Chapter Eight
CHARLIE RUBBING AGAINST MY LEGS begging for attention pulled me out of my Mr. Greyson stupor. The man was infiltrating every space of my life, and his whole “this has nothing to do with you” comment kept running through my head. Of course it wasn’t about me, but still.
After putting my groceries away, I called Amanda. She was probably sick of all the calls this week, but I knew she would want to hear about this turn of events. At least I wasn’t crying this time.
“Whaaaat!” she exclaimed.
“You heard me right.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“He still has feelings for you.”
I adamantly disagreed with her for the hundredth time on the subject and told her about his “nothing to do with me” comment.
She snickered. “Yep, he’s got it bad for you.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Loud and clear, my dear sister. Hold on, I want to tell Zane.”
I could hear Zane laughing in the background as she told him. He asked if he should come over and talk to the guy.
“Tell Zane that’s not necessary.”
“Well, I think I’m going to come over. I want to see this guy for myself.”
“Amanda, you will do no such thing. Plus, you can meet him at the retirement party. And I expect you to keep your incorrect conjectures to yourself.”
“Oh honey, I’m not the wrong one here. Even Zane agrees with me.”
“Well then, that makes it all true.”
“So snarky this morning, Kelli Jelly.”
“Yeah, after the week I’ve had, snarky is the nicest of my emotions right now.”
She paused for a minute. “You know, I think this is good for you.”
“Really? Because I was thinking more along the lines of so freaking not good.”
“You needed a shakeup,” she sounded overtly motherly. “You’ve been working too hard, and when was the last time you even went on a date?”
I thought for a moment. “It’s been a while, but FYI, I’m not going to be dating my boss, who just happens to be my ex-boyfriend, who just happens not to want to date me, and oh yeah, I can’t stand him.”
“Ooh, I don’t know, I think I’m sensing some serious tension between the two of you and dating the boss could have its perks.”
“Get your head out of those romance novels you hide under your bed.”
“Come on, some stolen kisses in the copy room—it could work. And by the way, I download those books on my e-reader now.”
“Well on that note, I’m going to go take a shower.”
I stayed in the shower until the water began to run lukewarm, planning on how to avoid Mr. 211B.
Maybe it was time to go house hunting, or husband hunting.
Though there didn’t seem to be a large herd of single, available men that were good husband material.
Sure, I shot a few that were nice boyfriends, but no one who made me want to spend forever with them.
Well, there had been one. But we’re not talking about him.
Besides, Ian no longer existed; now there was only Mr. Greyson.
When I got out of the shower, I decided to write a list of qualities I wanted in a husband. Like that would help. But I’d read that until you wrote a goal down it was only a wish.
Top Ten Husband Qualities
1. Gainfully employed.
2. Good kisser.
3. Must want children.
4. A non-yes man.
5. Handsome and well groomed.
6. Must adore me.
7. Challenges me to be better.
8. Preferably never married.
9. Minimal baggage. See number 8.
10. Above all, faithful to me.
That was a good starting place, I thought. Now if I could just find a man who met all of them. I didn’t want perfection, I only wanted someone perfect for me. I took a magnet and pinned the list to the refrigerator. Maybe if I looked at it enough, he would magically appear. Uh-huh.
I spent the rest of the weekend hiding out in my apartment, except on Sunday I snuck out to go to church.
I probably looked like a fool as I tried to covertly exit and enter my apartment complex without being seen.
Not like he was looking for me, but I didn’t want to run into him.
It was bad enough I had to see him every day at work, now we were practically neighbors, too.
He lived across the courtyard in the higher priced buildings.
From the apartment number, it sounded like he had one of the two-story apartments that came with large lofts.
I don’t know why he would choose to live in an apartment when he clearly had plenty of money.
I guess I had plenty of money not to live here either, though.
I counted my lucky stars that I didn’t see him again for the rest of the weekend, but I woke up on Monday knowing that was all going to change.
At least the sun was back out and it was going to be warm.
