“You said you wanted it on the east wall,” Madison says, eyes on me.
“That’s right.”
She points toward the bookshelf. “That’s the east wall.”
“No, that’s the west.”
“It’s east,” she reaffirms without an ounce of hesitation.
“Should I get out my compass?” I half tease. I’m a little irritated she’s arguing with me.
“If you have one, yes.” She crosses her arms and stands her ground. Is it possible I’ve mixed up my east and west?
“Want to bet?” What the hell, Elliot? I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth. I don’t make bets at work. This is my brain acting on friendship rather than workship.
She lifts her chin. “Okay.”
“A dollar says I’m right.” The minuscule wager isn’t because I think I’m wrong. It’s because of the heat flaring at the back of my neck telling me this is inappropriate at work.
“You’re on,” she says around a small, confident smile.
“She’s right,” one of the deliverymen says, pulling my attention. He’s got his phone palm up in his hand, so we can see the screen and compass on display. It’s pointing at the bookcase and the letter E.
Fuck me.
“Sign here,” the other deliveryman says, handing a clipboard to Madison.
“Sure thing.”
I step around her to my desk and pull a dollar bill out of my wallet.
“Thank you!” she calls after the men, triumph in her voice.
“Here you go.”
She accepts the bill as she sits across from me. “Thanks.” Then turning her head to contemplate the bookshelf she says, “It looks good there.”
It’s then that I realize despite my confusion over east and west, the piece of furniture is not against the wall I wanted. I think I just got played—thankfully so—because she’s right. It looks perfect where it is.
“You knew it would look best on that wall no matter what, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
“You’re proving to be indispensable, Miss Hastings.” I hold her pretty blue gaze for a moment before reminding myself I don’t belong there and drag my attention to the boxes in the corner. “When you get a chance, I need you to unpack those for me and fill the shelves bottom to top, please. I’ve got a meeting with an investor from Vision Capital here tomorrow at eleven, right? So before then would be great. How’s the spreadsheet coming?”
“I’ll have it for you by the end of the day.”
“Good. Thanks. Next up, I’d also like you to do some research on clinics in Indonesia and Rwanda.” She pulls the pencil from behind her ear, snags a notepad off my desk, and starts writing. “I need to know how many people are served monthly and annually, ages, male or female, and any other pertinent information that can help me put together a cost analysis on starting a national program to deliver vaccines and blood on demand. I’ve been working on it from a technology standpoint, but we need the whole picture. I’ll help with it, too.”
She refers to her notes to repeat what I said, something none of my previous assistants did.
“Right,” I tell her before she tears the paper out of the notebook and turns to go. I watch her walk back to her desk, the sway of her hips just as teasing as her sweet scent.
I cool my engines by calling Drake to fill him in on the discussion with James.
The afternoon flies by after that, darkness falling outside my window before I know it. I sit back in my chair and rub my tired eyes. Through the glass wall I see Madison reading something on her computer monitor. A second later, a familiar dark-haired guy stops at her desk—my roommate and best friend, Mateo.
“Hey, bro,” I say, coming to stand beside him. He’s been to the office once before, right after I started working here. “Did I forget we have plans tonight?”
“Hey. No, you didn’t forget. I’m here for Madison.”
“Oh?” I look to my assistant for the reason why, not that I’m owed an explanation. The two of them go back to diapers and can get together whenever they want.
“I took my car in for service this morning, and Mateo drove me to work. He’s taking me to pick it up and then we’re grabbing dinner.”
“I need to make sure her new boss is treating her right.”
“Let me know what you find out,” I say, unbothered. We’re always poking at each other. Then to Madison, “You done with that spreadsheet?”
“Saving it now.” Her fingers move swiftly over the keyboard as she saves and then shuts down the computer. “I just need to use the bathroom really quick. Be right back.” She hurries down the hallway, her heels pitter-pattering on the polished floor.
“Did you just check out her ass?” Mateo says.
I jerk my concentration back to him. “What? No,” I lie.
“I think you did.”
“You think wrong.”
“Elliot, don’t even think about going there.”
“I’m not.” I stride back into my office. The hallway is not the place to talk about my assistant. I sit at my desk. Mateo slouches in a chair across from me, picking up the remote control for the toy sports car parked under the side table. He turns it on. The miniature car is badass and allows me to have some fun on days when work gets overly stressful.
“You know why I’m telling you this,” Mateo says, his eyes on the car as he drives it around my office.
“Because I work with her? You know how seriously I take my job, so it pisses me off that you would even think that.”
“You’re almost too focused on work, which means you have zero time for a relationship, and Madison is—”
“I know what Madison is, and you don’t have to worry.” She’s wholesome. Caring. Intelligent. Not my typical date as of late.
“She’s not the kind of girl you sleep with and never call again.”
“Seriously, you can drop the big brother routine. I’m not going to sully her or attempt any kind of relationship beyond what we’ve already established.” I can handle myself around Madison. That she has me on edge doesn’t mean I won’t be able to keep my word to my best friend. A guy doesn’t throw a wrench into ten years of friendship because of a girl.
