Chapter 16 Allie
ALLIE
Space Buns is really starting to piss me off.
I swear to God if she goes into his office and makes a big show of closing the door behind her one more time, I’m going to strangle her with her Pippy fucking Longstocking braids.
She’s apparently moved on from her namesake buns.
Okay, so she may have only worn those buns once since I’ve started working here.
It doesn’t matter. Either way, she’s a dead woman walking.
She’s been going to Ashton’s office every single day this week right before five p.m. to have him “sign off” on her photos, which is Skylar’s job, by the way.
Every single time, she makes sure to giggle and look both ways before she walks in and closes the door harder than needed so everyone can see that she’s in his office.
Alone with him. With the fucking door closed.
Why do I care? Simple. Because for the first time since I met Ashton Tyler at a bar over eight months ago, he wants nothing to do with me.
He’s lusted after me, been annoyed by me, hated me, but he’s never been…
indifferent. That’s the only way to describe his attitude toward me over the last couple of weeks.
Naturally, I want what I can’t have. I don’t understand how he can be so cold when just a week ago he was so…
My heart skips a beat at the memory of Ashton taking care of me. I don’t remember much. I was pretty out of it, but I remember the soup. He made me soup.
His grandmother’s soup.
The last thing I do remember is him tucking me in and giving me medicine for my fever.
Then I woke up alone on the couch to the sound of the heat clicking on and spilling out of the vents.
I would have thought the whole thing was a fever dream, except that I called the electric company and they said that my husband had paid our overdue bill in full and had set up automatic payments for future bills.
That's when I remembered our argument and the look on his face when he realized that I hadn’t forgotten to pay my bill.
I couldn’t afford it.
It’s either I go without or my mom does, and she’s been through enough already. The choice is easy.
I took off work again the following day to recover from what ended up being the flu, according to Emory.
When I came back that Monday, I was all set to confront Ashton and demand he call the electric company back, but he was a completely different person.
He was nice, charming even, but in an unfamiliar way.
Like I was just his employee. Nothing more, nothing less.
No smug grins. No thinly veiled insults. No infuriating orders.
Glad to see you’re feeling better, Allie. It’s good to have you back.
Not Alexandra. Not Chaos. Just Allie.
That was it. Then he got straight down to business, telling me what needed to be accomplished for the week in a kind, even, professional tone that made me want to scream.
I didn’t. I just walked back to my desk, completely dumbfounded.
I didn’t even confront him about the electric bill.
This is what I wanted, after all. To have a professional relationship.
To forget everything that’s happened between us.
It’s just the ease with which he did it that eats at me.
How could he take care of me one minute—pay my bills so I have heat—and then act like I’m nothing the next?
The shrill sound of Cara’s laugh echoes throughout the now mostly empty office, jolting me from my thoughts.
“I’ll be sure to take your advice, Sir.” She rasps the last word, attempting to make it sound sexy, no doubt. My eyes roll in a complete circle. To his credit, Ashton looks entirely uninterested in her, but he still offers a half-smile as he follows her out and closes his office door.
“See you tomorrow, Cara,” he says in the same detached tone he’s been using with me.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t think he’s fucking her.
Nobody told her, though, because she giggles and blushes like he just whispered the most filthy things in her ear.
She scurries out the door, not sparing me a glance as she presses her phone to her ear.
Probably calling her friend to brag that Ashton told her he was “going to see her tomorrow.”
The door clicks closed and that’s when it dawns on me that Ashton and I are the only ones left in the office. Even Skylar is gone, and she’s usually the last person to leave.
“Will you be staying late?”
His voice is smooth, a breeze that floats through the empty room, kissing each corner of my mind. It’s so different from the way he just spoke to Cara. From the way he’s spoken to me every day for the last two weeks.
“Just finishing up,” I attempt to keep the hope out of my voice. “I need another ten minutes.”
“No worries,” he says, his neutral tone returning and hanging in the air. It’s like he forgot himself before, but then he remembered he’s supposed to be my boss and nothing else. “Would you mind locking up then?” He takes out a key ring and slips off a silver one, placing it on my desk.
