. Try to be patient, honey, and let him be as careful as he needs to be.”

  My mother doesn’t know what happened between Liam and me, but she understands human nature, and I’d be a fool not to take her seriously.

  Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe Liam is just trying way too hard to be careful, and it’s turned him into this courteous stranger.

  I don’t like it, but it doesn’t have to mean everything is lost.

  THE NEXT DAY, I’M DETERMINED not to get depressed or frustrated by Liam’s behavior, and I do a pretty good job for most of the day. I get my work done without stewing the whole time, and I even go to lunch with May and enjoy it.

  By four o’clock, I’m patting myself on the back for being mature and reasonable and pati
ent and for taking my mother’s advice. So when I get a message from Liam asking me to come into his office, I calmly stand up and walk in.

  I’d much rather him just yell out my name like he used to, but this is how he’s doing it now.

  “Polly,” he says without turning from his computer. “Would you mind looking through the mess in my desk drawer to see if you can find the notes I took from last week’s meeting with department heads.”

  “Sure.” I smile just as politely as he spoke to me, although he’s not looking at me, so he can’t see it. “I’ll be happy to.”

  I open the top side drawer of his desk, pull out the messy stack of paper and files he always sticks there, and start searching.

  I’m fine.

  I’m good.

  Liam is being careful.

  That’s why he’s so frustratingly polite.

  It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

  It’s all just great.

  I can do my job and be mature and keep control of my frustration.

  He won’t necessarily be like this forever.

  I find the printed minutes of the meeting with his scrawls all over it and pull it out of the stack. “Here it is.” I extend my hand to give it to him.

  He reaches back without looking at me and grabs the sheet of paper. “Thank you, Polly. I appreciate it.”

  I stare at his back. His slightly rumpled hair. The way his white shirt lies against his broad shoulders. The way his fingers fly over the keyboard.

  And for no good reason, I lose it.

  “Screw you, Liam Cunningham.” The words come out a harsh whisper. I turn on my heel and stomp toward the open door.

  He jumps to his feet and moves quickly enough to block my retreat. “What the hell, Polly?” For the first time since our ride back from the beach, he scowls at me. “What was that for?”

  I’m far beyond my normal composure and reserve. I’m even beyond instinctive self-protection. “That was because you’re an asshole.”

  His brown eyes are urgent. Bewildered. “I’m an asshole?” He’s still speaking just as softly as me. No one will be able to hear us even if they’re standing right outside the door.

  “Yes, you’re an asshole. I thought we were going to go back to our normal work relationship. I thought you were going to treat me with respect.”

  He’s almost choking on what’s clearly shock. “I am treating you with respect! I’m turning myself inside out to make sure I do. What the hell do you want from me?”

  “I want you to be yourself! I don’t want you to pretend to be a cold, distant stranger. I don’t like him. I don’t like him! I want you to be like you used to be—all loud and grouchy and real.”

  “I can’t,” he grits out. He’s almost shaking with some sort of palpable tension. “I can’t be that way. I can’t be myself.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why n—” He makes a guttural sound of pure exasperation. He reaches out like he’s going to touch me, but he immediately jerks his hand back. “Why the hell do you think? Because you’re working for me. You work for me! And it takes every thread of my control to hold myself back from kissing you, touching you, being with you the way I want. I want you all the time, but I’m not allowed to want you. So I’m always trying to hold myself back. I can’t even look at you most of the time. I can’t be myself and still do the right thing here. I can’t.”

  I gape up at his passionate face in utter astonishment. “Wh-what?”

  “You heard me,” he rasps. He sniffs and lowers his eyes. “I’m trying. I’m really trying. But I can’t ever relax around you.”

  “Oh.” My cheeks are flushed, and my heart is racing, and it feels like my mind is going to whirl right out of the top of my head. “I didn’t know.”

  “You could have guessed.” He sounds deliciously grouchy again.

  “Guessed? You think I could have guessed that?”

  “Yes, you could have guessed. Not everyone is as perfectly composed as you are all the time. Some of us have a hard time controlling ourselves.”

  A little giggle escapes my lips. I raise a hand to cover my mouth.

  He narrows his eyes. “You’re laughing at me?”

  “No, I’m not laughing at you.” I really want to hug him, but I resist the impulse. “I’m laughing at myself. I’m sorry. You can be polite and cool and annoying all you want.”

  “Thanks so much for your permission.”

  I laugh again at his dry tone. We stare at each other for a minute, and something warm and real and deep is shared in the gaze.

  It fills my chest. My belly. My whole body.