“All right. But it would really suck if something happened between you two and it ended badly. You’re my best friend and she’s like family, and I don’t want to have to choose between you, so keep it in your pants.”
“You’ll be happy to know there’s a nonfraternization rule here.”
He grins. “Perfect.”
“What’s perfect?” Madison asks, stepping into my office.
Mateo stops playing with the high-end toy and stands. “Your timing. Ready to go? I’m starving.”
“I’m ready. Elliot, do you want to join us for dinner?”
Her question is a pleasant surprise that I would absolutely take her up on if I didn’t feel this weird tug toward her. “Thanks, but I’ve got a few things I want to finish before I leave.” The first of which is to turn off my brain to her appeal.
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
I nod in goodbye and end up spending three more hours at my desk before I head out, grab some food, then fall into bed, thankfully too exhausted to dream.
…
“Good morning.”
I look up from getting situated at my desk to see Madison standing in the doorway. It’s a good morning now. She’s been an even bigger asset her second week on the job, taking everything I toss at her in stride. “Morning.”
“How did the presentation go?”
“Great. You should come with me the next time.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, if you’re interested.” I force myself to keep my eyes on hers when what I really want is to run them up and down her body. The office is casual, but I always wear business clothes because it’s what I do, a comfortable habit from the two years I worked in corporate finance before landing here. When I meet with investors, I enjoy
a suit and tie.
Madison seems to have the same mentality, dressing in skirts and heels. Today is different, though, since the team typically eats lunch as a group on the hill on Fridays. She’s wearing a soft pink sweater with painted-on jeans. The look is wholesome, like her, until you get to the footwear. Black stilettos with leopard heels.
“I’m interested,” she says, smiling.
Me, too.
“Pencil yourself in for the Callahan meeting.” I turn my focus to my computer screen to find a dozen new emails during the two hours I was gone. I wish it were a hundred. I need something to keep my mind off my assistant.
“I will. Thanks.” She spins around and is at her desk for all of two seconds when Auggie scoops her up. “Time for lunch,” Auggie says loud enough for the entire floor to hear.
I’m not in the mood to be around everyone, but James will chew my ass out if I don’t attend. He’s big on weekly collaborative tasks to keep communication open and comfortable among his entire team.
I shrug out of my coat and ditch my tie before heading downstairs. As I step into the kitchen for my gourmet-boxed lunch, the first person my gaze lands on is Madison. She and Auggie have their heads close together, whispering, as they grab their food ahead of me.
Lunch in hand, I join James near the top of the hill. We talk business—the guy is brilliant and has taken on a mentor role, one I’m grateful for—before he tells me about his weekend plans with his three-year-old daughter. He shares custody with his ex, the one good thing in a costly and hostile divorce. Before they married, he and his ex were platonic business partners. Their working relationship turned into romance and marriage, until things personally unraveled between them. She got their company, a rival start-up doing similar drone work, and he got enough working capital to start a new one. He’s still not over the collapse of their relationship. Hence the reason for his firm rule on workplace dating. He knows firsthand what a shit storm it can lead to, and he doesn’t want anything disrupting the harmony he’s created at ZipMeds.
“All right, everyone,” Hazel calls out from the middle of the artificial grass. “This week’s team building is Blind Drawing. It’s a two-person activity that focuses on interpretation and communication. Auggie is walking around with some names. Please divvy up and then sit back-to-back.”
As luck would have it—or not—I draw Madison’s name and make my way over to her. She looks up at me with her big blue eyes. “I’m stuck with you?”
“Is that any way to speak to your boss?” I deadpan.
“You’re right.” She slips off her heels and lines them up beside her before turning to give me her back. “I’m stuck with you, sir?” she tosses over her shoulder.
Her playful mouth is dangerous, so I ignore it. If we weren’t friends, she’d probably speak to me in a completely different manner.
I sit behind her, leaving space between our backs. I haven’t touched her, not so much as a brush of the arms, since that night at the bar a few months ago.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, perhaps noting my stiffness. “That wasn’t appropriate.”
Damn right, it wasn’t. Not with my boss sitting only a few feet away.
“I don’t know why I said it,” she continues. “It won’t happen again.”
“Thanks,” I say appreciatively.
“All right,” Hazel calls out to the group. “One of you is receiving a pen and paper while the other is getting a picture.”
I’m handed a picture of a lake with a dock. On the dock is a toy sailboat on its side.
“Thank you,” Madison says. She’s obviously received the paper and pen.
“Here’s how this works. The person with the picture describes the photo to their partner without actually saying what it is. So if the image is a dog in a doghouse, don’t say ‘draw a doghouse with a dog inside it.’ You also can’t use synonyms. Those of you with pen and paper will draw what you think the picture depicts based on your partner’s description. You’ve got ten minutes. Go.”
