Chapter 13 #2
The elevator ride is filled with silence once more, and I feel all their gazes on me as I’m standing in front of them.
Why did I agree to this?
We arrive downstairs, navigating through the bustling cafeteria, each veering off to select our lunch. Grey and I head to the vegetarian section, where he picks a quinoa salad brimming with roasted veggies while I opt for a spinach and goat cheese wrap, diligently checking the ingredients list.
Fool me once and all that.
Grey nudges me aside with his shoulder to peer at the list himself, making me glare at him and mutter, “You don’t have to do that. I’ve survived twenty-five years without a food checker.”
“Barely,” he grunts out, grabbing my plate from my hands and heading toward the tables. I grab two bottles of water for us and follow him, slightly annoyed.
We settle at the table we sat at yesterday. Misha comes back with a loaded tray piled high with what looks like half the meat section. Oliver joins us as well with spaghetti and tomato sauce.
“God, I’m starving,” Misha exclaims while grabbing his knife and fork.
“You’re always starving.” I can hear the eye roll in Grey’s tone.
I have to suppress a smile, and once more, a feeling of belonging fills me. Being around them is so effortless, something I never really felt with anyone but August. It’s dangerous. It’s something I could get used to.
But as we start to eat, I feel the prickling sensation of being watched on the back of my head. Not just paranoia—whispers float over, my name uttered in hushed tones.
Ugh, fantastic.
I glance behind and meet the stares of several men at a nearby table. Their expressions are mingled with curiosity and amusement. Feeling suddenly exposed, I set my wrap down, my appetite fleeing.
Grey looks up from his plate beside me when he notices. “What is it?”
No doubt, he’s ready to tackle me with the EpiPen again. I have a bruise covering over half of my thigh, thanks to him.
And I’m still breathing, thanks to him, which is a lot more important.
I guess.
Shaking my head, I reply, “Just not as hungry as I thought.”
Before Grey can respond, harsh whispers cut through the background noise of the cafeteria.
“Women… always seeking attention…”
“The damsel in distress act… works well…”
“… sleeps her way to the top…”
I shrink into myself, mortification flooding in as I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
They’re total arseholes.
I know that. Fuck, every woman in STEM knows what this is.
Their words should roll off my back, but it stings, especially with the guys right here, having probably heard all of it since they stopped eating too.
They’re gonna think I’m using them to get my career going.
As I sit frozen, the mocking words piercing the air around me, I suddenly feel a shift.
Warmth presses against my back, and when I glance up, I find Grey has moved closer, his arm draped protectively over the back of my chair, his body leaning in toward me.
His gaze is fixed firmly over his shoulder on the table behind us, where the sneers and jeers had originated from.
His scowl is deep, almost palpable in its intensity, and it cuts through the cafeteria noise like a sharp blade. It’s as if his look alone commands respect—or at least something akin to fear.
Who needs words if you have a scowl like that?
Under the force of his glare, the group’s laughter dwindles, and their smug expressions falter.
One by one, they stand, their chairs scraping back in a hasty retreat.
They mumble among themselves, their voices now a low, embarrassed murmur as they collect their trays and jackets.
Grey’s scowl escorts them silently out of our vicinity.
He doesn’t move away immediately once they’re gone. Instead, he remains beside me, his arm still casually resting behind me, eliciting a flutter in my chest.
Fuck, that was…
… so damn hot.
Seems like I’m a damsel in distress, after all.
I snicker, breaking the tension that seems to have a grip on all of us. “Never thought you’d use your superpower for good.”
Grey turns to me, his eyebrows lifting in mock surprise. “My superpower?”
“Yeah, your super scowl. You’re always so grumpy,” I tease, unable to suppress a grin.
He just proved that he likes me at least a little bit, right?
Or maybe he just doesn’t want the disrespect to rub off on him.
“I’m not always grumpy. That’s just my face.” He shifts, his hand on my back, starting to play with strands of my hair, his expression softening as he looks at me. “But I was angry now because those dickheads shouldn’t get to spew their crap unchallenged.”
His light brown eyes linger on mine, and when I take a deep breath, his scent hits me. It’s bitter and rich, like a really good cup of coffee. Something like buttered rum adds sweetness to it. Under it all is that comforting smell of old sheet music.
It’s… fuck, he smells like the perfect Saturday afternoon.
The side of his mouth twitches before he glances at Oliver. Removing his arm from the back of my chair, he straightens, the absence of his closeness leaving an unexpected chill in its wake.
Across the table, Misha lets out a hearty chuckle. “Told you you’re an intimidating fucker. People here are afraid of you. You should relax more.”
“Good. They know we can get them fired with a snap of our fingers. And I am relaxed,” Grey shoots back, his tone a blend of annoyance and a begrudging amusement that flickers briefly across his features.
“As relaxed as a system crash.” My laughter softens the edges of the recent tension, and Grey’s lips twitch upward once more, his lingering scowl dissolving into a reluctant grin for just a fleeting moment.
Oliver chimes in with playful mischief I haven’t seen before on him, “Yeah, as calm as a debug session.”
His words earn him a sharp glare from Grey, but it only fuels our laughter, lightening the atmosphere.
Regaining my composure, I pick up my wrap again, eager to steer the conversation toward safer waters. “So, about Jamie’s personality updates… what are you guys adding?”
Misha leans forward, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’re integrating more adaptive algorithms, trying to make his responses more natural, just like you suggested.” The warmth in his voice sends a surprising thrill through me.
I can’t help but sit up a bit straighter, a flush of pride swirling inside me. Having them act on my feedback is not just validating—it’s exhilarating.
Oliver adds with a gentle smile, “We made quite a few changes this morning, and there’s more planned for the afternoon. Which means you can give Jamie another test run tonight if you’re up for it.”
“Sure, I’ll have a little chat with him tonight, see if he’s improved.” My tone is light, but internally, I’m genuinely intrigued to see the changes.
It has to be impressive, judging by the pride in Oliver’s gaze.
Misha grins. “That’s the spirit!”
Trying to focus on the meal, I can’t ignore the unexpected warmth Grey’s actions stirred in me. His defense, simple as it was, seemed huge, given how rare it is for anyone to stand up for me like that.
Is it silly to feel a glimmer of hope, to wonder if there might be a real connection forming here? Not just professional or based on shared interests, but actual friendship?
Grey’s stern exterior softened for a moment to protect me, and that gesture chips away at the defenses I’ve built around myself.
Yet, I’m cautious, doubts still nagging at me.
It’s risky to read too much into simple acts of kindness. My usual solitude feels safer, less complicated.
But as I sit here, surrounded by laughter and light conversation, I can’t help but feel a tug of longing for what might be if I let these walls down just a bit more.