“Oh…” I can only see her profile, but her wince is obvious.
Margo tucks her hand into the back pocket of her jeans as she spins to face me again. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just going to go get to work,” Emma mumbles. Her fingers wiggle with a goodbye as she rushes to her own desk.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” I state, pinning her with a scowl. This is the second time the woman has had the nerve to disregard me. It’s something that won’t happen again.
“To ignore someone, they first have to call.”
“I gave you my business card. Something I rarely hand out, might I add. You not calling is as good as ignoring me.” I let my eyes roam over her work space. For someone who's worked here for some time, her space is pretty boring. It’s not like I can talk. The only things on the walls of my office are my framed diplomas. But that’s the way I like things—clean and simple.
Margo doesn’t strike me as the clean and simple type. She seems wild and chaotic, someone who likes things unhinged and messy. I’d imagined her desk being unkept, her artwork hung with mismatched thumbtacks. The only signs anyone works at the desk are the coffee mugs that are haphazardly placed.
She shrugs. “I figured if you wanted to talk, you’d call.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her. She gets under my skin more than I care to admit. It shouldn’t bother me she didn’t call me, yet I’ve lost sleep wondering why my phone hasn’t rung with her voice on the other line.
Taking a deep breath, I point to the purse she has sitting underneath her desk. “Grab your things. We’re leaving.”
Her arms cross her chest as she tries to make herself look tough. It doesn't work. If anything, she looks annoyingly adorable with the pose, her eyebrows pinched together in what’s supposed to look like a mean expression. “I have to work.”
One of my eyebrows raise. “You work for me now, remember, Miss Moretti?”
“I’m well aware,” she spits back.
I smile, taking a step closer to her. We’re still a healthy distance apart. Noticing all of the eyes that are focused on us, I lower my voice as I speak next to her ear. “As my new assistant, you have places to be.”
“It’s not Monday yet,” she aggravatingly points out.
My eyes turn into slits as I drink in the smug look on her face. “I changed my mind. You’re needed today. Right now.”
“I’m working.”
“Yes. For me. Now, I’m not a patient man, Margo. You have five minutes to grab your stuff and meet me in the lobby. Don’t make me wait.”
She wipes her face clean of the smug smile. Instead, her face screws together in anger. “What happens if I make you wait?”
The smile she gets is lethal. “I don’t think you want to find out.”
I leave before I do something in front of all these people I shouldn’t. On my way out the doors, the annoying secretary stands up, almost tripping over her hideous shoes as she chases after me. “When can we be expecting you again, Mr. Sinclair?”
If it were up to me—never.
“Darlene,” I begin, gritting my teeth. A minute has already ticked by. Margo better hurry, or she’s going to get more than she bargained for if she makes us late.
“It’s Darla, sir,” she corrects. Her voice is nasally. I wonder how anyone can stand listening to her speak for any length of time.
I don’t give a fuck what her name is. I just want her to leave me alone.
“Darla. You’re going to have to hire a new graphic designer. Margo’s been promoted.”
She’s left no time to argue or ask questions. My palms slam into the glass door as I make my way back to the lobby. Barry smiles nervously at me as I stop to stand off in a corner.
I glance at my watch.
She has three more minutes before she’s late.
I’m late by over five minutes.
In my defense, it’s not really my fault. Emma takes four of those minutes by trying to get me to explain where I’m going with Beck. She doesn’t believe me when I answer truthfully. I have no freaking clue what Beck has planned for the day, what his motives are for showing up on my last day of work at 8-bit. But damn, I might be a little excited to find out.
When I finally convince her that I’ll give her updates the moment I know what’s happening, it takes another four minutes for me to grab my things and check my appearance in the compact I keep in my handbag.
The last minute is spent rushing out. Darla attempts to fire questions at me on my way out, but all I do is give her a smile. “I’m going to miss you, Darla,” I lie. Wrapping my arms around her, I give her one tight squeeze. I won’t miss her in the slightest, but part of me will miss this place. Even though I hated what I did here, it was my first real job. I got to start with Emma, it’s a bit bittersweet to leave it behind.
Who knows, maybe I’ll be back whenever this thing with Beck ends. But I hope to never be back again.
Beck looks pissed when I step into the large lobby. He’s got his phone pressed to his ear, clearly engaged in a conversation with someone else. The call seems civil. The look in his eyes is anything but.
I’m in trouble. The deep set of his brows tells me as much.
Why does the thought excite me a little?
He doesn’t say a word when I come to a halt in front of him. He continues to speak with whoever is on the other line. Beck acknowledges my presence by tilting his head toward the exit. Words aren’t needed for me to catch on to what he wants.
His long legs make their way toward the exit. Beck doesn’t even look over his shoulder to see if I follow. He doesn’t have to. I’m too intrigued by why he showed up on my last day of work, leaving no room for arguing that I needed to leave with him.
Even though it’s obvious he’s upset by me being late, he holds the door open for me. Before I leave, I turn and give Barry my sweetest smile. “Goodbye, Barry! I’ll miss you.” I blow him a kiss, loving how Barry eats the attention up by pretending to catch the kiss and tuck it in his pocket.
When I turn back to leave, I find Beck has ended his call. His eyes are locked on me like magnets. I wish I knew what the look on his face meant. The anger is wiped away for the moment, but I can’t quite put my finger on what’s replaced it.
As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, he’s letting the door close behind him and guiding me toward a waiting black SUV. A guy dressed in a suit waits in front of the rear passenger door. As soon as we near the vehicle, he’s plastering on a smile and pulling the door open.
My feet skid to a stop. I anxiously look over my shoulder, wondering if getting into this car is a good idea. I guess Beck is my boss—and soon-to-be fake fiancé—so I should trust him. But a part of me feels a bit apprehensive. It’s probably the fact that the two of them are dressed like they’re about to go to a formal event and I’m dressed in a pair of fraying Levi’s.
I look between the guy holding the car door open and Beck. “I didn’t get the memo to come wearing a gown. My apologies.”
The man tries to hide a smile. His cheek twitches as he fights with all his might to keep a straight face.