TRIGGER WARNING
While the event is not on screen, this book contains conversations about late-term miscarriage and the dissolution of a marriage. There is also on screen panic attacks, and talks about past characters who’ve dealt with suicidal ideation and drug abuse. Please proceed with caution.
ForJaninewhoneverhesitatestotellmewhatIneedtoknow.
i no longer wish for shelter from the storm but for the calm of the sea to overcome it
Pavana Reddy
CHAPTER ONE
Kurt
On a glittery Tuesday afternoon, I finalized my divorce. Left alone in the small, stuffy room at the lawyer’s office, I steepled my fingers and stared at the bleeding ink of Sadie’s messy cursive pressed into the stiff white paper. It appeared she also couldn’t wait for this to be done.
Ten years of marriage. The last three of them spent in a death spiral. All reduced to a pile of papers and a black hole of anger and disappointment that now lived approximately where my heart had.
I steeled myself for the feeling of the floor crumbling beneath me, but it didn’t happen. There was no crash and burn, no choked sobs or dread for tomorrow. All I felt was the serenity of relief.
Outside the door, a group of employees passed by complaining about working through their post-lunch slump. They didn’t even bother to lower their voices. Here I was, a statistic, a passerby.
The thick fog I’d crawled through for the last six months blissfully cleared. I didn’t have to tiptoe around my decisions and consider how they would look in the divorce proceedings. The weight of worry was gone.
But now I needed a new place to live.
The couch in Cole’s small condo did a number on my lower back as a continuous reminder of the big four-oh closing in on the horizon.
I snatched my phone off the table, fingers unconsciously logging me into my bank account, keenly aware I’d set myself up for disappointment. This twisted ritual had become my new bedmate in a season of sleepless nights. All I had left were my pitiful few boxes filled with my belongings that I’d shoved into a small storage unit.
After today’s bill, I’d barely have enough to cobble together a deposit for even the most questionable apartment in the tech triangle, and those had waiting lists over a year out. Sharp bitterness settled on my tongue, and my stomach roiled at the taste.
I was homeless.
Several light knocks alerted me to my lawyer’s admin’s entrance, her petite silhouette framed by the doorway, her dark hair encased in the fluorescent glow of the hallway.
She’d apparently missed the memo on the office’s organizational mission of indifference, her pity clear. I couldn’t stop how my nose wrinkled in annoyance. That same pity followed me everywhere, a rancid scent I couldn’t get rid of.
I may not have been able to control that I was two paychecks away from bankruptcy, but I still had my pride. I stood and gathered the papers, tucking them into my complimentary folder, its large gold leaf emblem mocking me.
I worked the muscles of my lips into a tight smile. “Sorry for overstaying. I lost track of time. Do you need the room?”
“No, there’s not another appointment for an hour.” She glanced at my empty seat and said, “You can stay longer if you need to.”
With a shake of my head, I pitched an abandoned water bottle into the nearby trashcan. I wondered if this was a part of the exorbitant hourly rate—a client takes out most of their retirement funds for a divorce and, as a parting gift, gets unlimited time in an empty room to recuperate.
I trailed behind the admin through the long hallway, past a long row of closed doors—a heated argument on the left, the whimpers of someone’s agony on the right, and the murmurs of conversation in between.
The admin returned to her desk, sliding her palm under her pencil skirt as she sat down in the rolling office chair and resumed typing. She offered a small smile and a quiet farewell, and I lifted two fingers as I walked away, not bothering to look back.
Outside, July was an assault on the senses, the mixture of heat and humidity making the sunbaked asphalt of the packed parking lot the seventh circle of hell. A heat wave blanketed the RaleighDurham area, and everyone was suffering.
I slapped my sunglasses on, headed to my car, and tried to ignore the way my dress shirt clung to my skin as I looked down at the pale outline where my wedding band once lived. My thumb rubbed over the naked space and I squeezed my finger hard, wincing. The worst part of this was over.
It was time to move on.
The KnightRidertheme song blared from my phone, interrupting my moment of reflection. I pulled it out of my back pocket and swiped my finger upward to accept the call.
