I always knew that the work I was doing for Corrine was valuable, even if its primary purpose was—at first—punishment. But now that she doesn’t hate me the work feels even more important. It’s easy to assume that an executive works hard but until I was her assistant, until I saw it for myself, I had no idea. If I didn’t deliver her lunch she probably wouldn’t eat all day. If I didn’t pick up her dry cleaning she wouldn’t get out of the office on time to get it herself. And if she did make time for those things she’d have to work later, longer anyway.
She’s a sharp contrast to an executive like Richard. He comes in around ten, calling his morning “creative time,” and takes long lunches only an hour later with “clients” who never seem to have any contracts with us.
Emily was right. The administrative core really is the backbone of the office.
And now she trusts me enough to do things other than menial tasks, like leading the digital strategy for the Grimes account—with her supervision, of course. It’s what I came here for.
I’m like her and every other marketing associate in this office now, walking between offices, or in this case the kitchen with my eyes glued to my phone, texting, emailing, researching, drafting, designing. The ringing phones and discussion in the Pit are white noise to my work.
Shouldering open the kitchen door, I stop in front of the fridge. I don’t notice Corrine until I’m almost on top of her.
“Whoa.” I step back. My grin feels like it’s falling over the edge of my face.
She smirks. I think we’re both feeling a little high off last night, falling asleep together and then this morning waking up the same way. “You need to put your phone down, Wesley. You’re becoming a workaholic.”
I lean against the counter beside her. “Hmmmm...” I tap the phone against my lip and raise my eyes to the ceiling. “I wonder who I learned that from?”
She pokes me in the ribs and I glance to the doorway, listening for the sounds of footsteps in the quiet hallway outside.
“Sneak attack,” I whisper, kissing her. I can still feel her hands on me and hear the warm sound of her voice, like I’m back in her cold, dark bedroom. I’m desperate to feel her, hear her again.
For a second, her body goes rigid and she pulls away. But when I whisper, “Sorry. You’re right,” against her lips, she kisses me back and I wrap my arm around her. My heart trips over again and again and I don’t know if it’s the thrill of this or the way she slips her tongue past my teeth. Her hair feels like silk as I run my fingers through it. She rests her hand gently on my hip, underneath my blazer. The easy, comfortable way she touches me sends electric shocks through my body. She makes me want to stand here and kiss her, make out like teenagers, for a good hour or three.
But I pull away. And then go back in for more. I kiss her neck, nibble and suck gently at the skin. Her breath catches where my stubble tickles her and she pushes me away. My lips and hands and feet are numb. I am absolutely wild for her.
“You’re breaking the rules,” she says in a stern voice.
“I’m sorry.” We both know I don’t mean it.
That’s how Mark and Chris find us, smiling at each other in this private way, just a little too close for business. To her credit, Corrine is seamless in her transition from secret-hookup to My Boss, while my heart pounds so hard I feel light-headed. She turns to the salad she’d been in the middle of dressing, opening a drawer a few feet on her other side so that she can naturally step away from me.
I gape at them for a moment too long and then bend over my phone like the meaning of life is on the screen. Corrine doesn’t say a word to any of us as she walks out but I watch Mark’s lascivious grin as he tracks her through the room, his eyeballs taped to her ass. That’s the thing about a guy like Mark. He’s too caught up in his own ego to see what’s right in front of him. I’ve touched the ass that you’re staring at, I want to scream at him. I’ve literally kissed it and she will never be yours the way she is mine.
Chris and Mark laugh quietly as I shoot razor blades at the side of his face with my eyes. Mark opens the refrigerator door, pushing me aside with it as he does. I am halfway to the hallway when he asks, “How’s it going with that one, Chambers?”
I stop. My spine goes rigid for a quick moment when I think he’s asking about us. Taking a deep breath before turning around, I ask, “Sorry?”
He jerks his chin toward the door. “Blunt the Cu...” He smirks, holding up his hands in mock apology. “Sorry. Forgot you don’t like that word.”
