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CHAPTER THREE

EDEN

Thank God it’s Friday, I tell myself as I drag my exhausted ass into the office. There are exactly twelve minutes between when I unlock the office door and when Henderson will appear with his bullshit, which means I have twelve minutes to convince myself not to quit. The first three are spent trying to decide whether my pounding headache is stress or if I’m having a stroke. The next three are spent making my much-needed cup of coffee. I figure the caffeine will either help my headache or I’ll know for sure I’m having a stroke. The final six minutes are spent staring at the blue screen of my login while fighting the urge to type out a letter of resignation.

My hands are still shaking from last night. Not that you’d know it, because I keep them pressed flat on the desk, refusing to give any satisfaction to Hender-slime. I slept maybe two hours, interrupted by dreams of being chased through red-lit halls by biker hyenas, but apparently, there’s not enough REM in the world to erase the memory of having my purse stolen and the regret from turning down Bones’s offer.

I hear my asshole boss coming before I see him. The clop of $800 wingtips announces him from the hallway. Then comes the wet rasp of a cough that signals his approach. Finally, the scent of discount cologne wafts in, growing steadily more toxic with each step.

Henderson swings into my office like he’s breaking down a door for a SWAT team. “Eden!” he announces, like I’m not right in front of him, “I hope you had fun last night.” He leans on the glass, way too freaking close for my comfort. “I need my card back.”

I hold my breath and reach into my purse for his credit card. “Morning, Mr. Henderson. Here’s your card.”

He grins, showing all his little capped teeth. “I had a successful night.” Why is he telling me this? I couldn’t care less what happened to him.

I don’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, I click into the shared drive, pretending the act of updating the files takes every neuron I have. The files flicker on screen, lines of numbers and names that will never let me down, unlike every man in a hundred-mile radius.

He lingers in the doorway, waiting for something. When I refuse to give it to him, he finally shrugs and straightens his lapels. “I need the quarterly projections on my desk by 3pm, and I have a few little tweaks I want you to make to them.” He drops that freaking bomb on me like it’s no big deal. Great. I’ll have to skip lunch if I have any hope of getting it done.

“Tweaks?” I ask, already dreading his answer.

“I just need them to be a little…” he pauses, rubbing his chin, “ more optimistic.”

“You want me to create false reports?” I can’t believe this asshole. He’s always been shady, but this is too much.

“No, no, no.” He holds his hands up as a dark red slash covers his face. “Why don’t you just prepare the reports and send them to me, and I’ll tweak them.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I hate this job almost as much as I can’t stand this sleazy asshole. But I need the paycheck.

He leaves as suddenly as he arrived, with the faint echo of a smirk left behind. I stare at the door for a full minute after he leaves. I really need to find a new job.

I take a long, shaky breath and open the projections file on my computer. Henderson’s notes are a goddamn mess. If I get through the day without strangling him, it’ll be a miracle.

The morning crawls by at a glacial pace, punctuated only by the unending whine of the copier and the low, nasal drone of Henderson’s “private calls” in the office. By 11:30, I’m nearly halfway through the quarterly projections when the main door pushes open.

My heart nearly pounds out of my chest when Bones walks in wearing a black T-shirt tight enough to strain across his chest and shoulders. For a second, I think I might be hallucinating from my stroke. Then his eyes meet mine and my heart jumps. Nope. He’s definitely real.

“What are you doing here?” I manage to squeak out past the lump in my throat.

Bones stops and leans against my desk. “I wanted to ask you out to lunch.” I barely resist the urge to fan myself. Damn. I have to admit it’s hot as hell when he does it.

Henderson rushes in and steps between us. “Actually, Eden has an important deadline and⁠—”

Bones straightens up and stares my boss down. I almost laugh at the scared shitless look on old Hender-slime’s face. “Eden still gets lunch. She’ll be back by one.”

It isn’t loud, but the tone leaves no room for debate.

Henderson blinks, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “I—ah—okay.” He backs up, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he vanishes into his office, slamming the door so hard it rattles the windows.

The silence that follows is heavy enough to choke on.

Bones looks back at me. “Ready?”

All I can think about is how many times I’ve fantasized about telling Henderson to go fuck himself. I should refuse but I can’t. Even if it means losing my job.

I reach for my purse, hands steady for once. “Ready.” Screw the quarterly projections. If Hender-slime wants them by 3pm, he can do them himself. This little act of rebellion feels great.

Bones holds the door for me, and I get a little whiff of his yummy scent as I walk past him.