“Please tell me the bathrooms flooded again and we need to work from home for the rest of the week. I could use a siesta.”
“Hah, I wish,” Cole said, his voice tight. I waited for the daily office-drama rundown from his countless pit stops at the water cooler, but it didn’t come, which was code for bigger shit hitting the fan. “I know you blocked out a few hours today because of your meeting, but the new C-suite showed up early and brought along some snobby, uptight sales guy I’ve never seen before. Do you know if he was involved in the acquisition?”
Resting my phone against my shoulder, I unlocked my car and did a mental review of the agenda emailed to me the day before. “Not a damn clue. Our execs have been elusive since everything went down, so I’m in the dark as much as you are. The meeting I’m scheduled for is supposed to be an alignment meeting allegedly intended to inform managers about the details of the new org chart, but I smell bullshit.”
Cole hummed in agreement. “Then it might be in your best interests to get here sooner rather than later. The guy didn’t acknowledge anyone in the bullpen. Not getting good vibes from him.”
“You never get good vibes about anyone. Present company excluded, of course.”
“Set your expectations low and then when things go even marginally okay, you’re happily surprised, is what my mother used to say. Either way, this meeting is causing a lot of hubbub, which means you need to get here quickly to grab insight on the enemy.”
I flung the folder onto the passenger seat, and the thick copy of my divorce papers fluttered out of it, chaotically decorating the entire half of the car in white. “They’re not the enemy anymore, remember? The acquisition went through a week ago.”
Chatter from the bullpen faded out. “Jury’s still out about that. For real, though, there are some rumors that have been going around, and people are worried about redundancies between departments,” Cole said, his hushed voice tinny, a signal he’d sneaked into the bathroom. “People on our teams have to keep a roof over their head too.”
I ran my hand over my mouth and nodded. Stress had been at an all-time high after the acquisition, and the anxiety was spiking gossip in the bullpen to dangerous levels. I needed a game plan on how to manage this, and quick. “The best we can do is eliminate panic and see what these people want. And Cole,” I said, my tone sharp, silencing his interruption, “I hear you. People are scared. We’ll figure it out, okay? I’m heading back now.”
Fifteen minutes later, walking into the bullpen’s eerie quiet was unsettling. The usual laughter and banter had vanished, and as I set
my bag down at my desk, Cole rolled over and nodded to the conference room. Enclosed in glass, it allowed everyone to get a front-row seat for the show.
Men in tailored suits sat among our executive team, their upscale attire a stark contrast to our leadership team’s business casual dress. I half expected everyone to look serious and my coworkers to be on guard, but they weren’t. They were laughing.
And they directed it at a man animatedly waving his hands around in a circle, lips stretched over straight, bright-white teeth. His deep blue suit looked like something out of the September issue of Vogue, and his broad shoulders were rolled back, blond hair delicately styled.
Who the hell was this guy?
I beelined to my desk and put my phone and keys in the corner where an outline of dust from my wedding photo sat. Cole must’ve removed it while I was back-to-back traveling to client sites and juggling the divorce proceedings. I reached over, swiped away its dusty evidence, and snatched a yellow pad and pen from an empty desk. I refused to walk in with my dick in my hand.
Cole’s lips twisted to the side, and his eyes narrowed at the conference room. “Everyone from the other company looks like they hold lifelong memberships to the good ol’ boys’ club. Mr. Moneybags looks like he’s fitting right in with them.”
We never saw our former CEO, and when we did, he’d never engaged in a round of chuckles. Cole stepped closer, pressing a fist into his open palm. “Be real with me. How do you feel about going into the lion’s den?”
“Doesn’t matter what I feel,” I said, unbuttoning the sleeves of my shirt and rolling them to my elbow, purposefully exposing the collection of tattoos. Sadie always hated it when I did this, so I’d forgone my usual style in the event I saw her at the lawyer’s office.
But tough shit if the new company didn’t like it. I pressed the yellow pad to my chest and winced when the group let out another raucous laugh. Blondie was apparently superb entertainment for all the bigwigs. I rubbed my knuckle over the side of my nose. “I’ll be back.”
