“Why?”
She raises those dark brows at me and smirks. Gives me a jaunty chin lift. “Go on, take a bite.”
Well shit, now it’s a matter of principle. She can’t tell me what to do—she is not the boss of me.
I study her back critically. “What did you say your name is?”
“I didn’t.” Her arms cross, the cup of orange juice propped in one hand. “Take a bite.”
“Stop being so bossy.”
“I want to see if you’ll gag. That’s all. No big deal.”
If I gag? “Why would I gag?”
“Why would you gag? Are you being for real right now?” A look of exasperation and incredulousness crosses her pretty face. “That spread you just wiped on your bagel is a thousand years old.”
I barely contain my ire. “Over-exaggerate much?”
She gives me a one-shoulder shrug, waiting, still standing there, juice in hand. Daring me to bite into the bagel.
“Must be nice not to be in any rush and have nowhere to go in the middle of the workday,” I smart at her, annoyed.
The young woman smiles. “It really is.”
She’s being sarcastic and I don’t appreciate it, mostly because suddenly, I can smell the rancid cheese caked on my breakfast unwelcomely wafting into my nostrils. Notice for the first time the crust crystalized on the edge of one dollop.
Fuck.
The girl gives me a knowing smile—she fucking knows I know.
Her smile is megawatt. “Is something amiss?”
Amiss? Yes, something is a-fucking-miss.
“Nope.”
She sips her juice again, slurping loudly and smiling over the brim of her cup. That knowing knowingness.
It’s infuriating.
But I can’t just chuck the damn bagel in the trash—cannot give her the satisfaction of being right, this girl I do not know and have never met.
She needs to go away so I can throw this thing in the trash and figure out what I am going to eat. Because I’m still starving.
“Do not follow me to my office,” I tell her sternly.
“Follow you to your office? Get over yourself.” Now she’s snickering. “Actually, I would do that,” she murmurs to herself. “You may need my help in a few minutes.”
I take her in again. Take in her dark wavy hair and sharp blue eyes. The dress she’s wearing is long, with a bold floral print practically down to the floor. It’s belted off, making her waist appear tiny. Large boho hoop earrings I catch a glimpse of when she tosses her head to laugh at me again.
She thinks I’m ridiculous; I can see it in her mocking eyes.
I narrow mine. “What department are you in?”
A brief hesitation. “Marketing.”
So she does work here, in one of the creative departments, which makes sense because she comes off as the creative type—you know how some people just have a look about them that gives you small clues about who they are?
“What’s your name?” The question comes out a bit blunt and slightly rude, but I’m hungry goddammit and haven’t eaten breakfast—no bites from the bagel in my hand that’s no doubt going to kill me if I ingest it.
“What’s yours?” she counters, evading the question with a question of her own.
I relent. “Phillip.”
“Hmm.” A few sips of her orange juice through pursed yet smiling lips.
“Okay, well.” I hold up the napkin, bagel wrapped inside, taking the coffee mug from the counter, pointing toward the door. “Back to work.”
“Good luck with that.” The young woman points at my snack. “Holler if you need me to hold your hair back when you’re on your knees puking in the bathroom.”
“Sure. If you say so.” I scoff at her one last time before heading back to my office; I’ve spent far too long dicking around in the breakroom—not that anyone but Paul will notice since my supervisor typically works from his vehicle and barely makes appearances.
Twenty steps and I’m almost in the clear, out of view.
Ten more and I can dump this bagel in the trash, scavenge for something that’s not going to make me hurl my—
“Did you get the memo?” a voice asks just as I’m passing through the main reception area.
Paul.
He startles me and I almost drop the loosely palmed bagel in my left hand.
Fuckin A, Paul, don’t sneak up on a dude like that.
Of course, I don’t say that out loud because he’d probably tell someone I was being offensive and get me written up—I might be great at my job, but I have a tendency to be late; the last thing I need is him tallying a list of transgressions. Like: not opening company emails.
I hesitate, stopping in my tracks, still procrastinating. “What memo?”
Paul sighs, inconvenienced, despite the fact that he’s the one who stopped me and not the other way around. “They’re ripping the carpet out in this side of the building and replacing it.”
We literally just spoke—he couldn’t have shared this news before?
“Okay.” I’m not quite sure what he’s getting at. Little slow on the uptake since I am withering away to nothing; I haven’t even had breakfast yet. “When?”
“Tomorrow. Which means you won’t be able to use your office tomorrow through Friday.”
Tomorrow? Through Friday? That’s almost the entire work week! “Shouldn’t they have given us a heads-up about that?”
“Uh, hellooo—I just mentioned the memo?”
He doesn’t have to sound so snooty. “Yeah, but who actually reads those?”
Paul rolls his eyes, our earlier banter so easily forgotten in light of my brain fart. He sighs again, though I’m convinced he enjoys lording information over me and being in the know. So much for bonding over my dog this morning.
“Janitorial staff are moving desks around overnight and grouping people together so we won’t have to work from home.”
“What does that mean—grouping people together?” That doesn’t sound promising—or private.
“It means you’re sharing an office with someone, so play nice.”
Play nice? When am I not nice? I might not be up Paul’s ass and overly friendly, but I’m not an asshole, either. Mostly.
“Why can’t we work from home?” Humphrey would be beside himself to have me home this week. Although…to be fair, he is a ridiculously loud breather and usually doesn’t leave me alone when I’m home. He with his large body and ability to squeeze into spots he shouldn’t be—like under my feet at the table, and on my lap when I’m trying to do shit on the computer. It’s unlikely that I would accomplish anything from home; I’ve tried in the past and failed.
“The rooms on the north end are large enough to double up on desks, and the execs want everyone to continue working and not slacking off, so HR will email you today with the office you’ll be squatting in.”
Translation: they don’t trust us and are holding us hostage during the renovation.
Great.
Juuust great.
I get to share someone’s office space.
Suddenly, my asthmatic, allergy-ridden mutt isn’t looking so bad after all. Suddenly, a few days at home with Humphrey don’t sound so miserable.