“Okay,” I say. Maybe he wants that time to do paperwork. I stand too, as if I’m going to throw myself in front of him to stop him from leaving his own office. “Before you go, I’ve been looking into the insurer recognition and have part filled what’s needed for the top five. Do you want to check it over and we can submit it? Then things should start getting busier around here.”
I just need it busy for eighteen and a half more months and then you can stay behind your desk doing…who-knows-what all you like.
I wait for him to exclaim in shock that I’m the greatest assistant who ever lived. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “What do I need to look at?”
I’m prepared with all the relevant tabs open on my computer. I place my laptop on his desk and twist it round so he can see. “I got most of the details from the GMC website.” Cue his praise about how proactive I’ve been…but no, instead tumbleweeds bounce past the desk.
In a life radically different from my old one, at least being underappreciated is consistent.
I take him through the screens for the Bupa application, he says yes to everything, and when I ask him if I can finalize, he sighs like I’ve convinced him to adopt a cat he doesn’t want. I press the submit button. “I imagine it will take a few weeks to get the approval through,” I say.
“That’s true,” he says as if I’ve just given him the good news, rather than told him his practice is still going to be slow going for a while. Really, he should have done these applications way before employing an assistant or renting this place.
“Okay, so Cigna is really similar.”
He glances at his watch like he’s got something better to do. I shiver like someone has walked over my grave. Shane always had something better to do than be with me.
I shrug off the feeling and focus on Zach’s long fingers as he trails one down my computer screen.
In just a few minutes we’ve submitted another application.
“We can do the rest later,” he says, stepping away from his desk, like we’re still talking about my cherry-and-almond bites and not the future of his career. I might be thrown off by his handsome face, but I swear there’s something I’m not getting about this situation.
Clearly, filling out these forms is no big deal for him. I thought he’d be delighted and I’d have already earned my spot as assistant of the year. I’m going to need to try a different angle if I’m going to impress him. He’s backing away towards his door. I think he’s forgotten this is his office.
“Can I get you a coffee?” I ask. “Happy to pop to your favorite coffee shop if you want me to.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He reaches for the door handle but it’s stuck.
He glances at me and I smile.
He turns back to the door and tries again, this time with more force.
“Did it lock by accident?” I ask.
“There’s no lock on it.”
I step forward. “Yes there is. It was locked the morning I arrived.”
He steps back, giving me space and crosses his arms. “Well, unless it’s an invisible lock, or maybe just a very, very tiny one that only teensy people can see, I can’t see one.”
My heart starts to rattle my ribs like it’s trying to get out of jail. It’s the same feeling I’d get when Shane lost a race. I knew he’d blame it on me or something I’d done or not done, and I’d try and prepare myself for his fury by figuring out what my crime might be.
“There must be.” No lock? I could have sworn it was locked that first morning. But he’s right, it’s just a brushed metal internal door handle. My grandma used to have the exact same ones in her house. I grab the handle and pull.
I snap my head to him. “It’s stuck.”
He raises his eyebrows as if to say, nice of you to catch up.
I turn back to the door and try again. What am I doing? Zach has almost a foot on me and probably four stone. If he can’t open it, how am I meant to?
“Try again,” I say.
“I’ve tried,” he replies.
I look him in the eye. “Try again. Maybe I loosened it for you.”
He chuckles, but to my surprise, doesn’t argue. He just steps forward anyway. I can tell by the way he braces his other hand on the doorframe and the tightening tendons in his neck that he gives it everything.
We’re stuck.
“I’ll call Jen,” I say.
He sighs and I grab my phone from my pocket.
“You get on with your work and I’ll figure this out,” I say. The pounding in my chest is getting worse. I haven’t had a panic attack since…since Shane and I split, but I can feel one threatening.
Zach goes back to behind his desk and I text Jen. But she’s on her way to the blood lab and then has to pick up lunch for Dr. Newman. I fire off an email to the building maintenance emergency number and get a standard we’ll get back to you reply.
There’s nothing to do but wait.
“Help is on the way,” I say, taking a seat. I keep my legs over to the side, so I’m facing the door and not his desk. It would be weird to sit here, staring at him. It’s not weird to sit and stare at a door—no, not at all.
I glance around the room and realize that Dr. Cove—or Zach—has been using the whiteboard. He’s rubbed off most of what he’s put on there, but I can make out a couple of letters. There’s a capital B and a “sec.”
I narrow my eyes and lean forward. Is that the word woman?
He obviously sees me looking, and snaps his head around to follow my gaze. He jumps up and grabs the board rubber. “Just some research I’m doing,” he explains.
Okay, so it’s clearly not research. He’s not a good liar. What’s he so secretive about? Is he ranking his current bedmates in order?
I smile and nod at him.
He goes back to his computer and I gaze down at my phone, willing Jen to get herself back here ASAP or maintenance to arrive on the scene yesterday.
I can see Zach out of the corner of my eye. He’s squinting at his computer. Then he’s pouting. Then he fake smiles.
What the hell?
He meets my eye. “Research?” I suggest.
“For a friend,” he says, completely unconvincingly. “He’s a psych. A psychologist. He’s sent out these questionnaires, and I’m filling one out. As a favor. Except…he’s sent me the wrong one. He’s sent me the one for women.”
“Oh,” I say like everything makes sense. But nothing makes sense, but I’m not sure it needs to. He’s over-explaining.
“Yeah, it’s all about male-female interaction in the workplace,” he continues.
I glance at my phone to see if any of my lifelines have responded. No such luck.
“They’re asking how women know a work colleague is interested in them in a romantic way. I was just trying to put myself in a woman’s shoes and…” He trails off.
“You’re asking me how I’d know if a work colleague was interested in me in a romantic way?” Nothing he’s saying adds up. If I saw on paper what he’s just asked me, I’d assume he was cack-handedly coming on to me, which would be super-flattering and also very awkward because he’s my boss and I’m still…I’m still post-Shane. But there’s no way he’s this clumsy at making a pass at a woman. He’s full-on movie-star gorgeous. Surely looks like his come with a degree of…game?