Chris’s laugh sounds like a broken chain saw.
I pin my glare on Chris. “Does he pay you?”
The guy shuts up.
“To laugh at his bad jokes. Does Mark pay you?” My heart still pounds, erratic. Partly because I’m still coming down from kissing Corrine just minutes ago and partly with rage.
“Hey, Chambers—” Mark cuts in.
“And you.” I stand up to my full height. He might have twenty pounds on me, but I know I still look intimidating when I stand a half foot over him. “Call her that one more time,” I say. “You don’t even have to say the word, just think it. I dare you.” My voice shakes with rage.
His face flushes a shade of angry red. “And what are you going to do about it if I do?”
“If you’re lucky I’ll report you to HR. If not, I will lay you the fuck out.”
He steps forward. His cologne is a noxious haze around him. “I’d fucking love to see you try.”
I’m not exactly sure what my response will be. I’ve never been in a fistfight before. And I’m positive that punching a coworker will get me fired, regardless of the fact that my father is a friend of the boss. But I never get the chance to find out because Emily sashays into the kitchen, unfettered and untouchable in a rose-colored satin pantsuit. She stops a few feet from us.
“What is going on here?” she asks sharply.
I swallow, step back. I try to plaster a smile on my face but it feels lopsided and fake. “We were just going over the Code of Conduct,” I say.
She eyes both of us suspiciously and I start to edge my way toward the door. “Do I need to speak to Richard about anything?” she asks me, specifically.
I catch Mark’s eye over her head, his mouth contorted in a childish sneer.
My smile is a little less artifice this time. “No. I think we’re all good.”
I stalk back to Corrine’s office. I’ve already got my statement to HR ready in my head. I’ve never felt surer about anything in my whole life. Mark is about to strike out for good. I rap my knuckles on the door once before letting myself in and shutting it behind me.
Corrine pushes back from her desk when she sees my face. “What happened? Did they say something? Do they suspect something?” she asks, rapid-fire. She cups her forehead in one hand. “What was I thinking? Kissing like that? In the middle of the day? In the middle of the office?”
My parents would fight when we were kids. My mother’s quiet, calm voice would slowly rise in volume and urgency. My father’s anger sounded like a caustic, bitter weapon, seeping under their bedroom doorway and down the hall to Amy’s bedroom, where we’d usually be sitting together, trying to ignore the sounds of their marriage collapsing, failing. At the time I couldn’t understand how a man could let his rage take over. How he could let the disdain and annoyance thicken each syllable to hurt the people he claimed to love. Now I understand that the anger is like a cloak, one I didn’t know I put on until it was too late and now I can’t get off. I don’t want to speak another word to Corrine before I get it off. I pace back and forth in front of her sitting area, my hands in my hair.
“Wesley,” she says, coming toward me.
I hold my hands up, palms out. “Just...give me some space.”
She looks hurt for a heartbeat, but then hides it away with a practiced, cool expression.
“What happened?” She tucks her hands underneath her elbows.
“They didn’t suspect anything. Mark is just...a fucking asshole.”
“Keep your voice down.” I didn’t even realize I was yelling.
“I want to report him to HR,” I tell her, my pulse finally slowing.
She shakes her head. “Don’t bother.”
“Why the hell not?” My voice echoes again and I take a deep breath to try to gain some calm. “You know what he says about you,” I say, quieter.
“Yes, and I know that his frat brother coined the name and that he started a rumor that we were sleeping together and I know what Ted the CFO says about my qualifications and I know that the three soccer moms in Accounting call me a bitch when they talk about me in the bathroom. If I reported every little thing someone said about me, the only thing I would accomplish would be to make myself look like a complainer. Being a team player is more important.”
“I think this is bigger than a complaint. He calls you a cunt,” I hiss and she flinches. “Do you really believe they’re team players?”
She turns to the window. After a moment, she says, “I believe that no one believes women when they talk about their experiences anyway. I believe instead in rising above the noise.” She wraps her arms around her middle. “I still don’t want you to say anything.”