Cole wiggled his fingers at me in a wave, eyes locked on the meeting room. “Good luck. Come find me when you’re done and spare no details.”
“Will do.” I weaved around the desk farm, edging closer to the conference room, drawing the attention of the company’s C-suite to me—everyone except Mr. Moneybags. Mr. Moneybags didn’t even bother to acknowledge me.
He reached for his reading glasses on the table, slid them on, and reviewed the papers in front of him as if I had never even entered the room. I clutched the yellow pad tighter to my thigh. His games weren’t new to me, so I smiled at everyone and waited.
“So, this festival you’ve presented today,” Mr. Moneybags said in his gravelly voice. “It sounds all fine and well, but will it be worth taking company money to help a bunch of families distract their kids on a Saturday?”
He flicked his eyes to Blondie, whose shoulders rose a fraction, and his jaw ticked. Moneybags had clearly hit a sore spot. Interesting.
“Jeff, I understand your concerns, but events like this help build our brand in the community as the company that cares—not just the company trying to sell them something,” Blondie said. “These are our future consumers: the business owners, the parents, and their children. Our competitors aren’t doing this, so this day might not be a contract day, but it is a chance to create that competitive edge.”
I narrowed my eyes at Blondie’s little speech. Oh great, an “ideas” guy who believed he could charm the bigwigs. I needed to be careful here or risk getting kicked to the curb.
Mr. Moneybags lifted his shoulder in a bored shrug. Then he turned a sharp smile toward me that would make a lion retreat. His entire demeanor reeked of impatience. I tucked my free hand in my pocket to save myself from flipping him off and strolled casually to stand behind an empty chair.
“Afternoon, everyone. Sorry I’m late. I had an appointment I couldn’t reschedule.” I remained standing behind the empty chair directly across from Blondie. He’d unbuttoned his suit after his comedy show, and his once-polite smile gained an edge to it, like he
was studying prey. I lifted an eyebrow and held his gaze in challenge, grinning in triumph when he turned away.
“No, no, you are right on time,” Jeff said with such forced enthusiasm it was pathetic. “Kurt, this is Tristan Edwards, new director of sales for our southeast region.”
Tristan rose, buttoned his suit jacket, and reached across the table with his hand extended. I met him in the middle, and we exchanged a solid shake, his fingers long enough to wrap around my wrist. His blue eyes threw shards of ice at me, and I continued to hold the uncomfortable stretch across the table, refusing to back down.
Jeff cleared his throat, snapping us out of our standoff. I sat down before he began his spiel, waving a hand at me dismissively. “Kurt has been the senior manager of sales at this branch for a little over…two years, is it?”
“Sounds about right,” I said, adjusting the chair to tilt back and rest my head against the headrest, pressing the top of my pen against my lips.
Tristan tracked my movements, and when I twitched my eyebrows up once at him, he frowned, returning his focus to the meeting.
“You actually showed at the perfect time, Kurt,” said a woman from Tristan’s team, her clasped hands settled on top of her black leather notebook. Her long, black hair was loosely curled, her suit tailored to perfection. What was up with these people, and how did they have money to eat?
“We’ve been going over the plans for our new regional location in Knoxville,” the woman said, opening her portfolio and sliding a paper to me. “Tristan has handled schedules and interviewed potential candidates for the core team, and while its current state is bare bones, we have several interested in relocation, along with a few regional employees coming on-site twice a week.”
“Today’s goal is to discuss incentives we can employ to boost company morale as we continue to expand the branch,” Tristan said, taking in everyone’s agreement. He looked at me last, tilting his
head to the side, like he was doing me a favor by giving me an invitation into the discussion.
I leaned an elbow on my chair arm, purposefully twisting to show the ink on the inside of my forearm. Tristan’s eyes grazed over it, his nose scrunching a little in obvious distaste. Jesus, I’d dealt with my fair share of uptight pricks in this business, but this guy easily ranked in the top five percent. “How many employees are we targeting to have for Knoxville?”
“We want to have fifty reporting there overall, with a small team on-site and the rest from the Raleigh-Durham location,” Tristan said. “Plans are to expand to eighty the year after opening.”
