I seriously debate not going back. My bed is warm, and my dignity is bruised. But Griffin made a valid point: if I don’t return, then I am exactly who he said I was—the girl who runs away when things get hard. Plus, he threatened to blacklist me with the temp agencies, and I need the money too badly to call his bluff.
My integrity wins. I dress in my hottest corporate chic—a pencil skirt that hugs my curves and a silk blouse—and report to his office early.
My insides are a mess. Even though I’m there an hour before my scheduled time, he’s already at his desk, immersed in a stack of files.
“Start on the Wilson-Mathius case,” he says the moment I step into the doorway. He doesn't look up. “Log the evidence, cross-reference the names of the expert witnesses. I want three hard copies of every contract and an encrypted digital backup. I need coffee, and I’m hungry.”
He pauses, finally lifting his head. His grey eyes sweep over me, darkening instantly.
“And wear a longer skirt tomorrow.”
It’s going to be a long day.
“The hem is just above my knee,” I say, looking down. It’s perfectly professional.
“Wear trousers. Or skirts to the ankle.” He scowls, returning to his papers.
“No one else does. El’s skirt is practically a belt.”
Now he looks at me, his expression full of thunder. “I said wear clothing that doesn’t distract me, damn it!”
The admission hangs in the air for a split second before I turn around and walk out. I don't bother looking at El, who is back at her desk, staring at me with a new assistant—a young man this time—sitting next to her. I can feel the animosity radiating off her in waves.
Part of me wants to break down and cry, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction.
I walk to the lobby coffee bar on the first floor. I order a triple espresso and a sad, plain bagel with unsalted butter. When I return, I place them on Griffin’s desk without a word.
I have no idea where the Wilson-Mathius case files are, and since I have vowed never to speak to Griffin voluntarily again, I ask Joe.
“Joe?” I lean against his cubicle wall, making sure to smile. I only have so much power here, and I intend to use it to piss Griffin off.
“Sup?” Joe doesn't look up from his keyboard, but I notice El’s eyes narrowing from across the bullpen.
“Do you know where I can find the Wilson-Mathius files?” I shift my weight, popping my hip.
“Selena!” A roar comes from the Sasquatch’s cave.
I bite my lip to hide a smirk.
Joe rushes his answer, looking nervous. “File room. Alphabetical, starting with Wilson.” He looks up long enough to flash me a quick, apologetic smile. “Better get in there. He tends to escalate.”
Escalate?What is he, a toddler with a nuclear code?
“Thanks,” I say. I take my time sauntering into the gremlin’s office.
“Don’t bother Joe while he’s working,” Griffin scolds as I enter.
“I didn’t want to botheryou,” I say, lacing the words with venom.
“I’d rather you bother me. The files are at the end of my desk. Sit on the sofa and do your work in here.”
I nearly protest. I want to be outside, away from his gravity. But he looks up from his papers, and his eyes are smoldering.
What the fuck? At work?
“And close the door.”
I turn, close the door, grab the heavy accordion files, and get started. I sit on the leather sofa, laying the papers out on the lowcoffee table. The silence in the room is thick, broken only by the scratch of his pen and the rustle of paper.
