“You literally told him I was busy when I’m clearly not!”
“You have work to do.”
“I was taking a five-minute break!”
“It looked like more than five minutes to me.”
Her nostrils flare. “So you were watching. Before you came in, you were standing out there watching us.”
I don’t answer. I can’t, because yes, I was watching. And I don’t have a good excuse for it.
“That’s creepy,” she accuses. “That’s textbook creepy behavior.”
“I was concerned about your whereabouts. You weren’t at your desk.”
“I was in the break room getting coffee like a normal person.”
I turn back to my computer. “Fine. Get your coffee. Chat with Derek. I don’t care.”
“You obviously do care, or you wouldn’t have made a scene.”
“That wasn’t a scene.”
“Then what would you call it?”
I’m losing control of this conversation. I can feel it slipping away from me, but I can’t stop myself. The image of her laughing with Peterson keeps replaying in my head—that sound, that joy, given so freely to a stranger when I have to fight for every smile.
“I’d call it reminding you that you have a job to do. As any boss is entitled to do.”
“I know I have a job to do. I’ve been doing it all day while you were in your meeting.”
“And I’m sure Derek was a great help with that.”
She goes still.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Say what you mean.”
I meet her eyes. “I mean that maybe you should focus less on making friends and more on finishing your assignments.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop. I’ve crossed a line, and I know it. But I can’t take the words back now.
“You don’t get to manage my social life,” she grinds out through gritted teeth. “You tricked me into this marriage. You moved me into your home. You promoted me to an office where you can watch my every move. But you do not get to control who I talk to.”
“I’m not trying to control—”
“You are. That’s exactly what you’re doing, and I won’t stand for it.”
She snatches her jacket from the hook and heads for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Kirsten—”
