The Relationship Clause

Chapter 10

“You meanyou can fix it? Seriously? Like, today?”

The man in front of me scratches the whiskers on his chin, looking down at the mess that is my kitchen pipes. I practically begged the guy to get here before I left for work this morning, and I’m so glad I did. This is the best news I’ve had in a while. My luck might finally be turning around.

“The damage is pretty extensive, so I’m not promising it will all get done today, but I can start.”

I fold my arms over my chest, trying to contain my excitement. “So, no more showering at the gym?”

Mario—no, seriously, that’s his name—chuckles and stands up, stretching his back. He also twirls his dark mustache—I’m not even kidding about that either. “You might have to take one or two more showers at the gym, but I don’t think it’ll take longer than that.”

Yes!!!

This time, I don’t hold back. I do a little happy jig right then and there to the amusement of Mario the Plumber.

Happiness flooding my system, I go straight to Pete’s. Because when one receives the excellent news that they’ll no longer have to keep using copious amounts of dry shampoo in between visits to a communal shower of questionable cleanliness, one celebrates with pastries.

After a quick catch up with him and Marlee—they are very invested in my work life right now—I literally run to the office. Mr. Ferguson has been extra growly and grumpy ever since that run-in with his mom, so being late is out of the question. Heck, being on time isn’t an option either. I need to be on my best behavior, which means I need to be early.

Did I think the whole bit with his mom might possibly win me some brownie points? Yes. I was amazing. The way I handled that woman is probably one of my proudest moments. Despite the absolute terror pumping through my veins, I stood my ground and pretended I was as big and bad as she was. And you know what? It worked. Ever since then, she’s called once (shortest and most curt phone call ever, BTW) to schedule a meeting with Mr. Ferguson, and I haven’t seen her since.

That means I won. That also should have meant Mr. Ferguson would be happy with me. But instead… Ugh. I don’t know. Maybe I completely misread their relationship? Maybe he secretly liked her random drop-ins? I wouldn’t have guessed that in a million years, but what other explanation can there be for the cold shoulder he’s been giving me?

No matter the reason, this means the outlook for making this position permanent might not be as favorable as I would have hoped.

And maybe that’s a good thing. Do I really want to work with Mr. Grumpus Grumpypants all day every day?

No, I definitely don’t. But my resume… I guess I could always go back to Pete’s. Though, as much as I love Pete, that thought is depressing. It’s another step backward.

One thing’s for sure, Kiera was right. Working with Owen is beginning to make him far less attractive. Not on the outside. On the outside, he could still fan my flames any day. His grumpiness is another matter altogether.

By the time I make it to my desk, I’m out of breath and finishing up my second chocolate croissant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman run in heels quite as gracefully as you do, Junie.”

I whirl around, thinking for half a second that it might be Mr. Ferguson, but it isn’t. It’s Shane. Which makes way more sense, because why would Mr. Ferguson ever flirt with me?

Although I’m pretty sure I caught him smelling my hair the other day…

Nope. I’m not dwelling on that. Mr. Ferguson isn’t interested, and that’s the way it should be. The last thing he needs is to fall for someone who’s going to run away from him eventually.

“What are you doing up here?” I ask him, bringing up Mr. Ferguson’s schedule on my phone. “Do we have a meeting today, or do you need to schedule something?”

“No.” He pushes off the wall and rests against my desk instead. I have to move Mr. Ferguson’s coffee and croissant over so he doesn’t bump into them. “I wanted to see how you were doing. It’s been all work, no play, and we haven’t had a chance to catch up.”

“Oh…” Goodness gracious, great balls of fire.

Here’s the thing about Shane. He’s a great guy. I honestly wouldn’t mind catching up if it were going to be just that. But if there’s one thing I found out during our brief time together, it’s that I can’t fix the issues this guy has going on. And that’s saying something, considering the fact that I have plenty of my own.

“Catching up would be fun, but I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”

“That’s fine. It doesn’t have to be today.”

“Okay…”

“Hey, do you remember that time when we went to that haunted house together?”

An unbidden smile comes to my face. “Yes.”

“You didn’t want to go.”

“But you got me inside anyway.”

“I was quite charming back then.”

“Yeah, what happened?”

