The one who only asserted herself when she was pushed to the edge.
I’m not that woman. Not anymore.
“It’s not like that.” I draw a steadying breath and force my voice to remain level. Nothing good will come from both of us losing our heads. “If you’d just listen to reason—”
“Reason?” Nick snaps, moving so fast I can barely process his movements. One second he’s rigid in his chair, the next he’s on his feet with his palms planted flat on the desk. “Let me guess. The reason for this elaborate setup was to get me to trust you. So you could learn my story and sell it to the tabloids to pay down your monstrous student loan debt?”
Hurt flashes in his eyes, and I know it’s reflected in mine.
Because even though I understand why he might think that—it was Ashley’s play after all—I would never use sex as a weapon or a means to an end. My student loans might be soul crushing, but I sure as hell wouldn’t sleep with him to make them go away.
That he would even suggest such a thing is insulting.
I ball my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms as I struggle to rein in my temper. He’s hurt, and he’s angry. It’s only natural that he’d lash out. But I don’t have to let my emotions get the best of me. I can stand my groundandmaintain control.
Healthy boundaries FTW.
“It’s not like that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Then what is it like?” He straightens and looks me dead in the eye, his mouth set in a grim line. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty damn bad.”
“No shit.” My response seems to catch him off guard. His mouth drops open but snaps shut immediately. Fine by me. I’m not about to apologize. Not when he jumped to the worst possible conclusion before even giving me a chance to explain. “This whole thing is a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding, my ass.” He scoffs, gesturing to a sheaf of papers spread across the desk.
The files I accidentally sent to the office printer instead of the UT computer lab for my advisor meeting.
I’d planned to grab them in the morning once I’d realized my mistake. It had never occurred to me that Nick might find them first. What reason would he have to use the reception printer when he has a personal printer in his office?
“The files you found,” I say, nodding at the incriminating pages, “are for my capstone class. I’m required to assess a local company and provide recommendations for improvement using what I’ve learned in the I/O program. It’s my final project.”
He hardly looks convinced, but he’s not yelling, so I take it as a good sign and continue.
Please, for the love of all things holy, let him understand.
Because I’m not ready for this thing between us to end. Not like this.
“The project isn’t about you. It’s about the process and bolstering morale through improved working conditions.” I flex my hands at my sides, forcing myself to relax.Confession is good for the soul. Besides, taking a defensive position won’t help my case. “There will be no names or identifying information in the final report. Only Professor Donnelly will see it. No one else.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better about the fact that you’ve been using me for the last month?” A muscle in his jaw twitches, and it takes all my self-control not to reach out to him. “About the fact that you’ve been lying to me? Going behind my back to stuff the suggestion box anonymously?”
“I never lied to you.” Not directly, anyway. I press my fingertips to my temples, where a dull throb is taking up residence. “When I put those ideas in the suggestion box, I was only trying to help. To show you that Triada was growing too fast and that an Organizational Behavior Specialist could help manage the growing pains.” I pause, forcing myself to meet his steely gaze. “It was your idea to make me the chair of the Val social committee.”
“A lie of omission is still a lie,” he says, not backing down.
I can hardly fault him for feeling that way. Hadn’t I told myself the same thing when I’d rationalized keeping my secrets?
“Why didn’t you tell me those ideas in the suggestion box were yours? We discussed it at length.” His voice is raw, and it’s clear that under all the anger, he’s hurting. Same as me. Not that he’ll ever admit it. “You had every opportunity to come clean.”
He’s right. I had plenty of opportunities to tell him about the suggestion box. But it’s not that simple.
“I didn’t tell you because you made it clear from day one that you didn’t care for the suggestion box or my ideas. After all, I’m just an executive assistant.” I huff out a breath, crossing my arms and mirroring his position. “I knew that if I told you, you’d react just like this and it wouldn’t benefit anyone.”
“That wasn’t your call to make. You should have told me.”
He’s right. In retrospect, I can see it clearly, but in the moment…
Dammit. Why is hindsight always twenty-twenty?
