Fine. If they want to test me, I’ll ace their little initiation. “I can organize everything,” I offer, my voice steady despite the drumbeat of anxiety pulsing through me.
One of the guys—Drew, if I remember correctly—hands over a stack of documents with visible relief, like he’s passing off a screaming baby to its mother. With Tim and Amanda temporarily absent from the room, this might be my chance to glimpse whatever they’re hiding.
Feigning productivity, I spread the documents across my section of the table. Curious fingers flip through pages, my eyes scanning rapidly for anything suspicious or useful. The door swings open with a whoosh that makes me jump.
Amanda races toward me like I’ve stolen the documents, snatching the papers from beneath my hands. “Sorry rookie, not sorry,” she sneers, tucking them securely against her chest. She then shoots Drew a glare that makes him cower in his seat. Uh oh. He did something he wasn’t supposed to.
Those documents must contain something Amanda and Tim desperately want to keep from me.
Standing at the front of the room now, Amanda claps her hands for attention. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we had coffee?” Of course, her gaze lands on me. “Sarah. Want to make a run to the coffee shop downstairs?”
I’m not even a little bit surprised. Another transparent attempt to remove me from the room while they discuss whatever doesn’t concern the team rookie.
“It’s always the newcomer who gets assigned this role,” she adds, like she’s trying to justify picking on me to the rest of the team. “We’ve all been there at some point.”
I don’t believe her. She has proven herself as trustworthy as a fox guarding the henhouse. The very last thing I want to do is fetch her coffee. Maybe I’d consider whacking her with an empty cup.
But the team collectively nods in agreement, sealing my fate. All of them seem to be scared of her, so what choice do I have? My smile is plastic as I say, “What kind of coffee would you like?” Notebook in hand, I transform into a reluctant waitress taking orders from the world’s most entitled customers.
“I would like a hot caramel macchiato with extra almond milk, brown sugar, and whipped cream,” Amanda says, smiling at me. “Don’t mess it up.”
Maybe I can ask the barista to stir some basic human decency into Amanda’s drink. A dash of warmth. A sprinkle of perspective. Something potent enough to dislodge the permanent stick from her rear and help her behave like a person instead of a ghoulish villain.
Twenty minutes later, balancing a precarious tray of elaborate coffee orders, I approach the conference room. Through the glass window, I glimpse the team engaged in lively discussion, faces bright with laughter and purpose. Gone is the stilted atmosphere from earlier—without me, they’ve become a vibrant, cohesive unit. Tim is nowhere to be seen.
I pause, listening from behind the wall, straining to catch snippets of conversation that might reveal what they’re working on.
“Why aren’t you going in?” Tim says from behind me.
Chapter 19
Startled by the voice behind me, I whirl around so fast coffee sloshes inside the cups, threatening to breach the plastic lids. Tim stands before me, tall and imposing, all six-foot-something of him, one sandy eyebrow cocked. His gaze pins me to the spot, and I swallow hard. This is the first time he spoke to me directly. During the interview he struck me as an unpleasant sort of fellow, so ever since Judy split us up into teams, my mission has been to avoid him...but I can no longer do that.
“I was just about to enter,” I say, nodding down at the precarious coffee tray balanced in my hands.
“Really? Seemed to me like you were hovering.” His accusatory tone makes me grip the cardboard cup holder so hard I can feel it cracking.
My heart lunches into my throat, picking up pace like a spooked rabbit sensing danger in the underbrush, and I swallow it back down as I muster the courage to meet his eyes again. “Not at all,” I manage, lips struggling to form a passable smile.“Just a little nervous.” With a slight tilt of my head toward the conference room, I add, “New team and all.”
Tim towers over me. His height advantage seems to give him that extra edge of authority he clearly relishes. Up close, his hair blazes an unnatural shade of orange that belongs on traffic cones, not human heads. The color screams warning, much like those bright poisonous frogs in nature documentaries.
As he shifts closer, his scent assaults me before his words can. A sour tang of day-old sweat mingles with stale cologne splashed on too liberally. The combination turns my stomach faster than week-old milk.
His eyes travel the length of my body in open assessment, triggering a shudder that ripples down my back like ice water. My fingernails dig into the cardboard in my hands while I fight the urge to step back.
“This explains quite a bit,” he says, voice dropping to something uncomfortably friendly.
Confusion clouds my thoughts, mixing with discomfort and a growing sense of danger. “What does?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice level.
Leaning against the wall as if settling in for a cozy chat, Tim’s lips curl into what he probably thinks is a knowing smile. “Did you know Jake turned down every woman that made a pass at him? For a while there I thought he leaned the other way, if you catch my drift.” The smile transforms into something ugly and self-satisfied, a look that makes my skin crawl beneath my blouse. “We went to a strip club once to celebrate a deal we closed...he wouldn’t even get a lap dance.”
Incredulous, I stare at him. The audacity of his comment, delivered like Jake had committed some cardinal sin against masculinity, leaves me momentarily speechless.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Tim’s expression grows smug as my silence continues. Maybe he’s mistaking it foragreement, or at least complicity in his worldview. He seems bizarrely invested in Jake’s personal choices, as if another man’s decisions somehow reflect on his own worth.
If I were still on Jake’s team, I’d give him a piece of my mind. I’d tell him Jake isn’t a sleazeball like he so clearly portrays himself to be. But I’m here to find out what he’s up to—and direct opposition would just plunge me into hot water. With deliberate care, I balance the cup holder in one hand to prevent my growing anger from manifesting as spilled coffee on his shirt.
“He’s a decent man who tries his best to do the right thing,” I state firmly. Despite my complicated history with Jake—despite the fact he should have trusted me enough four years ago to tell me about his uncle instead of making unilateral decisions about our future—I won’t let Tim’s insults stand. “The world would be a better place if more guys had their priorities straight.”
