Chapter 5
Chapter Five
OLLIE
From my purse, I pull out the picture frame I bought last night and filled with a picture of Silas.
It was a random thought after he left, and I couldn’t think of anything more perfect for Candace to see while she walked by my cubicle this sunny Monday morning.
Sure, we have a few weeks left before the school year starts, and I won’t be in the office that much longer, but it felt .
. . apropos to solidify this boyfriend thing with a picture. Really shove it in her face.
And I must admit, I picked an amazing picture.
Shirt pulled up halfway, showing off the deep V in his waist and his endless stack of abs.
His wet hair hanging around his shoulders, the scruff on his face defining his sharp jawline, and those freaking eyes of his, crystal blue and sparkling, as they dangerously look at the camera. He’s fucking hot.
Yup, I said it.
So hot.
Like take me to the hardware store to purchase an A/C unit for my nether region hot.
And broad. Huge actually. I didn’t notice it until he was in my dorm yesterday, soaking up what little space I had.
Tall.
Muscular.
Just overall, a very large presence of body mass and attractiveness.
And he just so happened to leave his sweatshirt at my place yesterday, so I might have tried it on, you know, just to see how things fit.
It was the most luxurious piece of clothing I’ve ever put on my body.
Oversized, it came down to my thighs and smelled like high-end cologne that makes women weak in the knees.
Good thing I’m immune to it.
There are no weak knees where I’m concerned.
I can admit when someone is sexy, and he is. And I can admit that wearing his sweatshirt felt nice because it did. But I also know where to draw the line, and no way in hell will I be mixing any business with pleasure.
For one, the man seems complicated. Let’s face it, he’s looking for a pretend girlfriend to make an old girlfriend jealous. He probably still has feelings for said old girlfriend, and that’s a tangled web I want nothing to do with. It’s messy, and I don’t do messy.
Also, he’s on a different path than I am.
It seems that playing professional hockey sucks all the time from your life.
Even though I have school and an internship, I still very much like having fun.
I like to go out and party and have a good time.
I’m pretty sure his good time is staying at home and fiddling around with knitting needles—this has not been confirmed, just an assumption.
And finally, I’m not sure we have a lot in common besides an appreciation for gym equipment.
You can only talk about your favorite kind of racking system so many times.
Therefore, to sum the last few paragraphs up, there is no way, on my two perfect nipples, that I will ever find myself in the arms of Silas Taters—unless it’s for business.
Glad we’re on the same page.
I glance at the picture, focusing longer on his abs. His regimen must be insane to have such little body fat. It’s hard to hold back my smile because in all honesty, I feel like I’m getting the better end of the deal.
“My, oh my, what do we have here?” Ross asks, coming into my cubicle space. He picks up the picture and stares at it for a few seconds. “I don’t think this is suitable for work. At least, that’s the angle Candace will take to get you to remove this brain-melting picture.”
“Ew, do you really think she will?”
Ross raises his brow. “Please, she’s probably already figuring out a way to tell you what she saw last night was an illusion and not reality.”
“You’re probably right.” I reach into my purse and pull out a stack of photos. “Good thing I printed multiple copies yesterday.”
Ross chuckles and shakes his head at the same time. “God, I love you so much.”
I wave the pictures in front of my face. “Always come prepared. You never know what the tyrant Candace might throw at you during any given day.”
“Did I hear my name?” Candace says, appearing out of nowhere.
Good God!
Evil!
Who does that? Who can hear their name and quickly appear out of thin air?
Witches, that’s who.
Tacking on a pleasant facade, I say, “Why, yes, Candace, you did.”
“Hopefully all good things.” She offers me a smile that seems more condescending than anything.
Good things . . . I’m not sure I can utter one nice thing about the woman. Even her precious Post-it Notes are an irritating color. Seafoam green? Always go with neon. Post-it Notes are meant to be SEEN, not used as an aesthetic.
“Of course, we only ever say great things about you.” I smile back.
“Oh, is that a picture of your boyfriend?” She points at the picture of Silas.
“Yes, it is. Since we’re now out in public, I figured it would be okay to bring in a picture to remind me of what a fine piece of ass I get to grab every night.”
Ross coughs and hides his grin. Candace is not amused.
“Were you hiding your relationship before?” she asks.
I nod. “Yup. Since he plays professional hockey, we figured we’d keep it quiet until we were ready to announce.”
