Chapter 5 Allie
ALLIE
“Double espresso with one sugar,” Ashton calls out as soon as I enter the doorway. No good morning. No hello. He doesn’t even look up from his computer. He fucking messaged me on the paper’s shared team platform a few minutes ago. Two words.
Ashton: My office.
It took every bit of my self-control not to rip the computer out of the wall, march to his office, and hurl it at him, but I decided against it.
Jay, our IT guy, would have had to deal with the fallout of that, and he’s been surprisingly nice to me, even though I tripped over him and accidentally dumped pencils on his head yesterday.
Speaking of yesterday, Ashton didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. Not until it was nearing five o’clock, and he walked over to my desk, uttering one word: “Well?”
“I’ll do it,” was all I replied, and he turned around and left without a second thought.
He’s changed. He’s not the same annoying puppy in human form he was when we first met at that club last spring.
Emory was going through something, and we were out blowing off some steam when he came out of nowhere.
He had the audacity to tell me to leave Em alone when I was trying to haul her ass out of the club after she drank too much.
Like he knew my best friend better than I did just because he went out on a fake date with her to appease his parents.
I’d be lying if I said arguing with him that night didn’t do something to me, though.
A small smile breaks through as I think about the drunken, dopey, lopsided grin plastered on his face as he made suggestive comments to me.
Not the kind that assholes in bars usually make when they want to get in your pants.
No, it was different—sweet, almost. I shut him down like I normally do with any man who makes the first move, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to give up.
I still remember the faint smell of spearmint and whiskey on his breath when he leaned in and told me just that.
I don’t give up easily, Alexandra.
He did give up, eventually, and the man standing before me is not the same one from that club…or the times after. He still has the same upbeat energy, but his words are cold now. His jokes are cruel, meant to cut down and belittle. It may be my fault, but it doesn’t make me hate him any less.
“Did you hear me, Alexandra?” His voice breaks through my thoughts. “Or are you hungover again?”
“Excuse me?”
He puffs out a sardonic laugh. “You think I don’t know that you were hungover yesterday?
Gotta hand it to you. You covered for yourself pretty well.
Guess it comes with the territory of being a compulsive liar.
But I could smell the alcohol on you from a mile away.
” He doesn’t even wait for my retort before issuing his next order.
“Anyway, get me a list of vendors who have advertised with us in the past after you get my coffee.”
“We don’t have espresso here. Just plain drip coffee.” I adjust my glasses, which have slipped slightly down my nose.
Ashton exhales his annoyance. “I guess I am going to have to walk you through everything. Get into your car. Drive to The Roasted Bean and get me a double espresso.” No please.
No thank you. Just an order issued as if I’m a five-year-old.
He juts his chin toward a credit card sitting on the edge of his desk.
“Sure thing, boss.” I smile sweetly and widen my eyes just enough to appear devious before I snatch the card up. Am I going to poison his coffee or steal his money? Probably not, but he doesn’t know that.
After waiting in line at The Roasted Bean for almost a half hour, I walk out, juggling Ashton’s coffee as well as the iced mochas I got for myself and Skylar on Ashton’s dime.
I figured she could use a pick-me-up and who doesn’t like an iced mocha?
I’m almost to my car when I bump into a wall, nearly spilling all the drinks.
I curse myself for not getting a carrier as I somehow manage to hang on to all of them, but then I look up and…
Nope—not a wall. Craig Holder stands before me in all his tatted, muscled, chefy glory.
“Hey, Allie, right?”
“Yep. Chase?” I’m not getting caught off guard and appearing weak in front of him again.
“Craig,” he corrects me.
“Oh, sure. Good to see you, but I’ve got to go.” I glance toward the drinks that are starting to slip again.
“Can I help you to your car?” He reaches out to grab a coffee, but I back away before he can take it.
“I’m good,” I say as I start toward my car.
Thank God I got a spot right in front. I’m balancing all the drinks in one hand, attempting to open the door with the other when I feel his presence behind me. “Did you get the job?” he asks.
I finally manage to get it open, thanking all that is holy that it’s not cold enough to have gotten stuck, and put the drinks in the cup holders, except for mine, which I take a sip of before answering Craig.
“Of course,” I say confidently, raking my eyes over him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”
I get in, slam my door, and pull out, leaving Craig looking surprised and a little intrigued.
It feels good to be back to myself. Between my awkward run-in with Craig the other day when I was vulnerable from the interview and now Ashton bossing me around, I’ve been worried I might be losing my edge.
Nope.
Just as badass as usual.
With my confidence now fully restored, I march into Ashton’s office as soon as I get back and slam his coffee on the desk. Some of it shoots up from the mouth of the lid, scattering little brown droplets onto the papers sitting beside his laptop.
“Your coffee, Sir,” I mock as I turn around and start to walk out. If I’m not mistaken, I think I hear a low growl, and then…
“Don’t forget—”
“The vendors,” I finish for him. “A report will be on your desk within the next hour. Please do let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.” I leave Ashton looking shell-shocked as I close his door and walk over to my desk.
The next few hours go by in a haze as I run around doing menial tasks for Ashton, all while trying to start my article for the latest issue.
The Lantern is published every Friday, so the deadline for articles is the end of the day on Wednesdays.