He shakes his head and smiles, ignoring my little jab. “I thought I was going to have to carry you out of there at one point, you were so scared.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who tried to use my date as a human shield!”

He laughs and places a hand on my shoulder. “I almost forgot about that.”

“I didn’t. Chivalry died that day.”

We’re both laughing now, giggling and trying to shush each other like we’re children as we continue to reminisce.

A throat clears, and I jump and whirl around. Mr. Ferguson is glaring at us. It’s a common, and might I add, somehow still hot, look on him, and it is exactly the opposite of what I should be focusing on.

I’ll never be hired permanently at this rate…

“It is 8:03.” His voice even has a dangerous sort of growl to it. “Is there a reason you two are out here flirting instead of working?”

“We’re not flirting!” I insist at the exact same time that Shane says, “Way to call a guy out.”

I shoot ice daggers with my eyes at Shane then pick up Mr. Ferguson’s coffee and croissant. “Shane was leaving. Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.” With one last dirty look at Shane, I brush past both men and sit in a chair in Mr. Ferguson’s office. Shane leaves.

Today is Tuesday, and usually on Tuesday mornings, Mr. Ferguson and I have a little briefing about what I’ve found out around the office. That’s probably why he’s so upset. I know this issue with the mole has him on edge. Before I can get too comfortable though, Mr. Ferguson says, “The window of time for our meeting has been cut. Give me your little spiel for the day and get back to your desk.”

I won’t lie. The tone of his voice and his words kind of cut me.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m a great secretary, even if he won’t admit it. Mr. Ferguson isn’t the easiest guy to work with, but I think I’ve done a good job over the last couple of weeks. I’m never late (anymore), I always go the extra mile, I’m helpful and kind and a freaking secretary goddess! And now he’s upset because Shane was talking to me three minutes past eight?

No. The way he’s treating me isn’t right.

I stand and give him my iciest glare. Two can play at this game.

I slide the coffee and the croissant perfectly to the center of his desk.

“Since you’re so anxious to get to your work,” I say, keeping my voice smooth and even, “I’ll spare you my ‘little spiel.’ You obviously have important business to attend to.”

I walk closer to him. He’s standing sideways in the doorway and doesn’t move when I approach, forcing me to have to stand sideways as well to get past him. The result has us toe to toe. He’s taller than me by a few inches, but I draw myself up to my highest height, thankful I wore heels today.

I pause here, taking a good long look at him. Shoulders tight, jaw set, lips in a thin line, and then finally up to his brown eyes that are currently less bedroomy. I don’t know why, but I stare at him like that for a good long moment.

You know that whole saying about eyes being a window into the soul? Normally, I would agree, except Mr. Ferguson has the shutters closed tight. I can see nothing in his eyes except the hard anger he is obviously trying to convey.

And suddenly, I feel sad for him. Sad and sorry. I lower my voice to make sure no one else in the office will hear me.

“I didn’t think you were the type of person to prioritize business over the way you treat other human beings, but knowing who your mother is, I guess I should have expected that. You know, apple, tree. I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

I brush past him, not caring that my shoulder accidentally grazes his chest, and get to work.

I’m icy with Mr. Ferguson the rest of the day. Like, I should be creating ice castles in a frozen wasteland and singing at the top of my lungs, icy.

I don’t think I even look at him for longer than three consecutive seconds unless it’s absolutely necessary. When he talks to me, my replies are curt, and I keep my smiles tucked away for anyone else but him. There are a couple of times when I think he’s going to try to talk to me, like talk talk, but I find ways to be suddenly busy and blow him off.

Toward the end of the day, I get a text from Kiera.

Kiera:Geez, what did you do to my brother?

Junie:I don’t know what you mean.

Kiera:Sure you don’t. Just like I have NO idea how much I disappoint my parents.

Kiera:GIF of Justin Timberlake staring judgingly.

Junie:It’s not what I did to him, it’s what he did to me. He was rude, so I gave him a taste of his own medicine.

Kiera: Dang girl. Could have fooled me. The way he’s been moping around the office all day, I would have thought his cat died.

Junie:I hardly think he’s been moping.

Junie:Wait, does he really have a cat?

Kiera:Yes, he’s been hard-core moping, and yes, he really has a cat.

