Page 14 of Fangs with Benefits

Stupid, stupid Molly.

‘Upper management was really excited about Eli, you know? I think that you training him will reflect positively on you,’ Ryan says. His computer pings again and this time he does turn to look at it. Conversation over, I guess.

‘Right,’ I mutter and stand from his chair. I don’t thank him as I leave, but I do pause when he calls my name.

‘Good talk. Keep your chin up, yeah?’ Ryan says. His attention is back on his monitor before I can try to conceal my ire-filled stare. He’s probably not even working. I think he spends more time chatting about sports than he does processing or responding to escalated requests.

I turn down the hall towards my desk only to stop short when I see the root of my problems looking stricken outside his office. I’m not sure how much of that Elijah heard, but based on the hurt crease between his brows, I would guess all of it. Narrowing my gaze on him, I step closer until I’m standing about as close as I’d be to him if I was in his office trying to explain the very concept of a ticketing system to him.

‘Eli, huh?’ I mutter. ‘You’re sure cosy with management, aren’t you?’ I don’t care if it’s rude of me to accuse him of getting this job unfairly, he most certainly did.

‘I didn’t tell him he could call me that,’ he says.

‘Whatever,’ I breathe, and carry on, my shoulder barely grazing his arm as I brush past him. When I make it to my desk, Kenneth stands to peer over his side of the cubicle at me, a single eyebrow raised.

‘Trouble in paradise?’

‘Kenneth, just…’ I close my mouth and inhale deep through my nose, stupid tears threatening behind my eyes again. Exactly what I need, another reason for my male coworkers to think I am an unapproachable, volatile woman. ‘Drop it.’

When I glance up at him, he looks concerned, but indeed drops it.

I plug my monitor in, put on my noise-cancelling headphones and ignore my buddy for the rest of the day.

Despite my attempts to leave Drummond without speaking to Elijah, I hear him call my name as I speed walk through the lobby. It only makes me walk faster, but his legs are apparently a mile long, and he eats up the distance between us before I can reach the doors.

‘Molly,’ he says again as he falls into step with me. ‘Can we talk?’

‘Nope,’ I say, voice flat. ‘I have somewhere to be.’

‘I’ll walk with you,’ he rushes to say as I push through the rotating door, separating us briefly. He hurries to catch up with me and when he speaks again, the earnestness of his voice gives me pause. ‘Please, Molly.’

I stop walking and look up at Elijah. When we’re not sitting side by side, he’s quite a few inches taller than me. It’s overcast today, but away from the overhead lights in the office, his eyes look less black than mahogany. He’s swapped the garish, wide-brimmed hat for a simple black cap from the Met, his dark hair poking out from beneath it. His skin looks so smooth, none of the pesky acne I still get on my jaw, no blackheads, not even any visible pores on his nose. I hate how pleasing and unbearably handsome he looks.

I hate him.

‘What? Afraid I’m gonna tell my boss that you don’t know what you’re doing? I already tried,’ I say.

‘I’m sorry he spoke to you that way. I didn’t know that you were–that you had also applied.’

His apology sounds genuine, and that almost stings worse. It would be better if he was an unrepentant jerk; would be easier to remind myself that he is my nemesis.

‘I obviously haven’t done this in a while. Working, I mean. In an office. I have a lot to learn,’ he says. And then, almost whispering, ‘I need this job.’

I must really be weak at heart because the honest pleading in his admission makes me feel like I do when I see a sad dog alone on the sidewalk. He’s pathetic, trying to make excuses for being underqualified for the job I could do in my sleep. I refuse to feel bad for the man who stole my promotion and practically just admitted he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

‘And I mean that I really, really need this job, Molly,’ he says. He sounds desperate. Lost puppy indeed. Gah, I hate this loser.

A group of suits from an upper floor walks past us, probably going to a department happy hour. I clear my throat and pull my shoulders back to make myself as tall as I can possibly be next to him. It does nothing.

‘So, what do you want from me? Are you asking me to help you?’ I ask.

‘Please,’ he says, as earnest as the last time. ‘I can learn. I will learn.’

I scoff, eye roll number five thousand unstoppable.

‘Goodbye, Elijah.’

‘I’ll help you get your promotion,’ he blurts, stopping me in my tracks.