“You’re really are funny,” he says, laughing. “Okay, so what’s the most stolen office supply?” He walks to the door and my shoulders feel less tight.
“Paper clips, of course.”
“Of course?”
“They’re the gold standard in office supply theft, too numerous to track and lack any individual value to pursue disciplinary action for.”
He laughs loudly as we walk out of the stockroom, and I quickly lock the door behind us.
We walk in silence back to the elevator and once we’re inside I feel somehow emotionally and physically drained.
“So what I’m hearing it that you, Ms. Jane Nash, are agood girl.” He whispers it like it’s a dirty thing, a dirty thing he likes.
I need amanslation. What the hell does he mean? Is being a good girl a good thing? Does that mean he can take me home to meet his parents? Or is he picturing me in a schoolgirl outfit swaying around the office, doing naughty things to get spanked?
My brain is goo.
The elevator door opens and Dex is standing on the other side. He gives Nate a curt nod of the head and me a suspicious, accusatory face which twists into a smirk. At his friendliest, he’s an abrasive arrogant asshole. Now, the moron is probably thinking about what Nate and I could have been up to this late in the elevator. I want to slap him. Right now, I could really go for slapping both of them.
“Dex,” I say tightly when we exchange places, he on the elevator and me stepping off. “Can you just hold the elevator for a second, I just want to grab my stuff.”
The Neanderthal grunts.
I rush for my things and say goodnight to Nate. He gives me a little wink like we have this big secret we’re sharing and a wave. I throw myself back into the elevator, almost tumbling right into Dex. I need alone time to process everything that just happened.
And by process, I mean drink wine.
Dex looks me up and down then chuckles to himself. “You look flushed, Nash. I guess staying late for some peopleblows.”
“Shut up, assclown.” But I didn’t get the implication of what Dex meant until I was in the subway, tucked on the A train, with no one to witness me turn bright red.
When I get back to my apartment, I knock on Julia’s door with a bottle of Merlot. She lives in the apartment next to mine. The building is one of those transplant ones for companies who make their employees transfer from one state to another. I want to talk to her about things, about men, and life.
But all she can talk about is Nate.
And how much she likes him.
I keep my mouth shut the entire time I’m there, only opening it to insert wine.
Chapter 8
Aquick, jolting knock against my cubicle wall has me spilling yet another coffee, this time down the front of my shirt. “Hey,” Julia slams her fist into the pointless divider between our workstations. “She wants you in her office.Now,” Julia says.
I immediately try in vain to dab a fistful of napkins into my caramel latte-ed clothes.
“What? Why?” I ask, stalling, and continuing to pat my shirt, which now has tiny pieces of wet napkin stuck to it. I’m hung over from listening to Julia all night talk about how much she likes the same guy I like. And if I hear any more about the size of his dick, I’ll tear my own ears off.
“I don’t know. She’s pissy about something today,” she replies, popping her head up over the flimsy wall.
“Just today?” I laugh.When is there ever a day where our editor-in-chief isn’t full of piss and vinegar?
“What the hell is that all over you?” she asks, walking into my cubicle and pointing directly at my chest.
“Thatwas my breakfast,” I answer, standing and trying my best to wipe my shirt down and look somewhat presentable to walk into my boss’s office.
“Maybe you should switch shirts with me,” she offers, making me burst out in bitter laughter.
“I think walking into her office with a shirt three sizes too small might make things worse, no?” I say, dryly.What is it with skinny girls thinking anyone should be able to squeeze into their clothes?
