How dare he? Sure, not everyone was appreciative of my compliments, but I liked to think that even if they brushed me off, at least subconsciously my kind words might brighten their day. But no one had ever gotten in my face and yelled at me for complimenting them.
“It wasn’t a catcall,” I said stubbornly. There was no way I’d think Grayson Richmond was hot. He was not. I wasn’t attracted to men just because they were good looking. I was in it for the personality. And Grayson Richmond had a terrible personality.
I gave my frizzy red hair one more twist with the towel then hung it on a hook on the wall and stared at my porcelain skin, highlighted by almost-glowing purple eyes …psych!
My eyes were muddy brown, the color of a neglected pool that was actively breeding mutant mosquitos. I was insanely jealous of Grayson Richmond’s eyes. He didn’t deserve those green eyes. I was a redhead. Green eyes should be mine. To be fair, green eyes would go better with red hair like my mom’s.
You couldn’t buy my color red in a bottle because it was so ugly no one wanted it. Curly and frizzy, my hair only looks goodthe first ten minutes after a shower at which point it dries out and goesfloof. Was I regretting getting a layer cut? Yes. Yes, I was.
I rubbed sunscreen over my freckled skin. Even though Manhattan was perpetually overcast, I did not need another freckle. I didn’t have a sprinkling of freckles where you thought,how adorable. I had you’re-going-to-have-skin-cancer-in-your-early-forties freckles.
I swiped on mascara so I didn’t look like a naked mole rat. For me there would be no makeover moment where I’d dramatically pin my hair up, dust blush on my face, and turn into a bombshell. Been there, done that. Let’s just say that all talk of senior prom is banned in my house.
A lean man in his bicycle gear and glasses was tapping his cycling shoe angrily when I waltzed out of the shower room in a cloud of steam.
I couldn’t help but compare him to Grayson in his workout gear.
There was no comparison.
“I’m complaining to HR about this,” the cyclist told me in annoyance. “Showers are for bike riders only.” He adjusted his glasses.
Instead of taking the bait, I looked him up and down, flashed him a thumbs-up, and grinned. “I can tell you really do ride a lot. You got those biker buns.”
He blushed and puffed up. “Really? Well, yeah, biking’s actually kind of dangerous, but I love it. You know, good exercise and gets your heart rate up. Don’t worry. I won’t actually say anything to HR. Have a great day.”
See? The power of compliments. And most men liked it when you told them they looked good.
So there, Mr. Richmond.
I left my towel on the communal drying rack in the basement locker room then swiped my key fob up to the executive floor.
“Hi, Regan!” I waved to one of the HR employees as I passed her office. “How are your Spanish lessons coming?”
“Oh my gosh. Well, I have apparently been telling people I want to buy a pickle when I really was asking how their day was going. So you know. Not great.”
“But you’re trying,” I said encouragingly. “That’s more than me. Here.” I peeled off a sparkly fairy sticker from my sticker compact and handed it to her.
She beamed.
The assistant and the secretary to Mr. Richmond had their desks off to the side of a mezzanine that overlooked the accounting floor.
Notice I said the assistant and the secretary had desks. I, as the assistant to the assistant, had a stool next to the assistant’s desk.
McKenna was already working.
“You made it just in time,” she whispered to me out of the corner of her mouth. “Anthym has been complaining you weren’t in yet.”
“I do so much unpaid overtime it’s not even funny,” I said, opening up her bottom desk drawer and riffling through for the Oreos I had stashed there.
Don’t judge. I ran a whole sixteen minutes today, and on an empty stomach, no less.
“Anthym had me trekking all over town last night so I could pick up a set of very specific snack items for the fancy gift basket she’s putting together for one of Mr. Richmond’s clients.” I twisted the Oreo and licked the cream off.
“Like, why didn’t she know sooner what she needed? I had to go to one guy’s home to pick up this freaking wedge of cheese.”I dunked one of my Oreos in my specialty coffee mug that was shaped like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage.
“So sue me if I come into work at eight instead of six thirty like she does. I don’t even get paid that much; I don’t even have a desk.”
“Don’t let her hear you complaining,” McKenna warned. “She read a text message I was writing to Grenadine and bitched me out about not being grateful to be in the presence of Mr. Richmond because I complained that this office was freezing cold and I wanted to use my space heater.”
