A Little Fool for You: A Sweet Office Romance (A Little Love Book 3)

by Emily Childs

  His face changes, an expression I’ve not seen. Hard, like stone. “Cheating?”

  “It’s not my business.” We’re not teasing now. “But she was my friend, and I know that’s why Amy broke things off with you. Really, let’s not dig into it.”

  He stares at me like I’ve slapped him. Slowly, his fists clench, then unclench like his knuckles are rusted hinges. “That’s the story you got, huh?”

  Wow. That struck a nerve. All at once I wish I had kept my mouth shut, but it’s as if I must argue with him. Why did I bring up Amy? Why does he care? My old roommate told me Bastien never cared about her, and cared more about his popularity with other ladies. If that’s true, why does he look like he might break his teeth from clenching his jaw?

  “Forget it,” I whisper and snatch a cold potato at the same time he does. Our fingers brush, and I draw in a sharp breath.

  Bastien deepens his scowl, abandons the skin, and leans back in his chair. Maybe I crossed a line. Bastien hasn’t been rude or inappropriate, and the thing with Amy ended at the beginning of the year.

  My eyes widen.

  Right before I started at Everett are when things changed with him. At least according to Oscar.

  Bastien changed.

  Stopped going home, stopped socializing, stopped living. At the beginning of the year.

  “Bastien—” I start to recant.

  “Ready man?” Oscar interrupts as he shoves his way from the back room, Nicole’s hand in his. “I need to finish a report before midnight.”

  “Yeah,” Bastien says quickly.

  Nicole traps Oscar’s face between her hands, kissing him, and whispering for him to hurry to her house if he’s done early, loud enough we all hear. I’d roll my eyes, but I’m more focused on the empty seat across from me. I’ve battled with Bastien for months. His brooding, snarky remarks. My unwillingness to look at him as anything other than a sleaze bag who loves control. But the way he curled away, locked in a permanent scowl, I’m not sure I’ve been able to draw out this side of Bastien before.

  “Bye Laney,” Oscar says.

  “Sunday?” Bastien mutters before he leaves.

  “Sunday?”

  “The game. Are we driving together? Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  Right. The football game with Holly and the team. He’s hardly looking at me, and I suspect right now he’d rather we never speak again, let alone drive together, and that adds to my guilt. “Um, it doesn’t matter.”

  Bastien checks his phone, scrolling for half a heartbeat before he shoves it into his pocket. “I’ll drive,” he says flatly. “Might as well go together.”

  “Okay.”

  He doesn’t say goodbye before he follows Oscar to the front and out the door.

  “Phew,” Nicole says. “Glad that’s over.”

  I peer at her over my shoulder. “You’re glad your fiancé is gone?”

  “No, never. I’m glad the simmering ball of combustible angst has abandoned my shop. What the heck did you do to Bastien?”

  “Why do you think it was me?” It was, of course, but still.

  “He only grumbles like that when he’s extra ticked.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew his habits so well.”

  “Yikes, you’re feisty,” she says, taking Bastien’s seat.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Nicole shrugs. “Whatever. You’re bugged by it, which is probably good. Means you’re starting to care about his feelings. Of course, that leads me back to my original point that you’re starting to really like him.”

  I rip my glasses off my face and tuck them into their case. Digging my fingertips into my eyes I try to massage the ache that’s building.

  My sister laughs and taps my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go chick-flick it tonight. Maybe you can learn a few things about talking to the love of your life.”

  I fight a smile as I gather my things. “He isn’t the love of my life.”

  “Eh, we’ll see.”

  Nicole links her arm with me and we head back to my townhouse. I wonder if Bastien will go to the office, blast his rock music, and work since I put him in a mood.

  I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to think about him.

  Funny, how the more I say it, the more I think about Bastien Olsen.

  Chapter 14

  Laney

  “Nic, I need your shoe!” I fumble out of my bedroom, one sneaker on, the other with broken laces in my hand. “Nicole!”

  My sister sleepily staggers from the kitchen, still dressed in flannel pajama bottoms, hair in a staticky, messy bun. Late nights with Oscar were beginning to take their toll. She couldn’t even make it back to her house last night and crashed here. “What are you doing? Sneakers?”

