I wave at her to keep going.
“You have been acting super weird ever since the snowstorm debacle and Allie…I don’t know…she’s even more snippy than usual. It doesn’t take a genius to see that something happened between the two of you. And now you’re looking at Craig Holder, a major donor, by the way, like you’re going to slice open his carotid with a letter opener just for talking to her.”
I hadn’t thought of that exactly, but it’s not a bad idea. Isubconsciously glance down at the letter opener on my desk, just as Skylar discreetly picks it up and puts it in her back pocket.
“She doesn’t look snippy right now,” I can’t help but mutter.
“Exactly my point,” Skylar huffs.
“I don’t kiss and tell, Sky. You know that. I just really don’t like that guy. He gives me the creeps.”
“Yeah, well, he also gives thousands of dollars to the paper every year.”
“Do you have a point here?”
“I do,” she says, standing up and pushing her chair to the side. “Get your shit together and keep your dick in check.”
Her language startles me. “What’s going on with you?” I narrow my eyes at her. “There’s something different. What happened to the girl who used to correct everyone’s grammar and never swore?”
She slaps some files down on my desk. “She grew the fuck up.”
It looks like she’s about to slam my door as she leaves, but I call out to her. “Leave it open.” Her eyes roll in a complete circle, but she does as I ask, just in time for me to see Craig put his hand on Allie’s shoulder. She stiffens. I can tell even from over here that she’s not comfortable with him. She’s smiling—her fake one. The one she only uses when she has to because she can’t stand letting anyone see her real smile.
Her eyes tell a completely different story, flicking icily to Craig’s hand as it slithers down to rest on her arm. She steps to the side, and his hand falls.Good girl.
No longer blocked by Craig’s giant body, she notices me staring at them. Looking straight at me, she cocks her head to the side and curls her lip into a sadistic grin, like she’s a lioness about to attack her prey. Then she turns back to Craig and pretends to laugh, placing her hand on his chest for a split second before removing it. My hands ball into fists and I check my desk to see if there’s another letter opener lying around.
No luck.
When she bends over her desk to get a sticky note and scribbles something down on it, handing it to Craig, I fly out of my chair and am across the room before I even realize I’ve stood up. I slam the door so hard that it rattles the hinges and the whole frame shakes.
I need to calm down. This is insane. I can’t say I've never been jealous before. I’m not possessive like Declan, though he’s only ever been that way over one person…but I’ve definitely had moments of jealousy. Like slightly irritated jealousy, not stab-someone-with-office-supplies jealousy.
Not to mention, I have no reason to be jealous. I only made her come to prove a point. She was pissing me off. I get it. She was embarrassed that she touched me in her sleep and angry that I brought up the beach. I tried to apologize. I tried to let her know she had nothing to be ashamed of, but she wouldn’t listen to me. I walked back and forth in her driveway for a solid two minutes until I made the decision to knock on her door. I didn’t even have a plan, but when she opened that door, I knew—I just knew I was going to kiss her. She’s the one who took it further, though.Shegrabbed my hand.Shemoved it down. I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to prove her wrong. Of course, I know she didn’t fake it the first time, but I needed her to know I knew.
I didn’t think I would win any points when I left her there, still flushed and panting, with the knowledge that I made her come twice now, but it’s been two weeks and she’s still icing me out. Since that day, she has refused to talk to me about anything non-work-related. She even avoids that sometimes, going through Skylar or messaging me on the stupid office team platform. Every single time I try to talk to her about what happened, she walks away or ignores me.
Burger Week came and went. Allie knocked all of her articles out of the park, despite having been told about the event the daybefore. She really is a good writer and describes food as if it’s so much more than sustenance. Like it’s art. She has a way of making you feel like you’re right there with her, experiencing the tastes and sensations just as she is. Not that I’ve had the chance to tell her any of this. She won’t fucking talk to me. Apparently, she will talk to large, muscly chefs with tattooed knuckles.
A faint knock at the door steals my attention away from the rage simmering in my gut.
“Come in,” I call out, assuming it’s Skylar back to scold me some more. I barely look up from my computer, not in the mood to deal with talking about the mess I’ve made again, but as soon as black heels come into my field of vision, my head shoots up. Her long dark brown hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She’s wearing her usual tight calf-length skirt, but her shirt is short-sleeved, as opposed to the long-sleeved blouses she usually wears. She brings her wrist up to look through the stack of papers she’s holding, and I get a peek at the tattoos that line the inside of her forearm.
She finds the paper she was looking for and places it on my desk.
“Here’s Luke’s signed contract. He wants to run an ad for his bike shop once a month for now, but he may increase it to weekly as his business continues to grow.”
She turns to leave, but I’m out of my chair before she touches the door handle. “Allie, stop.”
To my surprise, she does. “What?”
“You can’t avoid this forever.”
“Avoid what?” she asks, feigning ignorance.
“This.”
“You’re being cryptic, Ashton. I don’t like guessing games, so why don’t you say what you mean so I can go finish my article that’s due in…” She checks the time on her phone. “Thirty-seven minutes.”
