I didn’t believe Elliot replaced all the assistants’ chairs just so I could have a new one. It didn’t make any sense.
If he had…that would have been an incredibly kind gesture.
When I sat down at my desk to write his schedule, my postscript was a little different.
P.S. You’re slightly more tolerable than usual.
I sliced it off the bottom and tucked it away with the others. Elliot arrived moments later, barely acknowledging me, as usual.
I followed him into his office, slipping the schedule on his desk. Elliot powered on his computer, moving his mouse around.
Absently, I pinched the fabric of my dress, pulling it away from my stomach. It was tighter than it had been a week ago, which was frustrating.
Click, click.
Dear god, how could he be annoyed with me already? I hadn’t said anything other than good morning.
“Thank you for the new chair. It’s wonderful.”
His glance slid over me, from my lap to my face. “What makes you think I gave you a new chair?”
“Well, this is your company, so I assumed…”
One of his brows rose. He had this talent of looking dubious with only the flick of his forehead muscles. He often cast this expression on those he did business with, but I’d been privy to it from time to time as well.
“I don’t know why you would assume I have anything to do with ordering chairs.”
Crimson suffused his cheeks, and I wondered just how pissed off he was that I’d implied he would actually do something nice for me…and the rest of the assistants on this floor.
I tapped the end of my pen on my notebook, really wanting to tap his forehead and tell him he could have just accepted the thanks without getting mad.
Then, sucking in a breath, I adjusted my dress and put my game face on. “Anyway, the chair is nice. If you happen to know who chose them, please give them my appreciation.”
“I’m sure I have more important things to do than that.” He nodded toward the schedule in front of him. “As you’re aware.”
“Of course. Thankfulness is overrated anyway.” Oops, the sarcasm had escaped.
Elliot steepled his hands beneath his chin, observing me through slit eyes. “Do you have a problem with my manners, Catherine?”
“I don’t, Elliot.” I tugged down on my dress harder than necessary. “Now, do you have anything I should know about today?”
The meeting went on as usual after that. Until the end, when I asked him if there was anything else.
Elliot peered at me for a long moment. “You can’t come to work in that dress again. It no longer fits you, and you wore it three days last week.”
My mouth fell open.
He wasn’t wrong. I was all too aware I’d squeezed myself into one of the last pieces of clothing that still stretched over my belly, aside from Liam’s old T-shirts.
Living inside this body completely alien to me was bad enough. I was off balance, barely sleeping, hungry enough at all hours to gnaw my own arm off, my emotions out of control—and now this? I thought I’d done well by wearing all black. If I needed to repeat outfits, it wouldn’t be so obvious.
But Elliot had noticed, and it hurt my feelings. I hated that he was capable of hurting my feelings. Lately, they were just as swollen as the rest of me.
“I—” I had to swallow three times before I could force any words out. “Okay,” I managed to rasp.
His head jerked at the weak sound of my acquiescence. “Catherine—”
I waved my hand in front of me. If we continued this, there was a high likelihood I’d start crying. And if I cried in Elliot’s office, I’d never be able to face him again.
“No, it’s fine. I hear you. I’ll go out after work and find suitable clothing.”
My tender feelings lodged in my throat and after that horribly awkward moment, I returned to my desk, sat my ass down in my brand-new chair, opened my drawer, and snatched my postscript envelope. Taking out today’s, I crossed out what I had written and scrawled below it.
P.S. You are exactly as intolerable as usual.
Maternity clothing was stupidly expensive, and I had next to no budget.
Fortunately, I was able to find a few things at a thrift store near my house. Black and gray, since those were my staples these days.
Hopefully, I’d be up to snuff for Elliot. If he said anything else about my clothes, I’d likely jab him with my pen. A blue one, just to make it hurt worse.
I really didn’t like how it had felt when he’d told me I couldn’t wear my dress anymore. I kept replaying the way he’d looked at me when he’d said it. Like he’d been embarrassed for me that I couldn’t fit my body into proper clothing.