Madison shifts so our backs touch. I don’t know if it’s because she’s uncomfortable sitting with her legs crossed in her lap and needs support, or if it’s because she thinks the contact will help with our task, but the connection triggers an unwelcome current of awareness down my spine.
“Ready,” she says to me.
The only thing I’m creative with is money, so I’ve no clue how to describe what I’m looking at. I’m reminded of the art camp my mom sent my siblings and me to for one summer when we were young. My brother and sister came home with perfect charcoal drawings of a dinosaur, a UFO in outer space, flowers in a vase, a brown bear in the forest, and a sailboat. Five frame-worthy pieces of art for each day of camp. I came home with my fellow campers’ snack money in my pockets. Instead of drawing, I walked around and bet on who would finish first and who would be awarded Camper of the Day.
“Elliot?”
Madison’s soft voice punctures my recollection.
“A body,” I say off the top of my head. What a lame description, but a lake is a body of water.
“You want me to draw a body?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m looking at something smooth. Calming.”
“Okay. What else?”
“There’s a”—how do I describe a dock without saying dock?—“place to sit.”
“Got it.” She starts to draw. I know this because I feel the vibrations.
I give her a few minutes before adding “There’s also something small…it floats.”
“Smaller than the place to sit?”
“Yes, much. The wind helps it move.”
She’s quiet while she works. I look around and notice the other teams are finished. Hazel walks by us. “One minute.”
“Okay,” Madison answers, right before I hear Hazel catch her breath.
Our office manager leans back into my periphery to check out the picture of the dock in my hands. I lift my head to find her looking at me like I’ve got two noses or something. What does she want from me? These exercises are annoying as shit sometimes. If I want to communicate with Madison, I talk to her in plain English, no interpretation required.
“Time,” Hazel says.
I spin around to see what Madison’s drawn. Holy shit. It’s amazing. And nothing at all like the photo in my hands. “I suck at descriptions, and you should be an artist because that is unbelievable.”
Madison looks from her drawing to the photograph, then her eyes meet mine. “We definitely aren’t in sync.”
“No.”
“Although I interpreted the sailboat right.”
“Minor miracle.”
She chuckles. “I see now what you meant by ‘body’ but ‘place to sit’ for a dock is pretty funny.”
“Agreed. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I slip the paper from her fingers to get a closer look at this masterpiece. “I do know you’re in the wrong profession.” The picture—or sketch is probably a better term for it—is on caliber with professional artists. Madison’s “body” is a nude male form, his backside to the viewer. He’s straddling a chair. On his right shoulder blade is a tattoo of a sailboat. “This is incredible.”
She blushes. “Thanks. I’ve loved to draw since I was little.”
“You didn’t want to make a career out of it?”
“No. It’s just something I do for fun.”
Word spreads about her drawing, which leads to teasing about my descriptive skills. The entire team is communicating now—at my expense. It doesn’t bother me. I’m competitive as hell, but where I failed, my partner more than made up for in raw talent. It’s interesting. In the three months I’ve worked here, this is the first time I feel like I truly belong with the whole group.
People disperse until I’m standing with Madison and Auggie. Auggie is holding the picture in her hands, staring at it like if she tries hard enough the guy might come to life. “Broad shoulders, round, tight ass, and in need of a haircut,” she says. “Is this anyone we
know?”
Madison plucks the paper out of Auggie’s hands. “No.”
“Shame,” Auggie says.
“How could it be someone I know when I drew it from Elliot’s description?”
“The subconscious works in mysterious ways, my friend.” She looks past us, up the hill. “James is motioning for me. Gotta go.”
I glance at my watch.
“Your call is in ten minutes,” Madison says, before I’ve even registered the time.
“Thanks for keeping me on schedule, Miss Hastings.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Sax.”
“Have time to sit in and take notes?” The call is with an investor back east who’s really making me work for it. I get being thorough, but he’s trying my patience and after today’s phone call, I may have to move on.
“Definitely.” She grabs her heels to walk up the hill to the second floor. They dangle from her hand until we reach the concrete flooring. Stopping to slip her feet back into them, she teeters. I give her my elbow for balance.
Long, delicate fingers grip my biceps. She smiles up at me.
And my look-but-don’t-touch rule bites the dust.
Chapter Five
Madison
“They’re pimping you out!” Harper says around her cocktail straw.
I choke down my Diet Coke.
“It’s a fucking brilliant idea, though.”
“That’s not what they’re doing,” I say, looking around the restaurant to be sure no one can hear us. We’re in a large booth at Donahue’s sharing appetizers for dinner.
“It kind of is.” Teague puts her hand on my arm. “But there’s a better way of saying it.”
Over the past year these two girls have become my closest friends. I met Teague while planning my wedding. She worked—still does work—with Gabrielle Gallagher, the biggest wedding planner in Beverly Hills, and my godmother. Harper and Teague have been best friends since college. After my wedding disaster, they stepped up and helped me keep it together when my other so-called friends didn’t.
Too Hard to Resist Page 4