Chapter Eleven
RATH
Prepared for an onslaught of who knows what from the Good Morning Brigade, I steel myself as the elevator doors open and wince, waiting for a blast of glitter to smack me in the face or a serenade from a mariachi band to strike up. But instead of confetti cannons, or music blaring, or a boisterous good morning from Charlee waiting on the other side, it’s deathly silent. The blinds are pulled down, there’s no bouncing blonde in sight, and there doesn’t seem to be a speck of color anywhere in the vicinity besides Charlee’s desk.
What the hell is going on?
I stride down the hall where I find Charlee quietly typing away at her desk. She’s wearing a black dress and her makeup is done like it was this weekend; natural with no added flare. I thought I told her she could dress however she wanted in the office.
Confused with the drastic change, I say, “What are you doing?”
She stands and almost looks like she’s ready to go to a funeral with her hands folded in front of her and a demure look on her face.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” she answers, her voice flat and even. Dancing boisterous Charlee is startling, but reserved quiet Charlee is downright terrifying. “I held off on your breakfast unsure if you wanted one. I didn’t want to force it upon you.” She walks over to my office door and holds it open. The blinds are shut, just the lamp on my desk is turned on, like it was before Charlee came to work for me. My jungle plants are all next to the door and Sir Dragomir is still by my desk, but there’s a wheelie cart next to him.
What the hell is happening?
“Movers are coming to pick up what I couldn’t move this morning. I tried to get everything done before you arrived, but unfortunately only a few people can be bribed by Skittles on a Monday morning.”
Picked up? Moved? I rack my brain for what I possibly said over the weekend that would make her change the office back to the boring, bland space it was . . . before Charlee . . . but nothing is coming to mind.
“What are you doing?” I ask, greatly concerned with the change.
“Putting everything back the way you liked it.” She holds her hand out. “I’ll take my list now and will stay out of your way.” Utterly confused—you never know with this girl—I hand her the list and cautiously walk into my office.
There has to be something I said to generate this reaction, turning her into a reserved, mute of an assistant, not the woman I hired.
It wasn’t because I blocked our conversation by the koi pond, was it? Because I shut her down before she could ask about Vanessa? I know it was harsh, but it wasn’t territory I would cover with her.
Word travels around the office, there are gossips everywhere. I’m sure Charlee has heard something about the girl who broke my heart, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to divulge the details. But would she really shut down because of that?
No.
There was a shift between us this weekend. Not a bad one, more of an appreciative shift, one that brought us closer in a work sense, which I thought was a valuable move professionally.
Hell, I even called her the most vibrant person I’ve ever met. I gave her another goddamn compliment that’s outside her skills of work, things I shouldn’t be doing, but something I know she deserved. It seemed like she appreciated the compliment, at least I thought she did.
But would she really change over that? Would she alter her personality? The way she works? The way she brightens my day with her color-coded pens and her vibrant midday dance music? Not that I’d admit this to her—or anyone, well, maybe Bram because otherwise he’d sulk—I was looking forward to finding out what color Monday was.
Once in my office, I set my briefcase on my desk but don’t sit. Instead, I pace back and forth, trying to come up with logical reasoning for her behavior. But with every pass of my desk, I become more and more confused, my mind drawing a blank.
Shit.
It’s hard to concentrate when it’s so dark in here. In a matter of seven days, she’s fucked with my entire process, making me crave the light rather than the dark.
I go to the windows and start fumbling with the blinds, unsure how to open them. I graze the sides, look for a string or a lever, anything to get some light in here, but come up short. I go to the next window and then the next and then the next until I’m so aggravated and irritated that I scream Charlee’s name.
“Charlee, get in here!”
She rushes into my office and stares at me, eyes wide, a nervous jitter in her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Why did you shut these goddamn blinds?” I fling my arms at them.
She steps back, shock in her eyes. “Be-because I thought that’s how you liked it. Dark, so you can focus.”
“Well, I can’t focus,” I say, pacing my office now. “I can’t focus now that I’ve had light in here. So, open them up and don’t touch them again.”
“I’m so-sorry, Mr. Westin.”
“I said call me Rath,” I roar, losing control. I grip my forehead and take a deep breath, steadying my racing heart. Christ, in the matter of seconds, I’ve gone from being nervous to leave the elevator, to confused as hell, to a raging asshole.
All because of one girl.
From my desk, Charlee easily flips a switch and the blinds open. On a shaky breath, she says, “The switch is right here, so you can control it from your desk.”
Light pours in, highlighting her beautiful yet terrified face, and immediately fresh guilt because of my dickish temper consumes me.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asks, taking a step back.
Yeah, for you to not look at me with those wounded, puppy-dog eyes.
For you to be yourself again.
For you to annoy me with your loud good morning and chatterbox mouth.
Not saying what’s blaring through my head, I nod and motion to one of the chairs she picked out for my office. “Sit.”
Not giving it a second thought, she takes a seat and sits tall, folding her hands on her lap. “I don’t have my notebook. Should I go grab it?”
I shake my head. “I need to talk to you. This isn’t about a list or anything like that.”
“Oh, okay.”
Still buzzing, I avoid taking a seat and rather place my hands on the back of my chair, gripping the leather tightly as I summon a controlled voice. “What’s with all the changes?” My question comes out harsher than I anticipated. “If you’re going to create a work habit, stick with it. I like things to be consistent. I like routine. If that means you blare horns when I come off the elevator in the morning, then blare horns, but just stick with it, whatever you choose.”
Nose cutely scrunched, she asks, “Do you . . . like all the changes I made?”
“I mean”—I push my hand through my hair and quietly say—“they weren’t bad.”
And just like that, her smile returns and her vibrancy brightens her face. “Oh, my goodness, I had no clue.” She clasps her hands together in excitement and even though I feel like I’ll never live it down, admitting to liking her quirky ways, the tension in my neck and back ease when I see that beautiful smile of hers reappear. “I was turning everything back to the way you had it because I thought you hated my adjustments and I wanted to do something nice for you since you did something so—” Her voice catches in her throat while her hand falls to her chest. “How you did something so, so kind for my grandma.”