Page 21 of Apparently, I’m Torture

I looked around the center, taking in the varied display of jeans, tank tops, sneakers and summer dresses.

A wave of heat rushed through me. “That asshole. He told me to dress like this, but he didn’t tell anyone else?”

Mia pursed her lips as I spotted Shawn–sorry, Mister Jackson–speaking with a casually-dressed Stacey. The asshole was actually smiling at her. Smiling. At. Her.

I made it to his elbow and cleared my throat. “Mister Jackson, could I have a word with you please?”

He and Stacey shared a glance before she scampered off to a group of gathering teachers.

He put his hands in his pockets and said, “Yes, Miss Fares?”

“Why am I the only one dressed like this?”

He frowned. “You’re not the only one.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay fine. Why are you and I the only ones dressed like we work at a funeral home?”

His lips parted and a small, breathless laugh escaped. I straightened and crossed my arms, hating the way his laugh slid through me like maple syrup. “A funeral home?”

Without waiting for an answer, he cleared his throat and shifted his shoulder until I was out of view. It made me want to cry out and stomp my foot. What made him think it was okay to treat me like this?

“Everyone, if I could have your attention, please. This is a place of work, and while I hope we can all enjoy ourselves; I do ask that you dress professionally from tomorrow onward.”

He turned to me and raised a brow. “Happy, Miss Fares?”

My shoulders slumped. “No, I’m not. Can we just talk?”

Stacey sidled next to him and snagged his attention. “Shawn, the clean-up crew is here.”

Pouring into the doors were men of varied sizes in overalls, and Shawn gave me a brief look before he walked away. I folded my arms and glared after him. Why did Stacey get to call him by his first name?

Gah, between these stomach flutters and his outright avoidance, he was driving me crazy. I hated not knowing how to feel about this.

I wound up spending the rest of the afternoon tied to my desk, trying to figure out how to get my email to work on my damn computer.

My third day wasn’t much better. I couldn’t access the server, and I needed to see the project plan so I could track my tasks.

Mashing my hands against the keyboard, I stood and stomped my sore, heeled feet toward the meeting room where Shawn was holding court. He was busy giving another teacher advice on how to handle his unruly class, so I huffed in the doorway and shifted from foot to foot.

My hands found their way to the seam of my skirt and I flinched at the way the stitches stretched around my ass. Fitting in this was a feat all its own, and I’d probably have to size up soon. Especially if I kept eating the pastry-filled care packages Tristan sent my way.

And my feet were burning. They were still talking too. Couldn’t they see me standing here? Neither of the men glanced my way. At all. Well, since they weren’t looking… I toed off my shoes and let my bare feet thread through the carpet. I almost groaned, it felt so good.

As if they could smell my sweaty toes, the two men swiveled toward me, and I bit my lower lip. Now they looked at me? Shawn’s eyes walked the length of me before settling on my feet, and, of course, heat ignited under my skin.

“Could you give us a second, Jack?”

I jerked my head back on my neck as ‘Jack’ nodded and bounded by me with a smile on his face. So, it wasn’t just Stacey he was calling by name?

I narrowed my glance and seethed at him, crossing my arms over my chest.

He didn’t seem bothered by it as he thrust his hands in his pockets and leaned against the meeting room table. “Yes, Miss Fares?”

“I can’t access the server,” I snapped. “Or setup my email.”

“Okay. I’ll get someone to help you–”

“I need it sorted today.” At his slightly incredulous stare, I added, “Please.”