I shook my head. “I can’t do that.” Especially under the circumstances.
She looked at me like I should be pitied, and touched my cheek like she was my mother, except my mother was never so gentle and kind. “Kelli, it’s about time for you and Mr. Greyson to come out of the closet,” she snickered.
I batted her hand away. I was beginning to think everyone had gone crazy. The notion that Mr. Greyson had feelings for me was, not to use an “Alexa” word, but silly. Right?
“Come on now,” she said. “Neither of you are fooling anyone.”
I opened the bathroom door and marched out. I didn’t need this today. It only added to my befuddlement, and now I was beyond furious. I knew that Ms. Manselle was bad news, I just couldn’t believe Mr. Greyson was taken in by the bimbo. Who was Alexa conspiring with, and what plan was she talking about?
I sat down at my desk and rubbed my head.
Delfia grinned at me as she walked out.
My head began to pound, so I took some Tylenol as my laptop came up. Of course, well enough couldn’t be left alone.
Mr. Greyson popped in. “Your presentation looks good. I only tweaked it a little.” He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. It wasn’t like him to act in such a way. “Would you . . . like to drive together?”
I bit my lip and mulled it over. Maybe I should. What Delfia told me was getting to me. Alexa really did need to be fired, and the ride over would allow me to talk to him. “Sure,” was all I said, but it was enough to make him grin from ear to ear.
“I think we should leave at 9:45,” he suggested.
“Sure,” I responded blandly.
The next couple of hours were practically pointless. The only thing productive I accomplished was saying goodbye to my family as they waited for their plane to leave Nashville International. My nieces were so excited, I wondered how they would do on the plane. I reminded them, though, that they promised to bring me back something pretty, like Prince Charming. They giggled and promised they wouldn’t forget. I wanted to talk to Amanda and Zane about what Delfia had told me, but I was afraid I would be overheard, and I didn’t need anyone else telling me I should be with Mr. Greyson this morning. Instead, I said my goodbyes and told them I loved them.
I already missed them.
At 9:30, I freshened up and tried to do some relaxation techniques before Mr. Greyson came to retrieve me. I was more nervous about driving with him than presenting before a billion-dollar institution—an institution that could put my software on the map if we played our cards right.
9:45 came and went. It was very unlike Mr. Greyson to be late, he was often early, so at 9:50 I thought maybe there was a miscommunication, and he was waiting on me. I only needed to grab my purse since he was driving, and we were using his laptop this go-around. I walked out of my office to find no Delfia. I looked over to see that Mr. Greyson’s door was closed, and I figured she was in there receiving orders. I smiled to myself thinking about how much she loved that. In my happy thoughts, I didn’t think, I just walked over and opened Mr. Greyson’s door to tell him we were going to be late, and he could bark orders later,but opening that door unannounced was a horrible reminder of why knocking was so very, very important.
I stood there stunned at the scene before me. Ms. Manselle had nothing to worry about from the looks of it. I think her plan was falling right into place. Their lips were locked as she sat on his desk, holding onto his red tie.
“We’re late!” I shouted louder than I meant to.
Mr. Greyson pushed Ms. Manselle away, almost knocking her off his desk. “Kelli,” he said.
I slammed the door and ran toward the stairs. I would drive myself if I could manage it. The nauseous, rolling feeling was back, and I felt a little lightheaded. How dare he act so pompous and self-righteous and then come in here and make out with his floozy on company time. He was the biggest idiot, and she was playing him like a fool.
I barely remember making it outside to my car. As I rifled through my purse, I realized I should have remembered something else, my car keys. How could this be happening? We were going to be late for the most important meeting of my career, and it was entirely his fault. I marched myself back toward the office, all while trying not to cry.
In my haste, I ran into him, and he grabbed my arm.
“Ms. Bryant, where are you going?”
I yanked my arm away. “I’m going to get my keys.” I stormed off, only to be pulled back. I stared directly into his wide eyes. “Don’t touch me.”
He dropped his hand. “Please, we’re going to be late.”
“And whose fault is that?” I yelled unprofessionally.
“Please,” he pleaded with his tone and eyes.
“Ugh!” I turned and walked toward his car.
He ran after me, and he was smart enough not to open my door. Instead, he hit the unlock button on his key fob. I got in and immediately turned to look out my window. I hated him.
We drove in silence for several minutes.
