Turning my back on Chrissy, I felt safe knowing she wouldn’t pull anything in front of Mr. Chamberlain. I lifted the tray and calmly walked to his side.
“After you, Quentin,” he said as he stood up and gestured toward the door.
Following his instructions, I swept out of the break room like a princess from a fairy tale. There was so much going on between us at the moment, but he’d let me keep my pride while simultaneously putting her in her place by not acknowledging her presence. To me, that was worth everything.
I stopped by my desk and was about to drop my lunch off before entering his office, but he stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm.
“No,” he said quietly. “In my office, please.”
Nodding, I walked toward his office. Pausing outside his door, I waited for him to open it for me since my hands were full. Thanking him, I entered his office and stopped. I had no idea what he wanted from me.
“You can set it on the table over there,” he said, motioning to the small conference table he used for private meetings.
“Yes, sir.” My words sounded so loud in the quiet of the room.
I spent the next few minutes arranging his lunch and mine on the table, needing something to do with my hands. I could feel him staring at me, watching me. My hand trembled as I set his spoon on the napkin I’d laid out.
His hand came out of nowhere and rested over mine, stilling my movements. “Quentin, I feel I need to make a few things clear before we start any sort of conversation. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re not in any trouble. As for what happened in the break room, I know you didn’t start it and counter to what people around here seem to think, her words have a way of making it back to me.”
I looked over my shoulder at him, needing to see his face. I studied his features and felt the tangled little ball of nerves in my stomach unwind. His expression was soft in a way I’d never seen before. I think someone just meeting him wouldn’t have noticed, but I’d studied his expression so much that I could see the concern radiating off him.
“Okay,” I whispered, feeling my hand relax under his. I knew he could feel it because his face softened even more.
“Okay,” he repeated, sliding his hand off mine.
Was it my imagination or had his fingers caressed the back of my hand in a way no straight man’s ever had? Licking my suddenly dry lips, I watched as Mr. Chamberlain rounded the table and took the seat next to mine.
He motioned to the chair in front of me when I just stood there staring at him. “Our lunch is getting cold, Quentin. Come eat.”
Dropping into my chair, I reached for my spoon and dipped it into the still-hot soup. I blew lightly across the surface before taking a bite. What was going on?
“By the way,” he said in a calm voice as he reached for his drink. “You were wrong earlier.”
I sat up straight and snapped my eyes to him, but he was looking down at his food, calmly taking another bite. Every thought I’d previously had flew out the window.
“Wrong? When? About what?” I hated being wrong. Abso-fucking-lutely hated it. It felt like an itch under my skin that I couldn’t reach.
“In the break room with Chrissy,” he said, proving that one: he knew her name, a fact I didn’t like in the slightest and two: that he was messing with me. It was the only reason I could come up with for him answering the when question and not the what.
I thought back to everything I’d said, and nothing stood out as wrong. If anything, I’d told the complete truth.
“What was I wrong about, Mr. Chamberlain?” I asked quietly, nervously.
He placed his spoon in his bowl and reached for his napkin. He wiped his mouth and then turned to me, meeting my eyes. “You said I was straight. It’s an assumption many people make and one that I very rarely correct.”
The bastard resumed eating as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into my lap. I felt my heartbeat triple in my chest, and my palms turn sweaty as a tiny sliver of hope wormed its way into my heart.
“Oh? But…?” I trailed off, sounding far from the efficient, well-put-together secretary I’d been just a few days, hell, a few seconds ago.
He turned toward me, his cold, gray eyes pinning me in place. “I’m pansexual,” he said simply, dropping yet another bomb on me. “Gender doesn’t really factor into my attraction to someone. I’m attracted to people, not what’s in their pants.”
He studied my face. For what, I don’t know, but he seemed satisfied with what he saw. He returned to his lunch as if nothing had changed. The lunch I’d made for him. The lunch he’d wanted to eat with me.
Me.
Me.
Me.
I seemed to have gotten stuck on that fact.
You can’t blame me. I’d been ready to quit because of the feelings I’d been developing for him, feelings I thought he could never reciprocate.
It seems I was too hasty in that assessment, I thought as I watched him. Minutes before, I’d held Mr. Chamberlain in this unobtainable position. Minutes before, Mr. Chamberlain, the Boss, had been sitting next to his secretary. Now, Mr. Chamberlain, the Man, was suddenly right beside me, eating the food I’d made for him.
I looked down and smiled into my soup bowl. Maybe my crush wasn’t as one-sided as I’d thought. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help wondering what he’d thought about my outfit Friday night.
I felt my plan to quit dissipate like a puff of smoke.
Chrissy Matheson, eat your heart out.
Chapter Four
Nolan
I felt the knot in my chest release after seeing his soft smile.
When I’d arrived at eight to an empty waiting area, I’d panicked. I’d gotten so used to seeing Quentin first thing in the morning. It was like a physical need. I needed to see his welcoming smile. I needed to return his sunny greeting with my customary nod. I needed to walk past him and soak in his radiant energy.
Seeing his empty chair had sucked the breath right from my lungs. In a rush, I’d strode into my office, my eyes trained on my desk. Once I saw the cup of coffee waiting for me, I was able to breathe again. Even if he hadn’t been at his desk, I was satisfied knowing he was somewhere in the building.
As I sat down and reached for my coffee, I felt the residual warmth radiate through the ceramic, and I’d known I’d only missed him by minutes. I’d understood that he hadn’t been ready to face me but I’d known his stalling tactics wouldn’t last forever. Quentin was the type to face his problems head on.
I’d sipped my coffee and tried distracting myself with work. I’d assumed he’d returned to his desk at some point but hadn’t approached. I’d wanted him to come to me.
At one point, I’d heard his office phone ring. I’d looked up and stared at the door. Listening with every fiber of my being, I’d eased up when the ringing had stopped, and the murmur of his voice in conversation reached my ears.
When noon had rolled around, I’d waited for the knock at my door, but it had never come. When seconds turned into minutes, I’d grown more and more unsure with my ability to anticipate his actions. Giving up on waiting for him, I’d stood and left my office only to find he wasn’t there.