That way, they can be approved by the senior editor and formatted for publication before printing Thursday evening.
For this issue, I’m co-writing an article with Kaya, the former food writer who is leaving for a job in Chicago next week.
It’s basically just her saying her goodbyes and me introducing myself.
She’s already written her half of the article and sent it to me, but I haven’t been able to write a word with Ashton messaging me every five seconds.
Part-time, my ass. Every single time I go to type, I hear that stupid chime alerting me to a new message.
Ashton: Get Luke Collins on the phone. He wants to start advertising his bike shop with us.
Ashton: I need another coffee. Preferably hot this time.
Ashton: Where are the article pitches I asked for?
Ashton: Never mind. Did you really slide them through the bottom of the door?
Ashton: My coffee isn’t going to get itself, Alexandra.
Ashton: Oh, and there’s a leak in the men’s bathroom.
That last one just came in. I stare at it like it’s going to sprout wings and fly off the screen of my computer. So far, I haven’t responded to any of his messages. I just do, or sometimes conveniently forget to do, whatever he asks. But this one warrants a direct response.
So call a damn plumber.
His next message comes through immediately.
Ashton: I would love to, but that’s not my job. I wish I had hired someone to deal with these sorts of things…
Ashton: Oh yeah, I did.
“Motherfu—” Skylar swings a chair around from a nearby desk and plops down next to me before I can get the word out.
“How is it going?” she asks delicately, as if one wrong move will set me off.
“There’s a leak in the men’s bathroom,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says.
“Ashton has had me running around the office all day,” I add. “I can’t find time to write my intro piece that’s due tomorrow, and—”
“Okay, okay. Relax.” Her tone is soothing. “I’ll call the plumber. This happens every few months. The pipes are from the seventies. I practically have him on speed dial.” She smiles, but her joke falls flat.
Then her expression turns serious. “Write your article. I’ll talk to Ash.”
Ash. My stomach plummets at her easy use of that nickname.
I’ve heard Emory say it before, but it somehow hurts coming from Skylar.
It reminds me that they’ve known each other since they were little.
They have a history, and she calls him Ash like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I glance up at Skylar. I was too shocked by everything that happened yesterday to truly appreciate it, but she’s beautiful—like stunningly beautiful.
Her long auburn hair is down today, flowing in loose waves around her shoulders.
She’s wearing light faded jeans, a white top, and a green blazer that brings out her glittering jade eyes.
There’s no way they’ve always been just friends.
Why do you care?
Great question. And now I’m talking to myself. “Thank you,” I manage before she pushes the chair in and walks away.
By the end of the day, I have most of my article written, thanks to Skylar keeping Ashton occupied, although I try not to think about how she does it.
I look at the clock. It’s a few minutes past five.
I save my work and head to the restroom before I leave.
It feels good to pee after holding it in for the last few hours.
I knew I’d be risking a UTI, but I was in the zone.
As I go to open the door to the stall, I hear voices filtering in.
“I’m just saying, I’d let that man spit in my mouth if he wanted to,” someone says. It sounds like Space Buns, a.k.a Cara.
“That sounds like an inside thought,” her friend says. I think her name is Brianna.
“Oh, come on,” she scoffs. “Tell me you wouldn’t let him bend you over his desk and—”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, ladies, but I heard he has a micropenis,” I say, flinging open the door of the stall dramatically.
Brianna snorts, but Cara shoots me a glare. “Heard or know from experience?” she asks.
“Heard from a friend. I don’t mess around with spoiled brats.”
Cara quirks an eyebrow and looks at her friend. “Right, then you won’t mind if I ask him out?”
“Be my guest,” I turn the sink on and lather my hands with soap. “If you don’t mind being disappointed.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she says as she fixes her lipstick in the mirror.
“You can’t date our boss,” Brianna chides.
“Watch me,” Cara says, giving me a poised once-over before striding out of the bathroom.
Brianna looks apologetic, but follows her friend out all the same.
She can’t mean—is she going to ask him out now?
My phone buzzes as I check my eyes in the mirror for new stress lines. I pull it out and, of course, it’s him.
Ashton: Why are you not at your desk? I’ve been messaging you for the past ten minutes.
I guess Space Buns hasn’t gotten to him yet. I hold in a scream and type out my reply.
It’s after five, so that’s none of your damn business.
Ashton: That’s cute, but as my assistant, your day ends when mine does, and I’m still working.
My day ends at five, as per my employee contract that you hold in such high regard.
Ashton: Office.
No.
Ashton: Alexandra.
Fuck off.
I’m sure I’m going to pay for that in the morning, but I don’t give a shit.
There’s nothing he can do. It’s in the contract.
My day ends at five. His one-word demands are really starting to grate on my nerves.
Like he can’t even be bothered to form a complete sentence when speaking to me.
I walk out of the restroom and down the hall feeling lighter than I have all day.
I’ve wanted to tell Ashton Tyler to fuck off since I saw his smug-ass smile in the conference room yesterday, and it feels damn good.
My good mood doesn’t last long. My stomach drops as I round the corner, and I see him leaning against the door to his office, his legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes flick to mine, and he’s not just angry—he’s downright furious.