  “Yeah, can I wear yours? My laces—” I hold up the culprit.

  “No,” she says, dragging me by the arm back to my bedroom. “No, you’re not wearing a sweatshirt and sneakers.”

  “It’s a football game, isn’t that what everyone wears?”

  “There are ways to add a bit of cuteness to the sporty look.” Nicole hands me her tea mug and digs into my closet, taking out a pair of mustard yellow flats that look a little like a mix between a loafer and slipper, then tosses one of her brown sweaters I stole two years ago. The kind with chunky buttons over one shoulder. “Voila! Cute and practical.”

  I don’t need to look cute for Bastien, but I’m not going to argue. I want to look nice, for Holly, as an applicant.

  Nicole grins when I’m dressed and slick back the pieces of flyaway hair that slipped out of my curly ponytail. “You look a lot like Mom right now.”

  I take off my glasses, the bridges of my cheeks hot. “I was going—”

  “No,” she says. “Glasses stay. They’re sexy.”

  “Stop,” I say, but smile as I adjust my glasses in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I put makeup on today, not much, but enough to notice I have long eyelashes behind my glasses, enough to see a touch of our mom I suppose.

  “So the execs will be there, huh?”

  “Everyone,” I say. The lot will see me with Bastien, as his new girlfriend. I smooth the front of Nicole’s sweater, stomach in knots.

  “It’s going to be great, just remember it’s called a touchdown not a home run, and it’s an endzone not an outfield.”

  I pinch the back of her arm, drawing out a laugh until we both draw in similarly sharp breaths when a knock thuds on the front door.

  Nicole lets out a little squeak and shoves me out of the room. “Oh, he’s here.”

  “Nic, you’re making me want to puke. Quit making this a big deal.” This whole arrangement is practically a business deal. Since my misspeak on Friday it’s been radio silence from Bastien. No check in texts about today, no biting back to bringing up Amy, nothing.

  “Usually if you want to puke it means you’re nervous. In a good way.”

  And at that she opens the door, slipping behind, so it’s me in the doorway.

  Oh. I bite the inside of my cheek. Purple, even if it is a team shirt, on the man draws out the color from his eyes, and I’ve already accepted T-shirts suit him. Stupidly I take him in for a breath too long, doubtless he notices, but then, he’s staring at me too.

  “You look really . . . nice, Laney,” he says through a break in his voice.

  “Thanks.”

  “Have fun you two.” Nicole abandons her place tucked behind the door, pats Bastien’s cheeks, and skips down the hallway.

  Bastien steps back, opening his arm to usher me out in front of him, a shy smile curls his lips. My hands feel sticky, we don’t say anything, but I’m not sure I could right now the way my tongue feels heavy behind my teeth. We didn’t leave things great on Friday, maybe I should bring up our conversation. Dig a little deeper. I shake my head subtly. No need to bring out Bastien’s closed off, prickly side when I like the way a smile keeps tugging at his mouth.

  Quiet follows us out i
nto the parking lot. He opens the passenger door, I slip inside. Oh. The seats smell woodsy and with a hint of sweet. Digging my fingernails into the meat of my palms, I focus straight out the windshield to keep from sniffing the fabric. Sticking my face in his seats would be frowned upon. Bastien takes his place behind the wheel, more silence. We melt into traffic beyond the apartment complex, heavy nothingness between us.

  Until I can’t take another second. “I don’t know anything about football.” I rub the moisture on my palms over my jeans. Bastien spares me a fleeting glance, and I smile to ease some of the pressure in my head. “Thought I should prepare you before you get embarrassed.”

  “Thanks for the warning. Just don’t cheer for the Bears.”

  I snort and settle back in the seat. “We wouldn’t live up to our reputation if we cheered for the same team.”

  “True,” he says with a touch of jest, but buried deep in his voice there is something more, something sad, maybe? “By the way, you’re not dressed right.”

  My lips part. “Nicole made me. I-I told her the hoodie was fine, I knew it, she—” My rambling stops when Bastien laughs and reaches into the backseat at a stoplight pause.

