“Baked byyou.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve been upping my baking game anyway, so…” With another half shrug, Rae goes back to sit at her desk, bends down, and pulls out a handful of phone chargers.
It’s not until I tear my gaze away from her that my lungs finally fill back up with oxygen. Yet again, I’m kicking myself for this shared office setup.
This is going to be hell on my libido.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rae
I’VE NEVER FELT SOwatched in my life. I keep thinking Grant’s staring at me, but when I look up, he’s innocently typing away, that little frown between his eyebrows reminding me of how he looked Friday night, all serious and interested.
What is he working on that’s making that muscle tic in his jaw right now? Is it the employee evaluations I was forced to give him access to this afternoon? Is he checking off pros and cons for all of us, preparing reports? Getting ready to slash, slash, slash?
Has a workday ever felt so long? I swear we’ve been here for a month when I glance at the time and see that it’s only 5:48 p.m.
Oh, thank god. I just need to finish updating my benefits files, and then I’ll go.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Does it ever stop?” Grant grumbles, without looking up.
Ignoring him, I call out a cheery “Come in!”
Dani, one of our graphics people, sticks her head around the door, expression apologetic. “Hey!” She looks from me to Grant and back, her eyes big. “Sorry, Rae, but the dev team’s in a meeting, and most everybody else is gone. I’ve got to skedaddle, and…” She pushes the door wider so I can see the new water cooler, alongwith several of those huge jugs dumped in the middle of the reception area.
“The delivery person just left it there?” I ask.
“Yeah. And Sam took off.” Without saying goodbye? That’s weird. “I’m late for something, so I figured you’d be good with… You know. Got it?” She’s backing out of the room.
“Sure. Fine. Yes.”
“You’re the best.” She’s making her exit. “Have a great one, you guys. See you tomorrow!”
With a sigh, I save my document and go out into the lobby. Grant doesn’t glance up from whatever he’s doing at his computer. Top secret things, clearly, that involve bursts of typing and the occasional grunt. He’s wearing what are likely noise-canceling earbuds, and aside from a couple of quiet, curt calls that divulged absolutely nothing aside from he’s performing some kind of audit, he’s barely interacted with anyone all day.
The water cooler, it turns out, is heavy, but by shimmying it from corner to corner, I manage to get it up against the far wall. I go back for the bottles. They’re easy to slide across the floor, one at a time. The issue’s going to be getting one of these big bottles open and then into the cooler, which is chest high on me.
For a second, I consider bringing Grant in on this but immediately decide against it. He’s muttered a complaint every time someone’s knocked on our door today. I’ll admit that it’s a lot of interruptions, but that’s just a day in the life for me. First Klaus needed tissues for his office, and then Dorothy asked if I’d consider pet sitting for her and Malika over Thanksgiving. I said yes, even though I’m not sure how I’ll make it work around getting dinner ready for the family and putting up the office holiday decorations. Samantha came in to ask if I’d get lunch with her—I couldn’t, but she brought me back Tater Tots and lettuce cupsfrom Sticky Rice.Oh my god, yum. Two people got me to buy Girl Scout cookies from their kids, three needed benefits account log-in info, and one wanted to know how to turn the temperature down in the break room. Weirdly, Grant was able to answer that last one.
I’m tired, I’m hot, and, yes, I’m more than a little bothered by that man’s constant presence. Because, though he’s grumpy and grumbly and can’t seem to crack a smile to save his life, he sure is nice to look at.
At least he hasn’t caught me staring. That would be mortifying.
Ugh. What is wrong with me? You know what? That’s it. From this moment forward, I won’t even look. There. A solemn promise to myself. No glancing at the living thirst trap Dorothy’s saddled me with.
It is hot in here, though. Sweaty from all the effort, I wrench my turtleneck up and off, only belatedly remembering that I’ve got on just a bra and tank top beneath. Whatever. I’ve seen at least three people here in crop tops today.
Okay. Focus. Water.
The problem, I realize, the second I lug an open jug up and into my arms, is that the office is so overheated that even my hands are slick, and this bottle is way heavier than it felt when I pushed it across the floor. Tilting the darn thing’s not easy, but now I’ve got to heft it up and stick the end in that hole. I shimmy it higher, hugging it like a child, roll it to lean on one hip, try to lift the bottom without spilling, and then make the mistake of attempting to use my knee to lever it higher.
It’s the pencil skirt that really gets me into trouble. In the thick of the action, I’ve forgotten how hip- and knee-hugging the fabric is, so when I kick up—or try to—I lose my balance, the bottleshunts forward, and instead of pouring into the open top of the dispenser, it sloshes my face, straight down my front, soaking my shirt, my skirt, and my shoes.
I catch the bottle just before it hits the floor, adrenaline-fueled relief pumping hard. I’m just so thankful no one’s here to witness this fine example of Rae Jensen’s world-famous clumsiness that I’m almost laughing.
“What the hell are you doing, Sunny?” The sound of Grant’s voice immediately rids me of every ounce of humor. “Give me that.”