“And how many are reporting on-site?”
Tristan jutted his chin up. “Almost a dozen. We have an extended budget for incentive packages for relocation and salary adjustments for cost of living. So far, the projections look promising.”
Ah, low risk up front, then a small ramp up to test the waters. It was the exact thing I would’ve done. But there were other pressing matters that needed to be addressed, which meant I needed to poke a little harder and see where this would go.
“I applaud your focus on filling the positions internally for relocations, but if this meeting is about company morale, there’s a bigger issue not being addressed.” I made eye contact with everyone in the room, keeping Tristan last. I couldn’t stop the thrill of satisfaction at the way Tristan parted his lips and did a quick scan of the room, a hairline fracture in his veneer of surety. I waited a moment longer and leaned forward, pressing my palms together to rest my chin on the tips of my fingers. “This company is new as a midlevel enterprise, and our sales team is not even a quarter of what yours is, which means we have a lot of reps worried about employee retention post-merger.”
“What a brilliant observation, Kurt,” Jeff said, pointing at me with a level of curated enthusiasm that meant this was a curveball no one expected, a quintessential Mr. Moneybags move. I moved my hand under the table and balled my fingers into a fist. It took everything I had not to punch the phony smile off his face. “Which brings us to the next topic of discussion. You’ve done an exceptional job making
this sales team the best in the southeastern region, and I believe your sharp skills would be a wonderful fit in joining Tristan as a codirector at the Knoxville location.” He paused and gave me a smarmy smile, and I clenched my jaw to stop the urge to curl my lip in a sneer at the bastard. “To even the workload.”
Tristan’s head shot up from where he’d been feverishly writing on his legal pad, eyes bulging. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he suddenly forgot the entire English language. With a quick recovery, he rubbed his fingers down the side of his jaw and swallowed. “Oh, I-I was unaware we were looking to have two directors on-site.”
“This is something we’ve decided to give a trial run. We want to see how things work with two directors instead of one, especially since the branch is still in its early stages.” Jeff did another wave of his hand at the beginning of Tristan’s protest, like an elder would wave away a pestering child. He looked at another older man, likely a top dog in Tristan’s company, who nodded in happy agreement. “We figured we’d give the trial about a month or so, then reassess to see if two work better than one. If not, that’s what reassignment is for. In the meantime, senior management will start work on the salary increase and benefits.”
He looked at me expectantly and said, “That is, if Kurt accepts the offer. Don’t want to put the cart before the horse.” Before I could even answer, he barreled on. “But you have plenty of time to think this over. We don’t need an answer today.”
I ran the tip of my tongue over the roof of my mouth. My separation and divorce had thrust me into living out of a suitcase and relying on shitty office coffee to get me through the long days after the acquisition, and it wasn’t as if there was a home tethering me to Raleigh. I was always an extra in the relationships Sadie took time to cultivate, and my family was seven hundred miles away. Nothing to lose and a whole lot to gain.
I clasped my hands behind my head, my gaze landing on Tristan one last time. The corner of his mouth twitched down, and in return, I gave an impish grin, not breaking eye contact as I said, “I guess we better talk about my per diem, then.”
CHAPTER TWO
Tristan
An arrow of fire blazed under my skin, sending a jagged ripple down my arms as the soles of my shoes pounded the concrete. My body pleaded for mercy, but I refused to stop, pushing through the acidic cramps in my muscles. I barely caught the ring of a biker’s bell as it zoomed past me, whipping up a soft breeze in its wake.
“Tris, slow down.”
The torment in my brother Chance’s voice was distant and muted. I tried to pull myself out of the darkness, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t rein in the uncontrolled monster awakened in my mind, its angry demands relentless.
I wanted to stop it. I needed to lull it back to sleep. I’d never have the strength to defeat it, but I could placate it enough to calm its roars into murmurs. To buy myself time, I had to keep going.
A fist pounded into my shoulder, intense and brutal, skittering my sweat-soaked shirt down my back. Spasms of pain delayed me long enough to register the contact, the sting zipping down to my elbow. Even in agony, I couldn’t tame the drums in my veins, undeterred by my efforts. I kept running.
