She bats her eyelashes, which makes me laugh. “I did like that,” I admit.
“I liked it. You were one of the few cool people there.” She pouts.
“I don’t know.”
Really, every fiber of my being wants me to go back to Caleb, on my hands and knees, begging until he accepts me into his life—and his bed—again. Even if it takes a thousand years. But then I step back from myself and cringe. So I’m going to be his punching bag, let him continue humiliating me? Do I have no sense of self-worth?
A few days ago, I thought I had all the answers. Now… I just don’t know.
“He didn’t tell me it was over just because of the company ink thing,” I admit, dropping my chin to my chest. “I might have done something. Something to… Betray his trust.”
She leans forward, interested. “Innocently, or…?”
I meet her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s one thing if you accidentally leave an important document on the photocopier, but a totally different thing if you’re, I don’t know, selling closely held Sterling Cross trade secrets to his competitors.”
I grimace. It’s closer to the last one. In fact, it is the last one. But if I tell her that, I doubt she’ll let me have a place on her couch. I try to manufacture a lie, but nothing seems adequate.
And I’m tired. So tired.
“You care about him, don’t you?” she asks quietly.
There’s an easy lie for that one. No, it’s all lust. Any woman would buy that. But I no longer have the energy to put up that front.
So I nod, my eyes trailing to my lap. “And because he knows it, I’m being yanked around like his puppet.”
She reaches over and pats my hand sympathetically. “So what do you want?”
“I want to turn back the clock. Change things, somehow, so that Caleb won’t hate me,” I sigh, managing a smile. “But it’s too late.”
He eyebrows raise. “Hate you? What could you have possibly done that—”
“Trust me. He has every right,” I say, pulling my mug close. But all the coffee in the world won’t mend my broken heart.
I dress for work in something professional but inconspicuous. By the time I get to the office, I’ve made a promise to myself.
I need to figure out my finances, first. So I will stay only long enough so that I can find another job. Tonight, I’ll brush up the old resume and get things moving.
Today, though, and until I can tell him to take this job and shove it, I’ll keep my distance from Caleb and perform the duties of the job with absolute precision. After all, Vicki, the senior assistant, handles most of Caleb’s day-to-day. This should be a breeze.
But the second I step into the office, Caleb is standing by my desk. Waiting for me. I check my phone. I’m fifteen minutes early.
I expect him to tell me to clean out my desk. But he simply snaps his fingers and says, “My office. Now,” and marches off.
Shrugging off my jacket and stuffing my purse in a drawer, I glance at Vicki, who’s eyeing me suspiciously from behind her computer screen.
When I follow him in, he’s already behind his desk, staring at his laptop. He shoves a mug toward me. “Coffee. Now.”
I gaze at him. “But you always got coffee your—”
“And now I want you to do it.” He glances at me, like, Challenge me. I dare you.
He used to get coffee at the shop across the street. It didn’t take long to understand why—the coffee in the break room is horrific. I didn’t even realize he had a mug.
I go over to it and pick it up. Sure enough, it’s dusty. And it says, I survived another meeting that should’ve been an email. Where did he get this mug? It looks like some White Elephant leftover.
Still, going back to my perform the duties of the job with absolute precision mantra, I take the mug without question. I rinse it out and fill it in the break room. Vicki’s eyeing me even more suspiciously when I return with a cup, black.
As expected, he barely looks at it when I slide it across his desk to him. He’s not going to drink it.
He simply points to a laundry bag hooked to the front of his wardrobe. “Take those to the dry cleaners.”
I blink. Did Vicki ever do that? I know I had to pick up his tuxedo from a tailor in a shady area of town, but that was for the gala. I never saw Vicki taking out or bringing in his starched white shirts. Actually, I didn’t realize he did dry clean them. They’re always so impeccable, I’d assumed he wore new ones, every single time.
“What dry cleaner do you—”
“Name’s on the bag.” He waves me off dismissively. Then he looks at the coffee. “You know what? Pick me up a coffee while you’re out. The stuff here is shit.”
As expected.
I stand firm. I try to be crisp and efficient, channeling the perfect servant. “Yes. Right away.”
I take the bag and head out, wondering if he’ll ask me to sort his paper clips, next. As I reach the door, he calls back, “When you come back, I have more tasks for you.”
I’m sure he does.
As I’m walking past Vicki, she says in utter confusion, “A service usually comes and picks those up.”
“Not this week, apparently,” I mumble, heading out. If Caleb wants to run me off with trivial errands, let him try.
Twenty minutes later, I return with his coffee and a latte for me, since I have a feeling I’m going to need it. I’m just wondering if I should curtsy when I present him with his precious coffee when I hear female laughter erupting from his office.
Flirtatious laughter.
It’s not Vicki. It’s…
My stomach sinks when I peer in the partially open door and see a pair of shapely legs in dark stockings, crossing and uncrossing sexily.
Then I hear Caleb’s voice. I know that tone, because it’s low and lilting and playful, the same tone he used with me.
Gripping his coffee, I stand two feet in front of the door, frozen in my spot. What the…?
“Juliet. Are you out there?” he suddenly calls.
Darn. Busted.
Plastering an appeasing smile on my face, I step inside, trying to ignore the beautiful nightmare sitting across from him. And she is beautiful—long blonde hair, body-hugging, professional dress, a face that launches ships. One glance and my stomach twists with jealousy.
Has he already moved on, so soon?
I barely have the energy to cross the room and set his coffee on his desk.
He’s not looking at me. His eyes are fastened on her, even though he’s speaking to me. “Grab a pad and pen. I need you to take notes.”
“Yes, sir.”
I go out. At my desk, I fan my face, but I know I’m all red. I return a second later, pushing that smile back up. I sit at the open chair and prepare to write.
“This is Jacqueline Flynn,” he says to me, as if he’s annoyed that he even has to explain it. “She’s a journalist with NY Business Today. She’s doing a feature on Sterling Cross and is here to ask some questions. Please continue.”
A journalist? I exhale in relief.
I notice he doesn’t bother introducing me. The woman is so interested in Caleb, she doesn’t give me a second glance anyway. “I’ve had an opportunity to glance at your latest collection, and it’s really mind-blowing. Tell me, what was the inspiration for the Petal Collection?”