  “I figured, and came prepared,” he says and pulls out a purple Viking cap. “Here.”

  I inspect the brim, the color contrasts hideously against my brown sweater and mustard shoes. Cheeks hot, I slip my ponytail through the gap in the size adjustment and tug the brim over my brow, feeling ridiculous.

  Bastien studies me for a moment before returning his eyes to the road and says, “You look perfect.”

  My stomach jumps, been doing that a lot lately, and I kind of like it.

  We don’t say much for the next thirty-one minutes to the stadium, but when Bastien catches me marveling at the size of the building, the endless floors of glass and windows, the swells of purple as fans walk to the gates, he laughs and nudges my arm.

  “Never seen it before?”

  “Only driving past. Kind of reminds me of Red Sox stadium. I haven’t been to a professional game in twelve years.”

  “Yeah,” he says as we walk toward the entrance. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised you’ve been at all. You don’t seem the sports type.”

  I point a shy smile at the asphalt. “My dad was. Come to think of it, a Red Sox game was one of the last things we did before he got sick.”

  Bastien hesitates. “We don’t need to—”

  “No,” I say quickly. I haven’t spoken about my parents beyond Nicole in so long, I forget how flustered death talk makes others. “Believe it or not, I feel, I don’t know, close to him right now. Even if it’s football, I think he’d be happy.”

  Bastien nods, shoulders visibly relaxing as he hands me my ticket. “Alright then. I bet he’s proud you’ll be sitting in a box seat.”

  I laugh and it’s surprising. “Honestly, he’s probably up there rolling his eyes. Dad’s sights would’ve been on the closest seats to the field. I think it was his dream to get player sweat in his mouth.”

  “Totally respect that.”

  Once we’re through the gate, I close my eyes while Bastien scans the crowd to find our way to the company box. Smells of garlic and bread, sweet barbecue, smoked beef, the grainy hint of beer. Smells of an easier childhood, where Dad bought me a foam finger, and a hot dog with mustard I spilled down the front of me. I smile when I ought to be sad. A tap to my shoulder draws me from the past, and I don’t even care that I’m grinning wistfully when I face Bastien.

  “This way,” he says softly, and I wonder if he can guess what I’m thinking.

  Everett’s box isn’t the largest, but still impressive with drink and snack carts and padded seats. We make it four minutes into the first quarter. All the seats surrounding Holly and Piper are taken by Adam and Howard, who decided to come back from vacation to catch the game. Everyone is jabbering on about football, a few try bringing up work, but Holly shushes most office talk without mercy. When Holly sees us, she beams and stands. She’s dressed in a Viking hoodie, and I make a note to thank Bastien again for supplying me with a touch of merchandise. Holly weaves around the legs of others, her stylish stiletto boots clicking along the floor.

  “You made it.”

  “Sorry we’re late, traffic was nasty,” Bastien says.

  Holly waves the idea away and loops her arm with Bastien, then with me. “Who really watches the beginning anyway? Come and sit, Vi and Grant saved some seats next to them. Laney, mind if I call you Laney?”

  “Please,” I say.

  “Have you met Vi and Grant? Vi works in my office with Piper, and Grant is from legal. By the way, I’ve really been looking at your resume. Did Bastien tell you we’re looking for a second head over digital marketing? If you have experience in social media, bring anything for a portfolio, and now I’m finished talking work.”

  Holly goes on without a pause. “I’m so glad you two finally stepped out into the light with all this. You spoke with Oscar, I assume.”

  “We did,” I hurry and say, my voice is weak.

  “Good. Good. Well, have a seat, eat, have fun. I’ve got my eyes on you. Both of you,” she says, glancing at Bastien. “I could use two strong minds in this new setup, and it doesn’t hurt if they’re fond of each other.”

  She winks at me, then frees my arm and returns to her seat next to Piper. I take a moment before sitting, a little stunned. When Bastien comes close enough I can whisper I say, “You know, Oscar told me about the new management position, but not you? Why not?”

  “Did you read my letter of recommendation?”

