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“You look pale, ma’am.”
I wince. “Cut the ‘ma’am’ shit, would ya? You’ve been working for me for two years. You can call me Mae, you know.”
His green eyes widen. “Yes, ma’— I mean, Mae. Do you want me to get Mx. Morales?”
“No!” I spit, hating that I snapped. Taking a deep breath, I try again. “No, thank you, Elliot. I’ll be okay.”
“Let me know if you need anything else, Ms—” Elliot clears his throat. “Mae.” He gives me a small smile, and it dawns on me—it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it.
Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days. Seventeen thousand five hundred and twenty hours. And this is the first time I’ve ever seen him smile. All because I’ve only considered him as my assistant. I never looked past his role, never examined the human inside the employee. What makes him tick? Does he like his job? Does he have a happy home life? He’s been my right-hand man for two years, and I know nothing about him outside of his work performance.
What have I become?
Sharp pain stabs at my head.
Two hours later, I’m in the same position. I have no energy to get up. Just the thought exhausts me. I shouldn’t have skipped dinner and breakfast.
My cell phone starts ringing, but it’s on my desk across the room. I need to make sure it isn’t about Isabel. Even though everything inside screams for me to lie back down, I crawl over to answer it.
“Hello?” I clear my throat because it sounds like I have a frog stuck in it.
“Queeny?” Remi’s soft dulcet tone soothes the ache in my head.
My lids start falling. “Hmm?”
“You okay?”
“Peachy.”
“You sound more prickly than peachy,” he teases.
I click my tongue, but there’s no real irritation behind it. “Is there a reason you’re calling?”
“Eggs are on sale.” Is he crazy?
I pull back, giving my phone a dirty look. “You have a weird fetish for breakfast.”
“It is the most important meal of the day.”
“Smartass.” My chuckle sends a stabbing throb through my temporal lobe. Digging the heel of my palm into my temple, I swear, “Jesus Christ.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Headache. It’s fine. Elliot got me some turmeric tea.” I wave it off because it’s not a big deal.
“Sounds … yummy.” The way he says it sounds anything but. “Promise me you’ll come home if it doesn’t go away.”
God, why does he have to be so caring? It makes ignoring my attraction to him really difficult. He’s got to get over whatever it is he feels for me, and I need to reclaim my sanity. I’ve been feeling off-kilter since he started. I’m not inappropriate, or flighty or fun, or any of those other F-words. I’m a single mother and a workaholic. I get shit done, and I’m good at what I do … or at least, I used to be.
I bite my lip. This guy. “I will, Manny.”
“Thank you, Queeny.” The smile in his voice makes my lips quirk up.
The call ends, and I feel marginally better, so I muster the gumption to actually get some work done today. Climbing onto my desk chair is like scaling Everest without a rope, but I manage it.
My cell lights up again, and without looking at the bright screen, I accept the call. “Did you forget to mention any other discounted dairy items?” I quip, hoping my humor eases Remi’s concern, but all I hear is breathing.
It’s not heavy, per se, just eerily there.
