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Now, though, his voice and eyes have the same flatness that belongs to the boy in the photo on the desk, which I’m still awkwardly positioned behind.
If this was the first time I was meeting Declan Wright, nothing would feel amiss. But I know him better than I’d like to, and this is weird behavior.
I clear my throat and take a few steps back. “Carol asked me to deliver this to you—your eyes only,” I say, holding out the dossier. I don’t want to let go of it. Somehow, it feels like a life preserver, the only thing keeping me afloat in the churning seas of this space.
“Put it there,” Declan says.
I shiver. In spite of the heat in my face, I’m physically affected by how cold he’s being right now. I could’ve chalked it up to this being how he always is at the office. But during my interview, he wasn’t like this at all.
What in the world has changed?
“Sure thing,” I say, placing the dossier carefully on the desk, like it contains a bomb. “Is this a photo of you and your parents?”
He doesn’t answer. We’re just two people, a couple of feet apart, alone in a room, and he lets my question hang in the air between us as if I didn’t utter it. The situation is so painfully awkward that I want to unzip my skin and crawl right out of it. I’ve taken all I can.
“Look, I’m here, okay?” I say, holding my hands out, palms up. “I’m going to do a good job, but I hope you can find it in yourself to treat me like a human being.”
“Like just another employee of Dynasty,” Declan clarifies.
I nod, making the movement much more exaggerated than I usually do. “Yes. Exactly. Just another employee. Like we talked about.”
“In that case, then, I would tell ‘just another employee’ who has been lurking in my office and asking personal questions about my personal items to mind their own goddamn business.”
I’m vaguely aware that my mouth falls open at Declan’s icy tone, because I snap it quickly shut.
“Understood,” I manage to say. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Declan gives a slow blink, like he can’t even believe I’m still here. “Yes. You can get the hell out of my office and get back to work.”
“Right.” I all but scurry out, hurrying back to my desk, heaving myself into my chair and trying to bury myself in my new laptop.
My biggest concern about working with Declan used to be the rampant sexual tension that seethed between us.
Now, though, there’s nothing to worry about.
I’m not attracted to assholes. And Declan Wright is the biggest one I know.
* * *
My entire body sags the moment my apartment door is closed and locked behind me, like I’ve been bearing the weight of the world all day. I am bone tired, and even though I’m really excited about the actual work I’ll be able to do at Dynasty, I have to question myself—and my professional goals.
Am I really going to survive in that environment? Especially with Declan Wright as my boss?
I kick off my heels, unzip my skirt and let it fall to the floor, then yank on some pajama pants I’ve left on the bed from getting ready this morning. I resist the urge to flop down on my bed because I doubt I’ll get back up again until the morning if I do.
Maybe I’ll let myself lie down after dinner.
Earlier, I planned to treat myself after my first day with something of a celebration. There’s a bottle of chardonnay that wasn’t even on sale in the refrigerator, along with some salmon and asparagus.
After today’s interaction with Declan, I don’t know how much there is to celebrate, but I push through. A girl’s got to eat, after all.
By the time the salmon flakes apart with my fork and the asparagus is just tender enough, the light is beautifully golden outside. My apartment might not be much to look at from the inside, but the window access to the fire escape offers something not many people have: a little balcony, if you squint hard enough.
I throw open the window and climb outside with my plate and cup—a plastic one because I don’t have any real wine glasses yet—and settle down on the aging metal for dinner. It’s not like it has a million dollar view, but it’s mine. I absorb the sounds from the city around me and remind myself that this is what I wanted.
What I still want.
“Cheers,” I say, hoisting my cup in front of me and feeling surprisingly vulnerable.
