“Do you think he feels the same way?”
I pop my shoulders, spearing a juicy cherry tomato onto my fork. “I hope so.”
“When are seeing him again?”
“Friday.”
“Does this mean you’ve heard from him since Monday? I—”
“Ladies.”
So caught up in chatting with my best friend I missed the squeak of the staff door opening and closing. It’s only the cloying scent of Thomas’ aftershave, and the closeness of his voice, which tells me he’s within touching distance.
I drag my eyes up to him, taking in the amount of gel in his slicked back hair and the quiver of his second day stubble coating his upper lip. Ugh.
Blake looks so much better with a beard than Thomas, who simply looks as if he’s cosplaying at being a man old enough to grow hair.
“How are we?” He uses a broad term to include Carmen in his question, but Thomas’ eyes never stray from mine.
In front of me, Car babbles a polite greeting, echoing the question back to him. But I don’t bother answering and neither does Thomas. We’re both stuck still, staring at each other.
He narrows his murky brown eyes, a flash of something predatory running through them that doesn’t seem to be leaving in a hurry. I manage to repress a shiver as Thomas glides his fingertips along my shoulder before he stalks towards the coffee machine tucked away beside the microwave.
“Don’t you have a fancy drip coffee machine in your office?” I ask, tasting the slight acidity of my words.
The droning noise of the coffee beginning to brew fills the small space as Thomas leans against the counter, crossing his feet at his ankles.
“I fancied a change.” He shrugs, but I don’t buy it. Not for one fucking second. “Maybe if you ever fancy trying something different you can step into my office, Miss Becker,and give my machine a spin. I must warn you there’s a fee, though.”
Grimacing, I swallow back the bile rising in my throat.
God, he is such an entitled twat.
It doesn’t matter that he preys on women while making inappropriate comments, because I know nothing will ever come of it. In fact, the last woman who reported Thomas McAvoy to HR – i.e. his own uncle – was never seen again. A security guard was charged with packing up her belongings from her cubicle and I even heard through the grapevine that she was made to change her phone number so nobody she worked with could contact her.
Thomas might be a fucking sleaze, but he doesn’t scare me. Not in the slightest. If that’s the route he’s going for, then he’s going to have to try a lot harder than that. Not to mention, how much I’ve actually come to enjoy my job, my other co-workers and the payment amount I see sprawled across my monthly payslips. I use a third of it to pay my rent and utilities. Another third I bank for spends. And the third I bank into my savings account.
Because, as much as I like my job, I don’t want to be working in an office forever. I want a husband and big farmhouse out in the country, somewhere I can raise a handful of animals and children, homeschool them if I’m lucky, and spend the rest of my days free from the confines modern society has bound us in.
Maybe, if there’s enough money, we could go travelling too. Someplace hot. Someplace cold. Someplace I can teach my children about other cultures in a respectful manner.
I’ll be damned if I allow someone like Thomas McAvoy to take this job and that dream away from me.
When I don’t answer, he simply smiles like a shark. “Don’t let me interrupt your conversation, ladies. I was justcoming in to make a coffee and ask if you’ll be joining us for after dinner drinks on Friday at Asado’s?”
I shake my head, feeling the curls I styled my hair into today, bounce about my face. “I can’t. Sorry. I have a date.”
“A date?” Thomas chuckles lowly. “I don’t remember us penning anything in, but—”
Whatever else sits on his tongue is stolen away by Mark, another of my co-workers, sticking his head through the door. “Have either of you seen—” His eyes glide across Carmen and I, settled on Thomas. “Oh, there you are. Mr McAvoy, your uncle is looking for you.”
“Tell him I won’t be a minute,Matt.”
Mark blinks and then disappears without another word.
“The devil calls,” Thomas utters, grabbing his freshly brewed cup of coffee. “I better go see what he wants now. Enjoy yourdate, Calla.”
My entire body feels as if crawling with ants as I focus on my salad in front of me, straining my ears to hear Thomas footsteps fade away and the final squeak of the door closing on its metal hinges.
