2. Merrick
2
MERRICK
I stare at the door long after Wren Sterling has vacated my office, my lips still curved up in an amused smile, the memory of her storming out still fresh in my mind.
God damn, that woman.
She lit me up like a Christmas tree, berating me up one side and down the other, and regrettably, she’d been right.
Shit.
My life in New York had desensitized me to basic social interaction, and I had no doubt Wren would make good on her promise. It’s probably the only reason I hadn’t reprimanded her for speaking to me like she did.
Dragging my hands down my face, I sit back and let the last several hours sink in. I can’t remember last time I’d been so caught off guard—the feeling uncomfortable like my skin is too tight. It’s not only because I’d been dressed down by the dark-haired hellcat that had stormed in here.
And not only because my anxiety had spiked seeing the strawberries and not knowing what surfaces they touched. But because my carefully crafted persona didn’t seem to fit here. In New York, being an asshole was par for the course. It was expected.
Encouraged.
And while I wasn’t an outright dick, there was no mistaking my authority.
But Wintervale doesn’t play by the same rules, and now that I’ve been here a couple of weeks, I need a new plan.
To readjust.
And apparently apologize.
I don’t have time for this.
I really don’t.
Since I’d arrived, I’d been poring over the financials, unable to put my finger on a gut feeling that something was off. It’s been driving me crazy and I’ve holed myself up in my office, barely coming out and dodging my employees when I do.
The only one who couldn’t take the hint was Holly, and I only tolerated her as a courtesy to her mother as the former owner.
But that shit has to stop.
Looking at the clock, I sigh. It’s almost nine and I’ll have to be up earlier than normal to make sure I have enough time to go to the bakery and coffee shop everyone raves about.
Shutting my computer down, I stand, shuffling papers into a folder and shoving it into my bag before grabbing my coat. Turning off the light, I make my way through the building. It’s quiet, eerily so. I’m almost to the door when I catch the faint scent of lemon.
Curious, I double back toward the break room, the smell growing stronger.
A disinfectant.
A smile plays at my lips because the cleaning service isn’t due for another few hours which means a feisty brunette might have a little compassion under that fuck-off attitude she wears so well.
The one that is starting to drive me a little bit crazy.
The one I know I’ll never get enough of.
* * *
It’s early as I wait while all the employees file into the break room—pastries, bagels, and breakfast sandwiches all laid out on the table. I’d left a healthy tip at the coffee shop for the baristas who managed to make me the favorite coffee orders for everyone here.
“I feel like we’ve been here before…” Wren muses as everyone exchanges glances.
“It was brought to my attention that I was an ass yesterday, and I’d like to apologize,” I start, ignoring their wide eyes as I pull an EpiPen from my pocket and spin it between my fingers. “I have a severe allergy to strawberries, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had to share that.”
Astrid gasps and covers her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I—” she starts but I hold up my free hand.
“I should have communicated it better yesterday.”
“Or at all,” Wren murmurs, her brass balls still intact this morning.
Wetting my lips, I try to keep them from turning up into a smile. “Or at all. I don’t expect anyone to not eat them here, but I would appreciate that we keep them from community items—pastries and such.” Clearing my throat, I add, “It’s probably unlikely, but in the event that I go into anaphylactic shock, and someone wants to stab me in the leg with this,”—I hold up the EpiPen—“I keep two in the center drawer of my desk and one in my briefcase.”
“It’s that bad?” Astrid asks, making me lift a shoulder and then let it drop.
“If I touch them, the reaction is fairly mild, but ingesting fresh ones will land me in the hospital.”
The admission hangs in the air between me and these people, practically strangers, my life being literally held in their hands. I expect to see Wren’s face contorted in the type of expression that would indicate she’s planning my demise.
But it’s not.
A soft smile graces her gorgeous face, and it’s so unexpected, my heart nearly stutters in my chest at the sight.
“I don’t want to keep you. I know everyone has a full schedule today, but your coffees are all labeled with your names, and again, I apologize for yesterday. Surprisingly, I’m not really known for my bedside manner, but I’ll work on it.”
The joke, as lame as it is, gets a small chuckle from everyone gathered, and after a few more interactions, I’m finally able to slip out of the room and back to my office.
Where it’s safe.
Where I can finally breathe.