“Tristan, stop,” Chance said, my name gritted, like it took every cell in his body to speak.
I was so close, the terrible somersaults in my chest slowing, and soon I could talk. Without warning, the collar of my shirt cut deep into my windpipe, and a sharp wheeze slammed out of me. I stumbled into an awkward stop and hacked a cough, my clumsy feet barely able to keep me upright. I wanted to throw up.
“Jesus Christ.” Chance stood beside me, bent over with his hand still tangled in my shirt, and jerked me toward the grassy area of the walking path. He squatted down and combed his fingers through the wet strands of his brown hair, head hung low in defeat. When he looked up at me, his face was crimson, sweat pouring down his temples, naked bewilderment coloring his face. “What’s gotten into you, huh? There a fire I missed?”
If failure was a fire, then I was stuck in an inferno.
I couldn’t tell Chance how there was no way the company set me up with a codirector out of the goodness of their heart. They wanted to see me fail and then laugh at my ineptitude. What if they put me back on the road again, traveling for three weeks out of the month? What if they chose Kurt to continue running operations here in Knoxville? And in the aftermath, what would he do to my team?
What if. What if. What if.
Everything I’d worked so hard for, wasted. I cupped my hands behind my neck and stared up at the trees’ pitiful attempt to protect us. Sunlight baked into my skin through the foliage, the humid air swollen and oppressive. Running through it was like ripping through wet cotton. I didn’t care how far I could go. I only wanted the thoughts to end.
Chance poked at my arm. I jolted and found him next to me with his eyebrows raised, the curl of his lips a preface to his impending demand for an answer. I sighed.
“Nothing’s going on. I didn’t get a lot of time to work out when I was away.”
“You didn’t get to—” Chance scrubbed his hands over his face. “That wasn’t a workout. That was a training session for the zombie apocalypse. Did the pharmaceutical industry catch on to some new pathogen you’re not telling me about?”
I unsnapped the bottle from my running belt and sprayed a long gulp of water into my dry mouth. When I handed it over to Chance, he took it with force, guzzled down the rest, and slapped it against my chest, heading to the parking lot.
“I’m gonna tap out early since your mission today nearly sent me into cardiac arrest,” Chance said as he rubbed a circle around his chest. My legs shook from the exertion, but I couldn’t stop the jitters deep in my bones. I still had to come up with a better plan for my weekly one-on-one with my manager. I had to prove that I was the best choice for this position.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Chance asked, concerned. “I can practically see the smoke coming from your ears.”
I ran my fingertips down the side of my face and pressed into the tight knot at the top of my jaw. “There’s just a lot going on with the new branch.”
Chance hummed in question, stretching his arm over his chest, and waited expectantly.
There was no getting out of this. With a fortifying breath, I said, “The comanager of the branch with is a pain in the ass.”
“How so?”
That question was the proverbial sword swinging over my head, the answer too raw to confess. Kurt Holden was the top performer at his company by a significant margin, famous for being able to snag all the accounts I’d only dreamed of, with the energy of a powerhouse. He sauntered into that meeting last week with no awareness of the agenda I’d spent several days meticulously
perfecting and ripped it apart with his easygoing, sorry excuse of business casual.
He stood against an entire table of executives without batting a single eyelash, and I’d lost control of the court in a matter of minutes.
“He doesn’t understand structure,” I said, planting a hand on a park bench to stretch my leg. “There’s a lot of moving parts involved in all of this, especially since our company bought his, and I’ve been busting my ass to prove that I can lead it. He’s the type that will try to mix things up for laughs, and I don’t need him muddying it up.”
Chance hummed and tapped his bottom lip with his thumb. “Maybe he won’t, though. Some of the best ideas I get are from my crew. One guy came up with this design for a deck we installed last week that I never would’ve thought about. The client loved it.” He dropped his hand. “Maybe you should give the guy a chance.”
We turned the corner toward the busy playground. Children ran around in circles, screaming directions to each other and running toward a piece of equipment. A little boy tripped on the ground, and his father came over to swoop him up, holding the crying child in his arms. A bittersweet longing tugged at my insides, a phantom ache to accompany the twinge of my muscles. I turned away.