I look up from where I’ve been sneakily typing away on my phone behind my desk and take a peek into Mr. Ferguson’s office. He’s currently staring at his computer, but his chin is resting in his hand, and now that I’m looking at him, I think his eyes are kind of glazed over, not staring at his screen. The crease between his eyes is extra deep, and he’s jiggling his leg beneath his desk like he’s trying to set off a 7.1 magnitude earthquake.

Hmm.

This is Mr. Ferguson moping? I guess Kiera would know since she’s his sister. If she hadn’t said anything, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Although, I have been making it a point to do the exact opposite of noticing him…

Well, good. He should be moping. He deserves to mope after how he’s been treating me.

Also, why does knowing he owns a cat suddenly make him more attractive to me?

Kiera:So what did you say to him?

Junie:Nothing that didn’t need to be said. I insinuated he was acting like your mom, which he was.

It takes a while for Kiera to answer. The three little dots appear then disappear, appear then disappear.

Kiera: Oh, Junie…

Junie:What?

I wait for Kiera to answer, but it’s taking forever. Maybe she got busy with work and had to put her phone away? But then I feel a tug on the leg of my pants. I look down and nearly jump out of my skin.

“Oh my gosh, Kiera! You scared me!” I hiss down at her. She’s crouching by my legs like she army crawled over here from her desk. “What are you doing?”

“I had to talk to you. It was too much to text.” Her eyes are big and she looks so comical down there, I might laugh, except she looks really serious. “Junie, I understand you were upset, and you probably had every right to be—believe me, I know how infuriating my brother can be—but what you said was…”

I wait, but she never finishes the sentence. Great, now I’m starting to feel uneasy. “What?” I prod.

She sighs. “Owen is, um, sensitive about how he’s perceived, and he’s extra super sensitive about being compared to our parents, for reasons I don’t think I need to point out. If there’s anyone he doesn’t want to grow up to be like, it’s our mom and dad. So telling him he was acting like her, well…”

She trails off, and I glance at Mr. Ferguson again. There’s no doubt about it, he’s definitely staring off into space. His arms are folded, and he’s turned in his chair, staring out his window that faces the city. The corners of his lips are pulled down, and I’m not gonna lie, it’s kind of tugging at my heartstrings.

“I’m not saying you need to apologize,” Kiera says quickly. “Owen needs a good, swift kick in the pants every once in a while. But maybe avoid comparing him to Mom in the future. Okay?”

And right then and there, I know how badly I screwed up.

That’s the thing about Kiera. She’s like Joan of Arc: a fearless warrior who would go into battle defending what she believes to be right and good, or die trying.

This is Kiera going to battle against her best friend on behalf of her brother in the most gentle way possible. She’s defending him. Protecting him. Caring for him the best way she knows how, even though the two of them aren’t always on good terms. This is important to her.

Another thought strikes me.

Would Cynthia Burton ever go to battle for her son like this? Or her daughter? What kind of mother was she that even the mere mention of the similarities between her and her son would make him have an existential crisis? Mr. Ferguson may have needed to hear what I said to him, but he doesn’t deserve to feel this way. And who am I to point fingers? My own parents didn’t turn out to be exactly role-model material. And I may or may not have picked up a bad habit or two from their examples…

I attempt a smile and smooth Kiera’s hair back, because it’s the only part of her I can reach sitting up here on my tall secretary chair. “Okay, Kiera. I didn’t understand before, but I think I do now. Thank you for talking to me about this.”

Kiera, looking relieved, squeezes my calf with both hands. “You’re the best.” She moves to crawl back to her desk, but pauses. “Oh, by the way, Summer and I are going out to dinner this weekend. Do you want to come with us?”

“Of course I do.”

“Great. I’ll text you. Bye!”

Kiera makes it back to her desk when I notice a new email sitting in my inbox.

Miss Cousins,

Since we weren’t able to have our meeting this morning, I’d like to ask if you could stay for fifteen minutes after work today to meet with me.

I promise to be on my best behavior.

Mr. Ferguson

I stare at the words on the screen. They are…surprising. Cautious, polite, dare I say almost, apologetic? No. I’m reading too much into this. He probably wants to meet so he can lecture me on proper work behavior.

But…that doesn’t feel quite right either.

I’m thinking too much about this. The reality is, it’s going to be neither of those things. He wants to do our weekly briefing. It will be a meeting like every other meeting.

End of story.