  When he finally looks away, I swallow hard and nod. “Okay. Sorry about the outburst.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  He sounds more like himself than he has in two weeks, so the day ends a lot better than it started.

  Six

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK is a lot better than the previous one. Liam still keeps his distance, but when we interact, he’s closer to his normal self. He’s not so freakishly polite.

  Overall, I have a decent week, but I go through each day with a sense of shuddering expectation. Like I’m holding my breath. Like I’m waiting to see what will happen when my position at Milford ends.

  He’s made no promises. He’s never said he wants to pursue a relationship when I’m no longer working for him. But he’s certainly acted like he might. I don’t think I’m foolish for hoping in that direction.

  On Friday of the next week, I’m busy deciphering some of Liam’s notes when Cindy and Marlene, the two other assistants who work in this suite, start to leave with the president and the other VP (of academic affairs). Cindy turns toward me before they leave and says, “Polly, we’re grabbing some lunch. Do you want to come with us?”

  I have the kind of weird moment I get when I’m caught off guard at a social invitation. Kind of frozen and torn. I’ve never had lunch with the college president before, but I like Cindy and Marlene, and I am starting to get hungry.

  “We’re just going to the dining hall,” Cindy adds. She must see my indecision. “Just casual.”

  “Thanks. I wouldn’t mind. But we’d have to leave the suite unattended.” I glance over toward Liam’s open door. He’s in there working. He’ll definitely not want people to wander into his office without someone watching his door.

  “We can lock the suite door for an hour.” Cindy’s smiling. It looks like she really wants me to come.

  I save the document I’ve been working on, grab my purse from my bottom desk drawer, and stand up. “Okay. Thank you. Should we ask Liam?”

  “He’ll say no.” That’s Dr. Bayley, the academic VP. He’s a friendly, intelligent man in his fifties. “He always does.”

  I shrug. I don’t like Liam being left out even if he’s brought it on himself by being so antisocial. “Maybe I can ask him anyway.”

  When the others nod—obviously perfectly happy for Liam to join us if I can get him to agree—I step into Liam’s office. “Hey.”

  He turns from his computer to blink at me. He’s clearly completely oblivious to what’s happening outside his office door. His eyelids are heavy. Ridiculously sexy. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine. I’m going with the other folks from the suite to lunch. Just in the dining hall.”

  “No problem. Take as long as you want. Just close my door, will you?”

  “You can come with us.”

  “What?”

  I almost laugh at his confused expression. “You can come to lunch with us. You know? Take a break. Get something to eat. Socialize a little.”

  He frowns. “I’m working.”

  “I know you’re working. That’s the point. It’s lunchtime, so you can take a little time to eat something and say a few words to the people you work with.”

  He stares at me for a long time. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

  Finally I prompt, “Well? You want to come? They’re all out there waiting.”<
br />
  “Okay.” He rubs his face, like he’s waking himself up. “I guess I can come.”

  “Good.” I’m hiding a smile as he walks around his desk. He’s a mess. His hair and beard are ruffled. His shirt is wrinkled, and his tie is loosened. “Wait,” I say when he heads for the door. “Put your jacket on. It’s cold out there.”

  I grab his suit coat from the side chair where he flung it sometime that morning and wait until he rolls down his shirtsleeves. Then I help him into the jacket and tighten his tie. I’m feeling way too fond as I stretch a hand up to smooth down his beard.

  He raises his own hand. I’m pretty sure he intended to move mine away from his face, but instead he holds it there, his big, warm hand covering my smaller one.

  I’m hit with a wave of feeling so strong it nearly buckles my knees. It’s way more than simple attraction. It’s knowledge. Understanding. Affection. Tenderness. Connection. Homecoming. I can’t remember ever feeling that way before for another person.

  His eyes have deepened, and he doesn’t move for a moment.

  Then he takes a quick step back, and I jerk my hand away. “He’s coming,” I call out to the others waiting in the suite, mostly just to break the mood.

  Liam looks stiff. His eyes are focused anywhere but on me. Afraid he’s going to use that moment we just shared as an excuse not to come to lunch, I step over to give him a little shove toward the open doorway.

  He doesn’t resist, and the last of the awkwardness is dispelled as we join the others. They greet Liam with surprise but obvious pleasure. He must be able to see that they’re glad he’s coming to lunch with us.

  Cindy gives me a sly little grin as we fall in step together, a little behind the others. “I can’t believe you got him to come.”

  “I just asked. He’s the one who agreed.”

  “Maybe. But he wouldn’t have agreed if anyone but you had asked him.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. But my cheeks are warmer than they should be as we make our way outside into the brisk March wind.