“It’s fine,” I said, not wanting to talk about Kurt any longer. I fished my keys out of my back pocket, desperate to change the subject. A drop of sweat splattered on the face of my watch as I checked the time. I wiped it carefully over my hip, my nose scrunched at the prospect of it being dirtied. “You better get going if you want to be on time for your dinner party.”
Chance leaned on the passenger door of Duncan’s truck without a lick of eagerness. The truck was covered in the remnants of spring pollen, I cringed and worked hard to stop myself from pulling him away.
My best friend was rubbing off on him.
“We’re driving separately,” Chance said, resting his head against the window. “Duncan won’t mind if I’m a bit late.”
“It’s the annual employee dinner for the co-op. You should be there on time.”
Chance squinted at me, gaze challenging. I knew I was risking an argument by blowing him off, and as a rumble of tension stirred inside me, I stiffened my shoulders, prepared for one of Chance’s acerbic slaps about schedules. He’d come so far in the last couple of years with his bipolar diagnosis. But it was hard to turn off the persistent worry that one day I’d get that phone call from the hospital telling me that he attempted to end his life again.
“Duncan will understand. He knows how important this is for me to stay balanced,” Chance said and kicked his heel onto the ground. He still had a hard time talking about those rough days when he couldn’t leave the house. I knew he was still working on it, but it broke my heart that he felt ashamed around me.
But knowing he had Duncan to lean when those days came up eased the pain a little bit. There were parts of Chance that only Duncan witnessed, but he was fiercely in love with Chance as Chance was with him and I trusted that he’d tell me if anything got too bad.
I geared up to apologize when his eyes lit up a bit and he asked, “Hey, you wanna join? Duncan would be jazzed to see you.”
I shook my head. “No, I have a lot of things I need to get ready for this week.”
Chance pushed himself off the truck, pulled me into a hug, and slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t go home and work all evening,” he said in my ear before he pulled away and headed to the truck. “You’ll put yourself into an early grave.”
“Not my first rodeo, bud,” I said and pushed my car’s unlock button. “I just need to get the week set up, and Duncan will kill me if I don’t keep up all the work he did on my garden while I was traveling back and forth to Raleigh.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Chance muttered as he walked away. “Just get to bed at a decent hour, okay?”
I waited until he was gone before I slumped into my seat, exhaling a long breath. The run had barely scratched the surface of the itch under my skin, and by morning, I’d need to do something before heading into the office. I grabbed my phone to check when
the rock climbing gym opened and was immediately bombarded by notifications in SalesForce.
Questions flooded the chats about process and management: What was the projected reporting structure with the addition to management? How would the team be handling the opportunities and pipeline reporting? Did we have automated follow-ups postclosing? Who gets credit for sales between multiple divisions of a single company? There was even a comment suggesting activities they’d like to take part in to build team morale.
All from Kurt.
I clenched my phone. This information was available in the company wiki that I’d spent overtime implementing with IT. A simple search and he’d be able to find the answers. But it was clear he didn’t want to find the answers on his own. He was doing this to see if I was qualified and educated enough about the company.
It was a test.
I opened the group messenger to navigate him to the wiki. Surely someone on the team would tell him about it, and I half expected to see several responses saying that.
That didn’t happen. Everyone praised Kurt for his inquiries. He even took it upon himself to open a new chat channel so that the team could bounce ideas off each other for weekly group activities they’d like to do.
He didn’t even contact me to discuss this, just went about it like he was the only one directing this branch. I went to send a personal DM, primed to type a lengthy message about showing synergistic companionship when someone is in a leadership role.
I found a message from Kurt.
I’vescheduledthemeeting forus tomorrow.Thiswillbe a good exercise infiguring outways to have the teamgel. You’re more than welcome to attend the party if you can manage it. Not sure how you feel about casual business attire,butit’srecommended.
If I could manage it? Did he think I had never run a meeting before? Our first meeting was with the entire C-suite of the company. And what the hell was that comment about my business
attire? I carefully set the phone down and scrubbed a hand over my face so I wouldn’t chuck my phone across the car. This jerk wasn’t worth a pesky insurance claim.