The sound of birds chirping was like music to my ears as I got ready.
I threw on some fabulously fitting jeans, a white dress shirt, and a tan jacket.
I accessorized my ensemble with turquoise jewelry and some sexy heels.
I even curled my hair and added some volume.
I walked into the office feeling pretty good about myself.
Per usual, Delfia and Mr. Greyson were already there.
Mr. Greyson was giving directions to Ms. King on how he liked his appointments scheduled.
He was OCD about spacing. I couldn’t help but smile a little.
I had never met anyone who had given more thought to every aspect of his life than he had.
Delfia looked relieved to see me. “Good morning,” she said with a hint of exasperation.
“Good morning, Delfia . . . Mr. Greyson.”
He looked at me from top to bottom and did a double take. He didn’t return the greeting; in fact, he grimaced. “Jeans?”
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, but I could see Delfia’s eyes widen as I stalked off.
Now he was the fashion police? I bet he was going to send out a memo about the dress code.
He had already sent out several dealing with tardiness, proper break room etiquette, expense accounts, etc.
I stewed about his comment while my laptop came up, drumming my fingers against my desk.
This was not the way I had wanted to start Monday morning.
I was tired of taking my licks from him.
As soon as I heard him walk back into his own office, I marched myself right over to the adjoining door and threw it open.
He jolted a bit, startled by my sweeping entrance.
I started right in. “Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing today, Mr. Greyson?”
He set down the file he had in his hand on the desk. He took a few seconds to respond, exhaling loudly as his eyes swept over me. “Ms. Bryant, as an executive in this organization you need to set the proper example.”
“We’re not in 1950s.”
“Jeans convey a lackadaisical approach to one’s job, no matter what time period,” he said without apology.
“Is that the impression I’ve given you about how I approach my job?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I would appreciate it if you would keep your opinions about how I dress to yourself. And just for the record, I never wear jeans when I meet with clients. Oh, and next time you want to let me know how displeased you are with me, don’t do it front of Delfia or anyone else for that matter. ” In a huff, I turned toward my office.
“Ms. Bryant, note the way that door swings. I expect you to use my main door, and I expect you to knock,” he called out.
I didn’t even bother looking at him. “Duly noted, sir!” I slammed the door.
Welcome to Monday morning. I threw myself in my chair, stared coldly at the adjoining door, and mocked his words in my head.
“Note the way that door swings.” Well, if he thought he could use that door to walk into my office, he had another thing coming to him.
I decided it was time to do some rearranging of the furniture in my office.
I eyed the credenza to the right of the door.
Perfect. I took off all of my awards that graced the top and emptied the contents so it would be easier to move.
I began pushing it over, but that wasn’t working so well. I way underestimated how heavy it was.
After several minutes of pushing and only moving it an inch, I peeked out my door and thankfully found Delfia by herself at her desk. I silently motioned for her to come into my office. She scrunched her brow but honored my request.
I quietly closed my door. “I need you to help me move my credenza over,” I whispered.
I’m pretty sure she thought I had lost my mind, but she agreed. It took our combined strength, but we finally did it. Now it sat centered right in front of the door.
I stepped back and admired our handiwork. “Thank you.”
She started laughing and shaking her head. “You know it’s the kids that suffer when the parents fight.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “We’re not fighting.”
“Oh, you just raise your voice now when you talk to the boss and slam doors? And you decided on a whim to move your credenza?”
“Thank you, Delfia,” I said as I showed her out my door.
“Yep, it’s going to get interesting around here.” She chuckled on her way out.
That was an understatement, I thought as I placed everything back on the credenza.
By the time I got to answering email, I was exhausted.
Stupid man. I was so tempted to pull up my résumé and begin polishing it, but I hated to see all the hard work I had put into the marketing software get turned over to him.
I had a feeling if I left, others would leave too, and I didn’t want Boss to worry about his company.
It was only 8:30, and I had a headache. I popped some Tylenol and rubbed my temples.
My sister was so wrong, this wasn’t good for me at all.