“Maybe stale is the way to be.” I tear my eyes from his and walk toward one of the staff-room doors that leads to a suite of offices. “If you need me, I’ll be in your office.”
My fingers won’t stop moving across the keyboard well into early afternoon. My rumbling stomach reminds me that I failed to nourish it, and my eyes are getting blurry from nonstop screen time, but I’m far too deep into my work to quit it for anything.
I’m used to the hustle. At Urgency, there’s no other way. So far today, I’ve put together a budget with a corresponding proposal that will undoubtedly blow Anderson’s mind. Logo options, starter marketing copy, and a mile-long list of ideas for him to consider. I was even able to get my creative department back at the office to put together some mock designs to get the ball moving.
When I feel like I have enough content to present, I gather my documents and laptop and begin the hunt for Anderson. He could be anywhere at this hour, but my first guess is the stables. When he’s not there, I head to the marina, the cafeteria, and the various docks around camp, until I finally end up right back where I started, inside the office. Where the hell is he?
“There she is.”
I whip my entire body around to find Anderson rounding the corner down the hall, phone to his ear. His skin is shiny with a coat of sweat, like he was in the middle of some laborious project. His thick, curly hair sticks to his forehead and shards of wood cover his white shirt.
Anderson was always known for his wood projects. If carving were an Olympic sport, the man would win hands down. But it’s during my quick inspection of his appearance that I realize just how much Anderson has changed over the past year. I hadn’t noticed before, but he’s definitely bulked up some. His biceps and pecs stretch his shirt, making them impossible to hide. Not that he should. If it were the old me, I’d find any excuse to ogle the man without even trying to hide it.
That was the thing about my love for Anderson Bexley back then. I’d never felt the need to hide it, and everyone knew. Everyone but him.
At least… if he did know, he certainly didn’t alter his own behavior because of it. He simply kept me close, making me his partner in crime when he ran errands around the island, asking me for special favors during our workdays, and keeping me late because “I was the only one he trusted.” And I was just smitten enough to believe it would all lead to something more eventually.
We all know where eventually got me.
“It’s for you.”
Anderson’s beefy arm extends toward me, and I realize I’ve been so focused on his new build that I forgot to focus on anything else. Confused, I reach for the phone without even questioning the offer. Instead, I hold the small device to my ear and say, “This is Hope.”
The thick silence followed by a heavy sigh says it all. Shit. Dread fills me right before Dexter’s deep voice grumbles over the line. “Well, hello, Miss Davies. I hear you’ve been hard at work today.”
I clear my throat, and with a darting glance at Anderson, I pray that he can’t see the ugly shade of red I probably turned. My face and cheeks are burning. Why? I don’t completely know. “That I have,” I say, forcing my nerves to back the fuck down. “I was getting ready to present some items to Mr. Bexley.” My gaze flickers back to Anderson’s to find him studying me with bent brows and a concentrated gaze. “I was planning to check in with you tonight.”
“Please do,” Dexter says, his firm tone already transforming into something softer. “What I said to you last night—it was awful, and I’m sorry. I was getting ready to drive to you to apologize if Bexley wasn’t able to transfer me.”
Panic kicks in my chest. “Don’t do that, Mr. Van Clark. I have everything under control here. I can catch you up when we speak later.”
“Looking forward to it. In fact, I’d appreciate you catching me up on those designs you worked on today with Creative.”
His dry, challenging tone gives me whiplash. One second, he’s sweet and sensitive, the next he’s putting me back on my toes.
“Sure, I was about to get Anderson’s opinion on those now. I’ll—”
“You will do no such thing.”
My mouth snaps shut at the interruption. “Excuse me?”
“You’re headed in the wrong direction. I was speaking with Denise earlier and…”
I barely hear his next words while anger bubbles in my chest. I take a step backward into the office, grip the edge of the door, and slam it closed to shut Anderson out. The entire building rattles at the force I just exuded, but I can’t control my anger enough to care much about that.
“What was that?” Dexter demands.
I ignore his question. “You spoke to my art director behind my back?” I’m seething with anger, but somehow, I manage to keep my voice low enough so that I don’t think Anderson can hear.
Dexter’s voice goes quiet, his shock filling the silence. “I think it’s me who signs her checks, so I believe you’re referring to my art director.”
“But it’s my project. A project you promised you would give me a chance to run on my own. Do you realize the terrible position you put me in when you question my ideas to my team?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have had to go to her in the first place if you had returned my calls.”
“That’s bullshit, Dexter. You always do this,” I hiss. “You butt into my projects and start to make all the decisions—and if it’s not you then it’s Mallory—but I’m not letting you do that this time. I was handpicked by the client to run this project. It’s what he wants. It’s what I want. You need to let me do this without interference, or—” I slam my mouth closed.
“Or what?” Dexter roars.
“Or I’ll quit.”
“That’s quite the threat from someone who lied about having a college degree.”
My entire body gets warm with embarrassment. I hadn’t lied per say, but I didn’t explain the degree I’d added to my resume was unfinished, praying no one would be the wiser. Dexter pulled me into his office on my first day of work to tell me he knew. He was so nice that day. Telling me it wasn’t my education that mattered as much as my experience, and that I would have to work ten times harder to prove myself to him, but that if I could do that, I would advance within the organization as quickly as anyone else.
I felt indebted to him that day and ever since, knowing that he had, in fact, taken a chance on me when many others wouldn’t have.
“Remember who gave you your first real job,” he adds, like his first zing wasn’t enough. “One that has the power to make or break your career, might I add.”
Is Dexter threatening to blackball me? I’m not entirely sure if that’s what he’s insinuating, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I’ve seen how ruthless he can be when he feels threatened in the slightest, and I never want to be in the line of his fire. Maybe it was our careless fling that fooled me into believing that Dexter would never make me one of his targets, but after only one day away from the office, I’m starting to question everything.
I don’t want to quit.