He perches on the edge of my desk with his signature loom, his eyebrows knitting together in concern as thin as tissue paper as he asks, “Heard you had quite the adventure. Feeling better today?”
“Yes, thank you,” I manage, keeping my voice neutral despite the irritation bubbling inside me.
“You know, you could have taken the day off. I would have been happy to bring you any work you needed,” he continues, his tone dripping with something unsettlingly solicitous.
What a complete twat.
“That’s… kind but unnecessary. Thank you,” I reply, my polite tone just as contrived.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Glad to hear our AI friends took good care of you. How’s the project going? They told me yesterday you’ll need to beta some more. Seems they’re not as perfect as they think, huh?” He chuckles, and his eyes light up with a gleam that’s too close to malicious delight for comfort.
I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to snap at him. But giving him gossip about the men who came to my rescue yesterday will never happen.
When I don’t say anything, he holds my gaze a moment longer, his eyes eventually drifting down my body in a slow, deliberate scan that makes my stomach turn.
“You should keep hydrated and catch up on the work you missed yesterday,” he finally says, standing up to leave. His voice is smooth as oil but just as unpleasant.
As he walks away, I turn back to my screen, my fingers itching to type something,anything,to cleanse my palate of the interaction. So, I do and dive back into the code that doesn’t have a single use for fake smiles and insincere sentiments.
A while later, my phone buzzes with a message from Misha, breaking my concentration once more.
Misha
Ready for lunch?
I glance at the message but decide against responding. I’m deep in code, and honestly, I haven’t even taken my usual coffee break, mostly because I wanted to avoid the cafeteria—too many curious eyes, possibly including Oliver’s.
A few minutes later, a knock at the office door catches me off guard. Hendricks looks up from his sandwich, as surprised as I am.
No one knocks at our office without a scheduled meeting.
He shrugs, crumbs on his lips, and I get up to answer it. Misha’s bright grin greets me from the threshold, with Oliver and Grey looming behind him. My heart does that annoying little flip at the sight of them.
Silly thing.
“Hey… what are you doing here?” I ask, masking my confusion with a half-smile.
“We’re taking you to lunch. Looks like you lost track of time,” Misha replies, his grin broadening. “Don’t worry. It happens to Oliver all the time.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, I didn’t think lunch was necessary today. I haven’t got anything to report. You probably know more than I do after my series of naps yesterday.” I try to joke about it, but the memory of my helplessness irks me.
Misha’s grin doesn’t fade. “It’s just lunch. Casual, remember?”
Casual.Right.
I’ve never really grasped what that’s supposed to mean.
“No, thank you,” I say, trying to maintain a light tone.
But Misha doesn’t budge, his grin persistent. “Come on, Amelia. I’m buying.”
I glance at Oliver, who quickly looks away when our eyes meet.
I thought we were over this since I slept with my head in your lap.
Or maybe that made him uncomfortable and the situation even worse.
Awesome.