If Kurt Holden didn’t believe I could handle the team, he was in for a rude awakening tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER THREE
Kurt
Tuesday morning greeted me with a meeting invite from Tristan that he’d sent at six thirty that morning. Through sleep-blurry eyes I squinted at the time stamp, certain I’d read it wrong. Who willingly woke that early to work when our region was in the same time zone?
He also set the meeting for eight thirty, an ungodly time to talk business. With a tired sigh, I chugged my coffee, tiptoed carefully around the moving boxes stacked in the apartment’s kitchen, and rushed to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.
If I was going to make it to this impromptu meeting, I’d have to leave now.
I snatched my keys and wallet off the box near the front door, accepting the invite as I locked the door. I was still getting used to the unfamiliar hallways, nearly missing the turn to the elevator as my phone chimed with a message.
It was from Tristan.
What’syour ETA?Wecan’taffordforthismeetingtorun over.
I ignored the message and tucked my phone into my back pocket, a spike of irritation burning in my chest. What the hell was up with this guy?
Once I made it to my car, the drive to the office only took five minutes, a logistical move on the company’s part, especially since they were footing the bill for my room and board. Even the furniture wasn’t mine.
When I parked, I closed my eyes and imagined paddling alone down a calm river, the heat of the sun on my skin. My phone dinged again, tugging me out of my daydream, and without reading the notification, I turned the volume down and dragged myself into the building.
Only one section of lights was on in the deserted bullpen. I’d barely just set my keys down on my desk when a deep voice in front me said, “You’re late.”
I bent over my desk, opening my laptop and typing in my password. “And here I thought I was right on time.”
The soles of Tristan’s shoes echoed in the room, swallowed up by the exposed rafters. He maintained a distance, but I could still see his outline in my peripheral, felt his magnifying gaze watching every move I made.
It was like being picked apart under a microscope. It likely was a test to see who would break first, but I gave in and found him with his arms crossed over his chest. He’d styled his blond hair in its usual impeccable form that somehow managed not to look overdone with product, and his dress shirt was pressed so stiff it looked as if it’d been soaked in starch. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the critically demeaning look in his eyes.
I poked my tongue into the corner of my lower lip to abate the sneer that threatened to surface as Tristan’s eyes slid down my body in careful examination. “You should change your attire to reflect your role.”
I looked down at my black button-down, the sleeves rolled to my elbows. I had yet to locate my dress pants, and since we didn’t have scheduled visits with clients soon, I’d opted for a pair of dark, formfitting khakis. It wasn’t the chic, bespoke suit that Tristan chose, but it fit the requirements.
“Never had an issue before.”
Tristan tilted his head to the side, and the corner of his eyes twitched like he was working very hard not to roll them. He schooled his face into a blank look. “There’s an issue now.”
I raised an eyebrow and grinned sardonically. “You know, I’ve never had anyone this interested in my body before. Must’ve missed it in the management section of the employee handbook.”
This time Tristan rolled his eyes as he wiggled his arm upward, shirtsleeve sliding backward to unearth an impressive watch on his wrist. “I want to have this meeting before our team stand-up.” He opened the door to the conference room. It was small and could fit no more than three people, but it was also the only one that had a large window looking out at the bullpen. I chose it for that purpose. “And we only have five minutes until they get here.”
“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to hold up the team with our lack of punctuality,” I said, emphasizing the we and swallowed a laugh as Tristan’s eyebrows made a slow climb up to his hairline. I waved an upturned hand to the conference room. “Lead the way.”
Tristan spun on his heel, and I followed, bumping the door closed with my shoulder. He sat in a chair opposite me, a position he always staked out just so he could get a full view of the bullpen through the large window. He kept his back ramrod straight, blue eyes following my path as I sat down in front of him.
I watched his index finger tap the table for several beats before I looked up at him and asked, “What did you want to talk about?”
“You posted a list of questions in SalesForce to the team,” he said, lips pursed in obvious annoyance. “All of those questions are
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