CHAPTER TEN
PHIL
Is it pathetic that when,after spending the whole weekend on tenterhooks, waiting for Griff’s reply, the email finally appears in my inbox, I ignore it for an hour? Or at least, Itryto ignore it while actually fretting about it nonstop.
Then, when I finally open it and read the nice things he said, I immediately snatch up my phone and add him as a contact. Not to mention my whole text-diarrhea…. What was I thinking? He didn’t need that much detail about me and my feelings.
But the most pathetic part of all? The way I keep the text thread open while I attempt to work and continually nudge my screen so it stays active and I’ll be able to see the second he reads my messages.
Because somehow, in my head, I have this weird, half-formed idea that maybe Griff and I can be… friends. After all, we work in related fields and have a shared interest in fashion, which is already grounds for a friendship… right? Plus, we’ve already met and communicated, which for me is the hardest part of making friends. His email this morning was so nice and made me feel like maybe I didn’t completely fuck everything up last week.
And he’s big and sexy, just the way I like my men. Not that I’ve had many men. Hooking up might not require conversation, but usually guys want to hear at leastoneword. Most of my sexual experience comes from men who already know I can be nonverbal, which limits the pool a lot.
Not that any of that is relevant to me and Griff becoming friends, but… maybe I’m open to friendship just being the first step.
I heave a huge sigh and resist the urge to bang my head repeatedly against my desk. If Calla hears that, she’ll come in, and questions are the last thing I need right now. I’m honestly not sure I’d even be able to answer them. My anxiety has been sky-high since I sent those texts.
Unable to help myself, I glance at my phone screen again—and freeze. Because the tiny notification has changed fromDeliveredtoRead.
He’s read them. He’s… oh fuck.
The seconds stretch into a minute, which stretches into eternity. Okay, it’s probably just another minute, but my anxiety doesn’t believe that. It’s convinced that Griff is currently scoffing about my stupid texts—or worse,laughing—and that he’s going to leave me on Read. After all, it’s not like I asked a question that he needs to answer. He probably figures he doesn’t need to reply until he’s actually got something he needs to tell me. He might even?—
Jesus fucking Christ, he’s replying!
I remind myself to breathe, not hyperventilate, as those three blessed dots do their dance… and then turn into words.
A reply. An actual message I can read.
Hi, Phil. Thanks for sharing your number.
I blink. Is… that it? I mean… it’s perfectly professional and appropriate. And it’s not his responsibility to make me feel like less of an idiot. But I wish he?—
You did nothing wrong on Thursday. I hope my bad mood didn’t make things harder for you. I know I can be intimidating.
My heart melts into a puddle of goo. Torture couldn’t get me to admit that his scowl was part of the reason I didn’t speak to him. Not when he phrased it like that, like maybe his appearance sometimes frustrates him the way my anxiety does to me.
In my rush to reply, I fumble my phone, end up juggling to keep it from hitting the floor, and somehow bang my funny bone on the desk. Breathing through gritted teeth as I ride the wave of pain, I type my reply.
Nope! I promise it wasn’t that.
Not that you aren’t intimidating. I’m sure that comes in handy sometimes… like when there’s only one doughnut left in the break room and it’s a race to grab it.
I actually think your size is attractive
Gasping, I throw my phone and watch it hit the carpet and then skid the rest of the way across the room. I didnottype that! I didn’t! And I sure as fuck didn’t send it!
Except I did.
Moaning, the sharp ache in my elbow still not gone, I get up to retrieve my phone and do some damage control. Maybe I should get Calla in here. She’ll probably need to know that I’m sexually harassing our clients.
He hasn’t replied yet, but he’s definitely read my stupid message. I brace myself and send another.
I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for that to sound like a come-on.
I was just saying that intimidating isn’t the only thing your size is
Ugh, that’s not any better. I’m so sorry, and I’ll tell Calla she’ll need to handle all contact from now on.
