Hmm. “Where are you headed?”
He lifts his arm, pointing down the hallway, then moves past, squeezing between me and the wall because, well—I’m just standing here blocking his path. Not on purpose, I just…would rather stand here talking stupid and flirting than relegate myself to the confines of the mega-desk awaiting me.
Sigh.
I watch Phillip’s strong back, muscles straining through the knit of his sweater, dog hair clinging, yet oddly enough it’s not bothering me to see it there.
He hangs a left.
I hang a left.
Phillip halts in his tracks, turning. “Are you following me?”
Gross. “No!” Technically, I am, though not on purpose. “Where are you going?”
“Temporary housing.” He has a small piece of paper in his hand I hadn’t noticed before, most likely an office number.
Ah. Definitely from the south side of the building.
Interesting.
Phillip checks each doorplate, glancing at the numbered offices as he strolls by. Hangs another left in the labyrinthine maze that is the thirtieth story.
I’m still behind him, feeling quite like a stalker, slowly trailing along, half-eaten croissant and water bottle in hand, staring at the back of his head. Dark, short, wet hair, a bit longer on top. Expansive shoulders. Strong upper arms. Phillip is tall and rugged, unlike so many of the men in this city. Metrosexuals aren’t my type, so I’ve practically given up dating. A man who takes longer than I do to get ready on a Saturday night? Intolerable.
Phillip slows, nodding politely at Monica in graphic design as she impolitely gawks through the glass windows of her design space, a spare desk crammed against hers.
Someone must have started a group chat, because several younger women rise from their cubicles like prairie dogs and peep their heads over the short walls to watch Phillip amble by. I hear their subtle murmuring, the low-key whispers. Who is that? Oh my God, he is so cute. Please let him come to my office, please let him come to my office…
Ladies, get it together, says the look I shoot them from behind my wall of glass. They’re embarrassing the creative department!
Phillip stops, framed in the doorway to my office. Checks the sheet of paper against the number posted next to my door. Takes one step toward the mega-desk, then another, then—
No.
No, no, no.
He cannot be my officemate for the rest of the week. Cannot. I won’t stand for it! How am I supposed to live like this, holed up with this cutie of a guy who smells like mountains, and who I wouldn’t mind giving up my single-lady status for?
I groan when he walks all the way inside, shrugging the laptop bag off his shoulder, dumping it onto his desk chair—as if he’s done it a million times before.
I stand in the threshold, clutching the croissant to my chest. Stare, slack-jawed.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
He glances over at me as if he’d forgotten I was behind him, already unzipping his bag. “Please don’t say this is your office.”
Chin up, Spencer. Chin. Up.
I tilt it jauntily, summoning some false bravado, and waltz past him to plop down in my chair. Heft my legs and prop them up, entwining my fingers behind my head as if I own the place. “Okay, I won’t say it.”
My officemate is the puker.
The puker is my officemate.
Phillip stands frozen at his desk but makes no move to sit his butt down; he’s stiff and rigid and miserable.
I gesture toward his chair like we’re starting a meeting. “Please, do have a seat.”
I swear, he narrows his eyes at me, an insult no doubt on the tip of his tongue. He bites it. “I will, but not because you told me to.”
“Please.” I make a show of fanning my arms out theatrically. “Be my guest.”
Phillip’s nostrils flare, but he does not sit. “Got it. Thanks.”
“Like—any day now.”
Now there is no mistaking the blue eyes sliding into slits in my direction. “Let’s get a few things straight.”
“A few things straight?” I lift my eyebrows. Purse my lips. Make a show of shuffling some printer paper; it’s blank, primarily used for doodling, sometimes for printing—neither are things I plan on doing right now. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“We just have to make it through the next four days. Can you not…” His voice trails off as he chooses his words, hand moving airily about. “The farce isn’t necessary.”
“What farce?”
“You don’t have to pretend to be nice. I know you’re not.”
“I am nice!” I gasp, insulted. “Why would you say that?”
He ignores me. “Furthermore, we should lay down a few ground rules before you get too comfortable.”
“I’m not the one who has to worry about getting too comfortable—you’ve already worn out your welcome, pal.” I emit an unladylike snort. “You’re the one squatting in my office, or need I keep reminding you? By all means, lay down some ground rules. Just what we need.” I urge him on with a wave of my hand. “Go. Please proceed.”
It’s obvious he’s already exasperated by this conversation based on the slouch of his shoulders. “I’d prefer to keep the door open while I’m here, if you don’t mind. I don’t want anyone thinking anything inappropriate is going on.”
Like that would happen.
I mean…it could. But it won’t.
But it could.
Ugh, why is he so attractive yet annoying?!
“You wanna keep the door open? Fine, but you’re going to regret that when Karen from sales sticks her nose in here twelve times a day.” I honestly wonder how she hasn’t been fired for rarely working, but that’s HR’s problem, not mine. Karen is a delight, and I welcome the intrusion.
“At least she won’t get the wrong idea.”
“Wrong idea about what, exactly? That we’re working at work, in an office where we work? It’s not like I invited you here.”
I swear his face gets red. “You know what I mean.”
Yes, I know what he means—but I’m supremely aggravated by the fact Phillip is so full of himself. Does he honestly think I’m not capable of keeping my hands to myself while he’s using my office? That he’s so irresistible and good-looking I’m going to hit on him all damn day?
If anything, I should be the one paranoid about him! Men can be pigs sometimes, and I do not know this guy from Adam. He’s a complete stranger. For all I know, he’s a total pervert and I’m stuck with him for almost an entire week.
It’s not like management gave us a choice; we all do what we have to do to be team players, so I’m not about to complain to my boss.
I have a large office, thus I was automatically selected to play hostess to whomever was booted from their space so their carpet could be replaced.
Okay fine—it’s not that large and impressive, especially not with these two desks rammed inside.
“We’ll keep the door open, Your Highness, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Karen likes to chatter, strolling by on a regular basis throughout the day with news or gossip or donuts. Stick a hot guy inside my space? I plan to see Karen wearing a path in the carpet from her door to mine just to flirt with Phillip.