But, at four o’clock I see a private email from Tabitha was forwarded to the entire office.
The whole fucking office.
Even before I open it up, my gut clenches. I’ve received enough emails from my passive-aggressive ex-wife to know that she enjoys trying to make me feel like an idiot by pointing out the obvious.
And, as I read through this email, it’s no different. Tabitha reminds me that time is of the essence and to get my ass in gear. Then, she comments on my hair again. Maybe you should call my boyfriend’s stylist, she suggests. Unless, of course, you’re going for a Haight-Ashbury look.
I drop my face in my hands and want to kill Ashley.
Putting my personal business out there for everyone is just about the worst thing you can do to me. I not only value competence, but also my privacy.
My blood boils as I call Ashley’s extension. “Get in here,” I order and slam the phone down.
She slips into my office a moment later looking terrified and I struggle to control my temper. “Close the door,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
She turns and does as I say, and not even the sight of her perfect ass can calm me down. In fact, it riles me up even more and, before I know it, I stand up and in three long strides, I’m towering over her, my eyes flashing.
“Do you have any idea what you did?” I hiss. My chest rises and falls and I look down into her clueless, blue-green eyes.
And, right now, they’re not only unsure, but also full of fear. She pulls back and shakes her head.
“Well, then let me show you.” I grab her wrist and drag her over to my desk, heels clicking. I spin her around to face my laptop and jab a finger at the screen. “What in the fuck made you send that email to the entire office?”
Eyes wide, Ashley bends over and leans in to get a better look. I move closer, practically hovering over her, and cross my arms. “I-I thought it was TBanks I forwarded. Not TBBanks. I’m so sorry.” When she stands back up, she doesn’t see I moved forward, and her delectable little rear brushes against the front of my zipper. I suck in a breath.
“Get out,” I grind out. My nostrils flare in anger and I get a whiff of her perfume. I don’t want to look at her anymore today. And, I definitely don’t want her anywhere near my zipper. “Go home.”
Those wide sea-blue eyes turn up and look at me. “Am I fired?” she asks.
Here’s my opportunity, I think. Just let her go and wash my hands of Ashley Monroe.
But, no. Even I’m not that big an asshole.
It was an honest mistake and she apologized. And, I respect that. If she had lied or made up excuses, then I would be done.
My gaze pierces hers and when I realize how close we stand, I feel my pulse throb. I manage to shake my head and force out a husky, “No.”
She moves away, bumps into the desk and trips over her ankles trying to avoid me. Once she reaches the safety of the door, she turns back around. “I’m really sorry,” she says again. Then, she slips out, closing the door behind her.
My jaw hardens and I want to punch my fist into the wall.
Instead, I grab my phone and hurl it across the office. It smashes against the wall with a crash.
I sit down in my chair and glare at the spot where my phone sat a minute ago. You’re an idiot, Drew.
Then, my hand drops down under my desk, into my lap, and it lightly touches my zipper. I can’t pretend I didn't like when she backed up into me. I wanted to slip my arms around her waist, pull her flush against me. Then, hike up that skirt and bend her over my desk.
I run a frustrated hand through my apparently shaggy hair and then reach for a pen.
On a post-it, I write, “Order new phone. Make hair appointment.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ashley
I can not believe he threw his phone across the office like a little baby!
I roll my eyes and walk away from the bus stop, heading down the sidewalk in the Inner Richmond, the safe, little neighborhood where I live. Who does that? A spoiled-rotten billionaire, that’s who.
What a day, I think, as I pass by endless restaurants. The Inner Richmond, also known as San Francisco's “Second Chinatown,” possesses a casual, yet urban vibe and I can walk everywhere. The residents are predominantly Chinese, Irish and Russian so the food here is varied and delicious. A lot of young professionals and families live here, too.
The Presidio lies to the North and Golden Gate Park to the South. I love that my neighborhood borders the half of the park with the Conservatory of Flowers, de Young Museum, the Japanese Tea Garden and the Botanical Gardens. The only thing not so great, I suppose, is like any western part of the city, there’s more wind and fog.
It’s September now, though, and I love September in San Francisco. It’s 70 degrees every day, the warmest month of the year, and the perfect time to walk through the park and enjoy all it offers.
There might be a chill fog in the early morning and evening, but the relatively lower cost of living in the Inner Richmond makes up for it. If you consider paying $2800 a month in rent for an older, one-bedroom apartment a good deal. What can you do? City-living is not cheap, I think.
A part of me wishes that Drew Carson did fire me because then I wouldn’t have to go back tomorrow morning and do it all over again.
Between his moodiness and Becca’s half-ass training, I am exhausted. I walk up to my little place and let myself inside. With a sigh, I kick off my heels, drop my purse and see a bottle of champagne chilling on the kitchen counter.
I walk over, recognize my brother’s handwriting and open the card. “Congratulations on the new job, sis! Can’t wait to hear more about it.”
Ugh. Mom must have told him I got a new job. Well, James is going to get an earful at dinner Sunday night. Maybe he might have some advice for me. I’m sure he deals with assholes all the time.
The last thing I want is champagne so I stick it in the fridge, shed my work clothes and slide on a comfy t-shirt and boxer shorts. Then, I decide to message Andy. If anyone can make me feel better, it’s him.
“My first day was a total nightmare. My boss is the biggest jerk in the world. Hope your day was better.” I hit send.
Well, kind of a jerk, I decide. It was nice of him to bring me lunch. He probably just felt bad, though, because no one ever told me when I could go.
I did feel bad about forwarding that email to everyone at Carson Industries. It made him so upset. Honestly, I don’t even know what it said. I thought I had forwarded some research. I’ll have to look in the morning.
My phone dings and I see a reply from Andy. “I’m sorry to hear that. But, if it makes you feel any better, my day was terrible, too. Sounds like we need to vent. Or, have a couple espresso martinis.”
God, I like this guy. How is it even possible to feel something for someone I’ve never met? He’s funny, interesting and gorgeous.
I’m starting to think I want to meet him.
But, that might be a huge mistake.
Things feel safe right now. And, fun and flirty. In all of our messaging, he has been nothing but a total gentleman and I get the feeling that he is a little bit hesitant to meet, too.
I send him an emoji of a martini and write, “Cheers!”
He sends one right back. Then, “Seriously, though, sorry your day didn’t go well. Starting a new job isn’t easy. Maybe your boss was having a bad day, too, and things will be better tomorrow.”