Just . . . fuck, how could she think that all I wanted was to fuck her?
Am I really that much of an asshole that she’d confuse my intention with a bargain? My kindness, my compliments, in exchange for the spread of her legs?
I can be a dick.
A prick.
An absolute asshole.
But I’m not that man, the one who takes advantage of a woman who’s clearly not in the right headspace.
I stand from my chair, pull my suit jacket back on, and stick my phone in my pocket before heading out of my office door. On the way to the conference room, I pop into the kitchen and grab a can of water—we just started carrying water in aluminum cans, thanks to fucking Kelsey and her sustainability initiatives—and then head into the conference room. I take a seat on the left-hand side.
Just as I pop open the can, one of the chairs to the right of me swivels around and, lo and behold, Kelsey’s face comes into view.
Fuck . . .
“JP,” she says with a smile that barely reaches her eyes. I can tell a polite smile from a genuine one, and this screams I’m smiling at you because I have to, not because I want to. “I wasn’t aware you were going to be in this meeting.”
“Yeah, well, Huxley sent me eleven messages saying my attendance was required.”
“Do you have any idea what it’s about?”
“Nope,” I snap.
“Oh . . . okay.” She fidgets next to me and heat crawls up the back of my neck.
Fuck, I can smell her sweet, flowery scent that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I don’t know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but I swear, I smell it everywhere I go, and it’s more prevalent than ever right now.
“Did you, uh, did you see my designs for the Anderson building?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Did you like them?”
“Seemed like everything else you’ve turned in. Unless I’m mistaken and you used something other than bamboo storage.”
I don’t bother to look at her, but from the corner of my eye, I can see her mouth turn down in a frown.
“JP, if there’s something I did—”
“You know, I have some emails to answer,” I say, pulling out my phone and tapping away on it.
Instead of going to my inbox—because there’s no way in fuck I’m answering any emails right now—I scroll through Twitter, checking out what all the trolls have to say about the Vancouver Agitators and their recent playoff loss. Talk about a weak showing. Not sure they even decided to show up.
“I know you’re ignoring me,” she says, clearly not getting the hint.
Keeping my eyes on my phone, I say, “Kelsey, I have better things to do with my life than to ignore you. You’re not that important.”
I can feel the sting of my words as they fall off my tongue, and yet, I don’t stop them.
I don’t even bother to look at how they affect her.
I don’t need to.
I know Kelsey will take offense to such a sentence, and yet, I still said it.
Yup, really living up to that bastard persona.
Thankfully, Huxley walks in at that moment, along with Breaker and Lottie. I expect maybe a few other employees to join us, but when Huxley shuts the door and takes a seat, I realize this is it.
Just us five.
Not so sure I’m going to like this.
I swear to fuck if this is some sort of attitude intervention, I’m going to have a Hades-inspired conniption, flames and all.
“We got some news yesterday.” Huxley looks over at Lottie and my heart sinks. Holy shit, are they pregnant?
I sit a little taller in my chair.
Attempt to put on a happy face.
“Are you pregnant?” Breaker asks.
Huxley’s eyebrows knit together. “No, why would you think that?”
“Uh, the way you looked at Lottie, the fact that it’s just family in this room, and the inconspicuous meeting invite.”
All facts.
“Do you really think I would use company time to announce something like that? That would be a private affair, not something we’d do in the conference room at work.”
Huh . . . also facts.
“Plus, there will be no pregnancy for at least another year. I need a killer honeymoon and babies aren’t invited,” Lottie adds.
Well, there goes the pregnancy guess.
“Then why are we here?” I ask.
“Because, what I have to say can’t be said outside of these walls. It’s highly classified, therefore, we’re the only ones who are allowed to know at the moment.”
“Just spit it out,” I say. “Enough with the dramatics.”