I step closer to her in the hopes that will make me less likely to yell again. “Are you fucking serious right now?” I growl.
“Yes, I am fucking serious right now and I would recommend that you watch your tone, Mr. Chambers.”
“Did you honestly just pull the boss card on me?” Irritation punching at my gut.
Her mouth flattens. “Well, I am your boss.”
“You’re also my fucking girlfriend,” I hiss, spinning and kicking out at the stupid white armchair without any arms. The thing is too big to fall over but I manage to shove it a few feet.
“Go,” she says, her finger pointing to the door.
“What?”
“Go. Get out. Go home. Get a hot dog or buy a motorcycle for all I care but you will not come back here for the rest of the day. If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re running errands for me but you.” She pokes me in the chest. “Need to cool off.”
I pant, my chest pushing against her finger. Her amber eyes are stubborn and angry.
“Fine.” I shake my head. “Remind me never to come to your rescue again.” I stalk to the door.
“That’s the thing, Wesley,” she says to my back. “I never asked you to.”
The hurt contorts my face and I turn away before she can see it. Shoving a few client files into my messenger bag, I grab my coat, pulling it on as I march down the hall. I stalk into the elevator, leaning into the corner of the car as the doors start to close. A hand shoots through the slim opening and Richard steps in.
I pull my glasses down, rubbing the bridge of my nose, cleaning the lenses with the end of my tie. He is the very last person I want to see right now. My mouth feels, uncharacteristically, like it will get away from me with him in this elevator. Normally, I can’t ever figure out the right thing to say. But right now, I know exactly what I want to say to him and it will most likely lead to my termination.
“Wes.” He slaps my back. “How’s it going, son?”
My smile might crack my face in half. “Great, sir.”
He frowns. “You know me better than that, Wesley. Call me Dick.”
I suppress a shudder. “Great. Thanks.”
“Everything okay?” he asks, studying my slouched posture. “Emily said it looked like you had a run-in with my intern, Mark.”
Taking a deep breath, I stand a little taller, straightening my tie. I open my mouth to tell him exactly what Mark said, to tell him exactly what kind of man he’s chosen to mentor. But the look on Corrine’s face when I said I wanted to report Mark stops me. I hate what people say about her, but I would hate betraying her trust more. And besides, it’s her story to tell, isn’t it?
“Emily must have misinterpreted,” I tell him. “I was just hanging out with the boys.” Those words, lumping me in with guys like Mark and Chris, taste like ash in my mouth.
“Oh, good.” Richard leans back against the railing. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how happy it makes me to see you and Ms. Blunt getting along. I know that she can be a little...difficult at times.” He smiles and it’s too big for his face, exaggerated like one of those dramatic masks from an ancient Greek play.
“But you know, I’ve noticed a real difference in her these last few weeks. She seems to smile more. And she has such a beautiful smile.”
I have to turn away from him. If I can’t plug my ears against the patronizing tone in his voice, I have to at least look at anything but the superiority on his face. Of course I think Corrine has a beautiful smile but the fact that her boss is even commenting to me about it makes my skin crawl. I am supremely confident none of my coworkers or supervisors has ever commented on my smile.
“Yeah, well, she’s taught me a lot,” I say. “She is the hardest-working person I’ve ever met. She has more integrity than anyone at Hill City.”
“Good, good,” he says, as we reach the ground floor. He’s completely missed my jab.
“Wesley,” he calls as I head for the doors.
I turn around, trying my best to look the opposite of impatient.
“If you ever need any extra mentorship, though, I can help.”
It’s laughable, how standing in that same elevator at the beginning of this internship, I would have jumped at the chance to be mentored by the CEO of Hill City Marketing & PR. To learn from him, to get the chance to hear him tell more stories about my mom—and even my dad. But the veneer that used to coat Richard Skyler has tarnished. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to polish it back to that high shine.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say and watch his face fall a little bit. I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly cruel person but in this moment I don’t mind seeing his disappointment.
“I’ve got all the mentor I need.”