“Sure,” I say, finding it nearly impossible to hide my disappointment. Why did I think he would stay here with me while I finished my work?
Stupid.
“What was that?”
Shit, I think I said that out loud.
“Nothing. I’m good. You can go. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”
His lips turn up like he’s about to say something, his eyes turning a subtle shade darker.
Come on.
Take. The. Bait.
Say it.
Ask me what I mean, so I can say, “For your date with Space Buns.”
And then ask me who the hell Space Buns is so I can tell you that’s what I call Cara.
Chuckle in that hearty way you do, like you have an inside joke with yourself.
Come closer and do that thing where you speak softly in my ear even though it’s just us here and whisper, “She’s not the one I want.”
He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he tips his head down, as if he can’t even spare any additional words for me. Before I can explain myself, he’s already walking out the door.
It takes me well over ten minutes to finish the research I’m working on because I keep staring at the article on my screen, reading the same line over and over again.
Finally, I have all the notes I need, so I power down my computer and am just about to text Emory for a much-needed ice cream and reality show night when the front door to the office creaks open.
My heart instantly kicks against my chest at the thought of Ashton coming back.
But when I look past my cubicle, I’m not met with his soft caramel hair and pale freckles.
Instead, I see gelled black curls and muscles protruding from a fitted white T-shirt.
Despite my surprise at seeing him here, I don’t miss the tightness of his lips or the determined gleam in his eyes.
I definitely don’t miss the way he turns the lock on the door until it clicks into place.
“Craig.” The nervous lilt in my voice makes me angry. I don’t get nervous. I can hold my own in any situation. Well, almost.
“Allie,” he walks toward my desk at a glacial pace, every step making me nearly jump. When he finally reaches me, my eyes dart to my purse. How am I just remembering that I have pepper spray? Now that it’s entirely too late to do anything about it.
“W—” I clear my throat. I will not stutter. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, Allie,” he says as he casually leans against the side of my desk, “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week. I want to take you out on that date we talked about.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I’ve been super busy with the paper and—”
“So how about it, then?”
“How about what?”
“The date,” he clarifies, irritation slowly building behind his eyes.
“Oh, well, I was just leaving, actually.”
His lips curl into a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting we have our date here.” He doesn’t say it in a playful way. It’s more exasperated, like I’m one of his line cooks and I just cut the carrots too small.
“Of course,” I say, trying to clamp down on the frustration seeping into my chest. “I meant I have other plans toni—”
“I have to be honest,” he interjects, cocking his head to the side. “I don’t really want to go on a date with you.”
Those last words are rasped, causing me to narrow my eyes at him.
I’m afraid he mistakes my anger for lust because he leans forward, placing his hands on my hips, and attempts to kiss me.
The move is slow, almost sluggish, so I’m able to move my head to the side in time, sliding my hands down to shove him off me.
He stumbles back, but then he’s on me again before I have the chance to reach for my purse.
“Come on, babe. I can make you feel so good,” he mutters as he attempts to kiss my neck this time.
That’s when I smell it. The alcohol on his breath.
It’s clean and clear—probably vodka or gin.
That explains why his movements are happening in slow motion and why, for the second time, I’m able to push him away.
“Stop,” I say firmly.
His eyes hood, but he retreats a step. “It’s okay, Allie. You don’t have to pretend anymore. I know you want me. Hard to get is fun for a little while, but at some point, you just have to give in, you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” I say, my voice even and devoid of emotion.
He chuckles and it’s nothing like the beautiful laugh I’ve come to crave. It’s abrasive and grating. Not like the smooth drip of honey sliding into a jar.
“You know I tried to call you,” he says, a slight edge to his tone. “Imagine my surprise when an elderly man answered the phone and said he had never heard of anyone named Allie Montgomery.”
Of course, he’s butt-hurt about that. I was trying to make Ashton jealous when Craig came to the office a few weeks ago, so when he asked me for my number, I gave him a fake one instead of turning him down outright. I thought he would take the hint and that would be that.
Apparently, not.