I puff out my chest and clear my throat, because despite him trying to silence me, I’d like to hear what he has to say. What stupid shit he is going to word-vomit back at me about rules and restrictions. As if the thought of tolerating me for three more days is sheer torture, so much so that he’s erecting walls and creating boundaries.
Or…
Maybe, just maybe, he finds me so irresistible he can’t help himself, and he knows it’s unprofessional to lust after me in the office.
Yeah right.
I actually laugh out loud, knowing that’s not the case.
Phillip does indeed think I’m annoying, thinks I’m too talkative, a distraction—and not the good kind.
I frown.
I’m adorable. Everyone loves me!
“Hey, nothing against you personally,” Phillip begins, reading my mind. “I’m just not used to working in the same space as someone, let alone someone so…”
Pretty? Cute? Sexy? “Creative?”
His dark brows go up. “Chatty.”
Chatty? How dare he! I’m just being polite!
I make a hmph sound and cross my arms. “You’re spoiled and not used to sharing. Your dumb rules don’t have anything to do with me being chatty.” I spin my desk chair to face the window. He can talk to my back, thank you very much.
One second later, I spin back so I can look at his dumb face. “Furthermore, I’m making small talk to be polite.”
He holds up the lint brush as if to say, Exhibit A: this goes beyond polite. You brought me a present, which is essentially bribery.
So I like greasing palms—big deal.
“That is not a gift. You shed. I don’t need you getting hair on everything—the chairs are black and I’m allergic,” I grumble childishly.
“You’re allergic to dogs?”
“I’m allergic to fashion emergencies and wardrobe malfunctions.”
Then he does the one thing I’m least expecting him to do: tips his head back and laughs, a loud, raucous sound that does strange things to my insides and makes the warmth between my legs a few degrees warmer.
“It’s not funny,” I grumble some more as he laughs a little harder. His deep, sexy chuckle rumbles through my office.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Pfft. You think I’ve never been called that before? Get in line, buddy.” I swivel in my chair again, determined to ignore him this time. For good.
Suck it Phillip. Suck my di—
“Don’t pout,” he says, laughter still lacing his speech. “Baby.”
“Excuse me?” It’s impossible not to spin around and face my nemesis for the second time. He wants to call me names? Fine. “Do you think I was looking forward to having someone in my office, with all their shit? No. I wasn’t. But I’m a team player, and I was hoping you’d at least be tolerable.” I inhale. “Turns out, you’re just a jerk.” I pause. “It’s killing my buzz.”
He seems to consider this, lips curled into a tight smile. “You have a buzz?” Phillip pulls a few sheets of paper out of his red folder then continues, his question apparently having been rhetorical. “But I’m not here to make friends, or gossip, or spend my day yammering. I’m here to work. I don’t know how they do it on the south side of this building, but on the north side, we don’t fuck around half the day.”
My mouth falls open at that last pronouncement, at the word fuck rolling off his tongue.
Testosterone overload much? It probably smells like Old Spice and beef jerky over there on the construction side. Dick swinging and pissing contests, men acting like assholes, trying to be more alpha than the next idiot.
Nonetheless, my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Stop talking then.”
How rude!
I huff, spinning away from him for the third time so he can work on whatever groundbreaking, super-important stuff he has in that busted-up red folder. Out comes a pencil, out comes a power cord. Earbuds. Black-framed glasses.
I sneak a quick peek over my shoulder as he pulls out a yellow steno pad, biting back a groan.
A steno pad? My grandfather uses those.
I face the window as Phillip begins taking notes.
Know how I know he’s taking notes without having to see it? Because I can hear the sound of lead being pressed into the paper with an unnecessarily heavy hand. He’s pressing the pencil so hard the lead actually squeaks.
“Oh my God,” I push out tersely, mostly under my breath, when I simply cannot stand the sound any longer.
The sound stops. “What?”
If I were wearing glasses, this is where I would whip them off as I turn to face him, like a defense attorney. “Must you press so hard on your damn pencil? Could it be any louder?”
“Now you’re telling me how to write?” He’s disgusted.
“No. I’m telling you it’s obnoxious and asking can you please stop pushing the pencil into the paper so hard? You’ve probably etched through to the desk.”
“You’re insane.” He shakes his head.
I’m insane? Umm…
“Your pencil is driving me nuts!”
“Oh, my pencil is driving you nuts.” It’s a statement, not a question, Phillip’s tone flat and bored.
“Yes! It’s offensive.”
“My pencil is offensive?”
“Stop repeating everything I say.”
“Get over yourself.” Phillip snorts, going back to note-taking, lead squeaking with every stroke. He holds the pencil up and stares at it, as if seeing it for the first time, pleased with it, and himself. “Huh. It really is loud.”
After that, he’s louder than before, a sadistic smile on his face that I want to smack right off.
He’s enjoying this, that bastard.
I thrum my fingers on the desk, thinking. What would drive him nuts? Music? Chewing?
I click-click to close the windows on my desktop, rise from my desk, grab my wallet, push my chair in, and hold my head high as I saunter past him. Head straight for the breakroom, not caring any longer if he’s watching me in my sexy pencil skirt.
PHILLIP
If she doesn’t stop that, I’m going to lose my freaking mind.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Spencer bites into what can only be described as the crunchiest chip on the planet, created solely to make me go insane bit by bit. She slowly licks the cheese off her fingers after every chip like she did with her orange yesterday.
Doesn’t even have the courtesy to use a napkin.
“Are you doing that on purpose?”
Spencer licks her lips rather than her fingers, presumably to get the salt off. Leaves them moist and glistening.
My eyes go to that bottom lip, pinker than it was earlier, and I’m not sure if it’s lipstick or the salty snack that’s produced that rosy shade.
“Doing what on purpose?” Her eyes are a bit too wide to be innocent.
“Eating chips.” Loudly.
I have no idea where she procured a bag that size in this building, but it’s huge, and when she holds it up, I notice the words FAMILY SIZE on the side. Spencer glances into its depths.