  No, and I’m ashamed to admit it. I blink and slide into the seats next to Vi, a woman with short black hair and gold rings up the shell of her ear. “She really is watching,” she whispers. I don’t know Vi well, but we’re both assistants so it’s kind of like we’re part of an exclusive club at Everett. “She seems like she’s just enjoying a game, but already I think she’s a little muffed by the way Bryce is being a slob. He’s dropped the F-bomb twice already. Not cool in front of your boss who says shoot when she’s mad.”

  I snicker and wave at Grant. A guy who teases and loves to laugh. We don’t see the legal department that much, they’re usually buried in mountains of contracts and documents, but Grant seems to know everyone’s name despite his legal dungeon.

  “I’m trying to get ahead of contracts for these new accounts. They’re complicated and big, and I’m bored writing things up for the city,” he says, even though I didn’t ask.

  “Go for it, Grant,” Bastien says, leaving a friendly clap on his shoulder. “But watch the mouth, unlike Bryce apparently. We know you have an even smaller vocabulary.”

  Grant laughs, so do I. He might not speak much, but Grant isn’t one to walk around cussing. He’s a tease, a sweet one, but still a tease.

  “If I’d known dating a coworker would get Holly interested in me at a new level, then I would’ve asked out Vi,” he whispers with a smile.

  “Excuse me,” Vi says. She lifts one of her perfect brows, and pinches her bright pink lips into a tight line.

  Grant chuckles, lifting his shoulders. “What? I promise you’d be happy.”

  “Oh, good,” she says dryly. “Because I don’t think Ari would be thrilled if my side guy didn’t make me happy.”

  Grant tugs on Vi’s hoop earring. “You won’t mind, right Ari?”

  We all lean forward to gauge the tall, dark, and handsome guy sitting on Vi’s opposite side. Ari scowls and holds up Vi’s left hand he has tangled with his own to show off the rock on her finger. “Hands off.”

  Grant huffs and slumps in his chair. “Fine.” He faces me. “Laney, you’re cute. I have a thing for glasses.”

  “Grant,” Vi mutters. “Don’t be a harassment claim waiting to happen, Mr. Attorney.”

  He doesn’t listen. “Dump Bastien, and I promise the grass is greener over here.”

  The thing is, if we all didn’t know Grant he might make me feel weird, but
honestly, he’s pretty funny. The no-filter attorney. I’m not witty, but I should have some kind of retort. I’m sitting with my boyfriend after all.

  My stomach is turning in cartwheels. We’ve had a few calm, even sweet moments of conversation, but this is Bastien Olsen. The guy who proposed to my roommate, only to take it back a week later. Bastien who . . . buys Chapstick for Agnes. I flick my eyes to him as he jokes with Grant. He’s smart, I’ll give him that. He’s brisk and his mood swings give me insomnia trying to figure him out. But he’s soft spoken too. He’s got a kind side.

  I clear my throat. We need to convince others we’re not doing this for convenience. Real, we need to be real. I can do this. I really, really want this job. And maybe, I want Bastien to get what he’s after too.

  Slowly, while Grant is still trying to convince me to ditch my date, I slip my fingers into Bastien’s. I hear his breath hitch. Heat floods my face, but I don’t let go, sure I’m holding his hand too tightly. “Sorry, Grant.”

  My voice is rough, dry, a little breathless. All wrong. Thankfully, Vi is discussing something about the game with Ari, and the others near Holly start cheering when the Vikings’ defense tackles the Bears’ running back for a first down.

  Grant certainly doesn’t notice and slumps in his seat. “Why am I sitting with you people?”

  With eyes turned away, I drag my hand back, cracking my knuckles. My attention is straight ahead, watching the field below, but I can feel the burn of Bastien watching me. He adjusts in his seat, relaxes, and when I dare glance at him, he smiles.

  Okay.

  I lean onto my elbow on the armrest, comfortable with the idea of sitting a little closer. A shiver runs my spine, but a twitch of a grin curls in the corner of my mouth when Bastien rests his arm next to mine. We’re not holding hands, but our little fingers are certainly introducing themselves to each other. I bite the inside of my cheek against the flutter in the pit of my stomach when Bastien curls his pinkie with mine. He doesn’t need to do that. Does he want to? Just . . . just because?