I turn to leave when his voice stops me.
"A word, Mattaniah."
My feet freeze mid-step. Richard still hasn't looked up from his paperwork, his pen moving across the page in precise strokes, but his free hand gestures toward the door.
"Close that."
His office suddenly feels smaller the moment I close the door, his cologne filling the enclosed space until I can taste it on the back of my tongue. I stand by the door with my hands clasped in front of me and wait.
Richard finishes whatever he's writing, sets his pen down, before finally looking at me. His gaze moves over my face the way Dominic's did on Saturday night, except where Dominic's attention made me feel wanted, Richard's makes me feel inventoried.
"Come here."
I cross the room, Richard swiveling his chair to face me and gestures for me to stop when I'm close enough that his knees nearly brush mine.
"I like to do performance reviews with my assistants at the end of their first week." His voice comes off pleasant, the distaste beneath it more than obvious. "Identify areas for improvement. Establish expectations."
"Of course, sir."
"While you are also now family, I will not treat you any differently. Your filing speed needs work, but that will come with practice. Your coffee is inconsistent, but trainable. Your posture—" He reaches out and presses two fingers against the small of my back, correcting a curve I wasn't aware of. The touch lingers three seconds longer than it needs to. "—requires constant correction, which suggests either defiance or poor early training. Which is it?"
"Poor early training, sir."
"Mm." He withdraws his hand but doesn't break eye contact. "Your mother's influence, I imagine. She strikes me as someone who prioritized other skills over proper presentation."
I keep my face blank because responding to that is a trap with no right answer.
Richard stands, the movement putting him close enough that I have to tilt my chin up to maintain eye contact. His hand comes up and settles on my shoulder, his thumb finding the back of my neck and pressing into the same spot he found in the copy room. "I've noticed my sons paying attention to you. Dominic inparticular. He's not usually interested in anything other than his work, but you seem to have caught his eye."
"I wouldn't know anything about that, sir."
"No?" His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Because my assistant mentioned you've been hovering around the elevator bank this morning. The one that goes to the twelfth floor."
Fuck. My face burns and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
Richard's thumb stills against my neck. "Whatever my sons are doing to you, I hope you remember who you actually work for. Who signs off on your position here. Who your mother is depending on to keep her in the lifestyle she's clearly enjoying." His hand slides from my shoulder down my arm, squeezing once above my elbow before releasing me. "You may go."
I make it back to my cubicle on autopilot. My hands are shaking when I sit down, my neck still burning where his thumb pressed, and the first thing my body wants to do is get up and walk to the elevator bank again.
This time I know exactly why. By mid-morning the armor I’ve built up in this space starts developing cracks that have nothing to do with Ricthard.
The problem is that my feet keep wanting to take me places they shouldn't go. The first time it happens I catch myself halfway to the elevator before I register that I'm heading toward the twelfth floor where Dominic's office is. I stop in the corridor and stand there for a full five seconds trying to reconstruct what errand I was supposedly running before I admit that there is no errand. My feet just started walking.
I go back to my desk. Tamsin gives me a look over the partition that I pretend not to notice.
The second time it happens, I make it all the way to the elevator bank before I catch myself. My finger is hovering over the call button and I'm holding a folder from my desk that Igrabbed on the way out because some part of my brain decided I needed a prop to justify the trip.
"What are you doing?" I whisper to myself. The folder contains last week's interdepartmental memos that have no business being anywhere near the twelfth floor. I tuck it under my arm and walk back to my desk.
Tamsin's look sharpens. "You okay? That's the second time you've gotten up and come right back."
"I'm fine, just can't remember where I was supposed to bring these." I wave the folder vaguely and sit down. My face burns because she is absolutely not buying it and I'm absolutely not fooling anyone, least of all myself.
The third time, right after lunch, I don't catch myself at all. One moment I'm filing expense reports and the next I'm standing in front of Dominic's office door on the twelfth floor holding the same useless folder of interdepartmental memos. His name is etched into the glass beside the door, his scent hitting me through the barrier.
My hand is raised to knock, my nose scrunching up in disgust at my behavior.
"You don't have a question," I mutter under my breath. "You don't have a file to deliver. You are standing outside your stepbrother's office in the middle of the workday because your stupid body dragged you here and you let it."
