“I was working on the presentation,” I say quickly, but also cringe a little inside. Because how long was he standing there watching me writing “how” in different styles?
Then I shove aside my cringe. My process is my process. Right now it sucks, and it’s slow, but I can’t apologize for that.
“Did you want something?” I ask, hoping to sound collected and Sasha-like.
“Can we talk?”
“I was just—”
“Please.”
We’re the only two people in the office. If he was someone else, I might feel weird being alone with him on a Sunday in an empty office, but I’m getting zero aggressive vibes from him. So I nod. “Okay.”
He slides his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Meg, you know I value you as an employee and—”
I cut him off, standing. “Do you?”
“What?”
“Do you value me?” Suddenly all the things Keegan’s been saying about Forester+Blake are tumbling around in my head. “Because if you really value me, why am I the only one here on the weekend working on this project?”
“I ...” Looking very much like this conversation is not going how he expected, he takes a step back, ducking his head.
I’ve seen him do that a thousand times, that self-effacing, bashful head duck. I used to think it was sexy.
Now, it leaves me cold. Annoyed, even.
Of course, now I also feel ever so slightly like a creeper, because I should not be watching my boss this much.
Don’t judge me. The point is: it doesn’t seem sexy now. It seems boyish, like he’s dodging his responsibility. There’s nothing sexy about that.
Of course, just last night, he admitted that he feels overwhelmed by the job. Outclassed by everyone around him. Maybe he seems boyish because he is.
I sigh.
“I’m sorry. That was harsh.” I say, his obvious chagrin taking the wind out of my sails. “Last night, you complimented my work, but this morning it feels hollow when I’m the only one here working my ass off on a Sunday.”
Not that I’m actually getting work done. But I am really trying and that should count for something, right? I’m here, putting in the hours when I could be with Keegan. Except ... Keegan’s accusation flits through my head. That I’m putting work in front of us because I’m afraid of talking about us.
I shove that thought aside.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to reclaim some of the ease of last night.
“You didn’t come here to hear labor complaints from an unruly subordinate.”
“Actually, I did.” He takes a step closer to me. “I mean, I came by, hoping you’d be here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I kissed you last night, Meg. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We need to visit HR. Together. Disclose our relationship. Set up guidelines so that I’m not in charge of anything having to do with your career. And you’re right. You shouldn’t be the only one working on this presentation. We’ll push the deadline back so all the work doesn’t fall on you.”
“HR?” I stumble back another step. “Are you serious?”
“Of course. We kissed, and—”
“Wait a second.”
Horror washes over me as I understand the implication of his words. “Do you think I expect special treatment because we kissed last night?”
