Carlson
My blunt nails dig into my palms at the sight of Hector and Suzette looking cozy and overly friendly at her desk. He’s got a lazy elbow propped at the top of the cubicle as he idling bows over, grinning from ear to ear and looking like he just won the fucking lotto. Voices hushed, they appear to be sharing cherished secrets.
My legs halt midway to shamelessly eavesdrop.
“… just a couple of hours,” Hector is saying. “If you don’t want to play, you can just kick back and cheer us on. Enjoy the park. We usually grab something to eat after.” The ass-spreader inclines even further. “It’ll be fun. Get your mind off things. Bring a guest.”
“A guest?” There’s sardonic humor in Suzette’s question that isn’t really a question.
Hector shrugs. “You know, if you want. No pressure. Or you can just show. The more, the merrier. I’m sure the guys won’t mind.”
“You mean you won’t mind.” She chuckles. “Are you planning to show off your crazy skills at the court?”
A self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know about that, but I would like a chance to… you know.”
That’s it. I’m smashing his zit face in.
A quick pause. “Okay. Maybe.”
Gurrrl.
“Yeah? Great! I’ll send you the info.” He half turns only to veer back immediately. “And lunch is on me, of course.”
Unlike fifteen minutes ago in that fucked-up elevator ride, Suzette is smiling, her features so soft and sweet something jerks in my chest. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Hector,” I snap. Two sets of startled eyes swing my way. “Mr. Hawkes is looking for you.”
Jolting to attention, Hector doesn’t question it but instantly steps back and assumes the game-face. “I’m on my way.”
Good riddance.
He hustles out of here while quickly tugging on his shirtsleeves, probably wondering why the CEO would be summoning the IT Supervisor.
Hawkes wouldn’t, but Hector doesn’t need to know that.
Suzette doesn’t watch him go but takes a seat, wriggling her mouse and begins randomly clicking, pointedly ignoring me. For a woman who just scored a date, she doesn’t look too excited.
Maybe that’s a slow day for her. Maybe she’s got men falling at her feet all the live long day. I certainly did.
Now she’s tap, tap, tapping away at the keyboard, her eyes mulishly on the monitor and nowhere near my vicinity, her mouth tilting down in a slight frown as though she just sniffed something foul.
Two can play that game.
Folding my arms on my chest, I intentionally make a show of watching her.
And watch her.
And watch her some more.
The way I figure it, she’s either forced to acknowledge me or give me the finger.
“What do you want?” she bursts out after only a minute, her gaze unmoving from the computer.
“Don’t ask unless you’re ready for the answer.”
“I’m working,” she retorts, plainly not giving a shit what I have to say. Now she’s stabbing at the keys like she’s picturing my face on the keyboard. “In case you need reminding, it’s the reason I’m here.”
What is she so annoyed about? She’s the one making plans with some geeky dipshit not twenty-four hours after being in the back seat of my car.
“It didn’t look like you were working too hard. It looked more like you were dallying with Hector. Not that it’s any of my concern.”
Why did I say that? And who the fuck uses the word dallying?
Tap, tap, tap.
“Are you my boss now?”
“I’m a lot of things. It’s best you get used to it.”
Amber eyes flash, rigid fingers freezing over the keys. “Are we back to pretending, Carlson?”
“Meaning?”
She’s on her feet the next instant. It takes talent to stare down at me when the top of her head doesn’t quite reach my shoulders.
“I don’t do fake.”
The scowl tugs at my face. “You saying I’m fake?”
She glowers right back. “That’s right, Sebastian. I know all about your fakery, so you and your fakest fakery can take a flight.”
“That’s a lot of F words for a nice girl like you.”
“I got another one.”
“Save it for your boyfriend.”
Small fists plant firmly on her hips. “Why are you even here? Mr. Hawkes is two floors up. Us down here?” A wild hand swings out to gesture at the office at large. “We’re only here to work and nothing more. Certainly nothing to do with civilized manners.”
So that’s it. That’s the reason behind the cold shoulder. I knew it came out wrong the moment the words left my mouth in the elevator, but I couldn’t take it back, not with Hawkes watching us like… well, a hawk.
And I was furious with Hawkes. Livid with the HC board. Incensed at what it might all mean. There’s no way in hell I’d take on the role of COO. No fucking way. That’s never been what I wanted. I made that excruciatingly clear to Hawkes from the beginning. He’s the head, the front man and leader of HC, Inc. I don’t do corporate, even if the corporate has my name on it.
His cold directive is still digging, unwanted, into my head.
Just think about it, Carlson. Take the holidays to really consider it. HC is your legacy, more so than mine. You have a responsibility towards it.
Fuck that.
Suzette ran into us at the wrong place and at the wrong time. The last thing I wanted was to lose my cool in front of her and give my frustrated fury free range.
I wasn’t exaggerating to Gemma when I told her it’s been a while. Getting laid has always been more a chore than a pastime. Most women just don’t interest me. They’re either too busy worrying about what they look like while they’re fucking, or they’re after something besides a good time. Either way, I don’t need that drama.
Talking to women? Flirting? Seduction? That’s a torture on a whole other level.
My chest deflates on a heavy exhale. “Look, about what I said earlier. It didn’t come out right.” No, that’s not exactly it. Shit. “I mean, in the elevator.”
“Forget it,” she says, returning to her seat as though she’s done with me. “I get it. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, Suzette.” I scrape an aggravated palm down my face. “I didn’t—”
“I have to get back to work.” She’s back to staring at her monitor. “Enjoy your holidays.”
Enjoy your holidays were more in the tone of eat-shit-and-die.
My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I’m about to open my mouth to argue. Muttering under my breath, I step away. It’s probably best to let Suzette cool off anyway. If she’s anything like Gemma, she’d likely start sharpening pencils to jab at my balls.
I glance down at the phone on my way to the kitchen. Speaking of…
“Miss Warton.”
“What are you doing?” comes the exasperated greeting. “I said extraordinary, not extra-dickory.”
“The fuck you talking about?”
“Suzy, you dope! Ignoring the girl you’re crushing on isn’t going to get her to like you more. It didn’t work in high school, and it’s definitely not cute at thirty.”
“I was not ignoring her.” Fucking Hawkes. He just can’t keep his big mouth shut. Details EVERYTHING to his girl like he’s reporting for CNN. “I was trying to separate the personal from the professional.”
Okay, that sounded lame-ass even to me.
“Professional jackass, you mean. No good, Carlson. That crap is not going to cut it.”
“What do you want me to do?” I retort. The kitchen is empty, and I snag a couple bags of trail mix from the free-for-all basket. “I tried to explain, but she didn’t want to listen.”
“Of course not. If your game sucks any more, it’d have its own gravitational pull.”
“She’s pissed at me, Gem.” God, I hope I don’t sound like some whiny ass. “She won’t talk to me.”
“Duh. Hello? You pretty much told her there’s nothing for her with you besides work. You need to stop whining and do something about it.”
“How?”
She makes a hmm noise. “Let me think about it. Don’t you worry. Mama will take care of it.”
That does not sound promising.