“I see.” She folds her arms and stares at the picture. “Seems a little crude for the workplace, don’t you think?” Ross called it. Candace, the pearl clutcher, ruining everyone’s life.
I glance at the picture and then back at her. “I don’t think so. It just reminds me how I get to lick those abs every chance I get.”
Ross chokes out a laugh while Candace’s eyes narrow. “That’s inappropriate, Ollie.”
“Oh, did I offend you?” I ask. “Is it because Yonny doesn’t have abs to lick?”
“He’s actually put on some muscle.” Oh please, the man has ramen noodle arms, and we all know it. “Now that he’s shed an old relationship, he can focus on himself and not play second fiddle to the ego he used to date.”
Oh.
My.
Fuck.
No, she did not.
Where the hell does she get the nerve?
I lean back in my chair, nostrils flared. “I know you’re talking about me, Candace.”
“Good, because I was.” She folds her arms tighter and juts out her hip. What does she plan on doing with that stance? I could take her down with one swipe to the leg. One knife-hand to the throat. One sharpened pencil straight to the tit.
My hand itches for an attack, something she’s not expecting. Teach her a freaking lesson on who to mess with.
“Ehh, you know, maybe we should all get to work,” Ross says, clearly aware of the building tension. But guess who doesn’t want any part in calming down? The Post-it Note Prostitute.
She leans forward, coffee ripe on her breath, and says, “I don’t buy it for one second that you’re dating Silas Taters. You either know him or struck up some sort of deal.”
What sort of wizardry does this woman possess? Has she bugged my dorm room? Tapped into my text messages? Become a mind reader and can hear and see my every freaking thought? In all seriousness, I fear for Yonny because this woman has the potential to take down empires.
But of course, being the prideful woman that I am, I can’t possibly show her that she’s right. I will take this secret to my grave.
To the freaking grave! *pounds finger into table* There is no way in hell Candace Roundhouse will ever know that I struck a deal with Silas Taters. She will only think that he is the love of my freaking life.
“Wow, what a fantasy you’re living in,” I say. “Does it make you feel better, trying to come up with some sort of storyline like that?”
“I’m not coming up with a storyline. You know how I know you’re lying?
” she says, taking a step closer, her burgundy wool skirt scraping across my knee.
Hideous, Candace, just hideous. “Because you were panicking the moment you saw that I assigned you hockey. If you were really dating Silas Taters, there wouldn’t have been an ounce of panic in your eyes. ”
If only she weren’t so clever—cunning—it would make fighting with her so much easier.
“There was no panic. There was shock because I assumed I would be assigned something in lifestyle, not sports. Also, the last thing I want to do is bother my boyfriend with hockey questions. He has better things to do like . . . win championships.”
“Your boyfriend is a hockey player?” a deep, recognizable voice says.
Oh no . . .
All our heads turn toward where Mr. Roberts is standing, cup of coffee in hand, a permanent crease in his brow.
Known for wearing only dark gray suits, he combs his slightly thinning salt-and-pepper hair neatly to the side while his well-trimmed mustache twitches with his question.
Some interns in the office have believed that his mustache is its own organism that just lives on Roberts’s face.
I’m not a believer . . . at least that’s what I tell myself.
“Mr. Roberts,” I say, my body wavering between sitting, standing, and possibly curtseying. We never see him down here among the company peons. He’s a high and mighty kind of dude, not one with the people. “Uh, good morning.”
He sips his coffee, scanning all of us. “Good morning.” He glances at the name tag on my cubicle and says, “Ollie, is it?”
“Yes, that would be me.”
He nods. “You wrote that piece about romance books and how they apply to everyday life, didn’t you?”
Good God, he knows of my work. The curtsey is feeling more and more necessary.
“Guilty,” I reply while raising my hand.
“My wife liked it.” Oh, the wife you cheat on with the head of the journalism department? How lovely.
“Oh . . . well . . . thank you to your wife.” I dip my head in a slight bow, hating myself.
“What’s this about a hockey player?”
Smiling a devilish gleam, Candace says, “Our very own Ollie Owens is dating Silas Taters from the Agitators.”
Roberts’s eyes widen as he takes another sip of his coffee. “Are you, now?”
I swallow hard and nod, suddenly feeling the pressure of this lie. It was all fun and games when it was just to make Candace jealous, but I don’t particularly enjoy the look on Roberts’s face. He’s . . . beaming with excitement.