8. Frank
FRANK
“What the fuck was that?” I demand as soon as I sit back down.
Zeb looks toward the opposite wall, ignoring me, while Griffin acts like I’m only directing my question at Zeb, even though he knows damn well they were both out of line.
“You can’t even let the girl order a fucking drink?” I scowl at them, wondering if I should follow Ember out, or if that would only make things worse.
Everything about our new location is great. The commute is shorter; it’s quieter and easier to focus on my artwork; there are no fans coming in looking for selfies or autographs like there are at the main location; there’s just the three of us and Ember.
And therein lies the problem.
It’s become clear this past week that Griffin wants her bad, in a way that goes beyond his usual flirtations with women. Zeb likes her too, and Zeb hardly likes anyone.
And me? I’ve been doing a pretty damn good job of ignoring how I feel about Ember ever since I first met her, but working a few feet away from her, with very little distraction, is testing my limits.
And Griffin and Zeb are testing my patience.
“You made her uncomfortable,” I snarl at both of them. “Is that what you wanted?”
Frowning, Zeb finally looks at me. “By offering to buy her a drink?”
“By getting into a pissing contest with each other about it. Why don’t you just let her be?”
He props both arms on the table and leans across, getting in my face. “You want us to try to pretend she’s not a woman, like you do?”
Beneath the table, my hands ball into fists, but I remain still, since a waitress is approaching.
“Evening.” The server’s voice is soft and inviting. “What can I get you men?” Perfectly nice-looking woman, but nothing lights up inside me the way it does for Ember.
While we place our orders, I cool off, and by the time the waitress leaves, I’m ready to talk some sense into these two.
“This new job is important to Ember, and we can’t do anything to fuck it up for —”
Zeb’s retort interrupts the end of my sentence. “I know that.”
While Zeb continues to frown, I pin Griffin in my sights until he acknowledges his agreement, because I’m not sure Mr. Happy Go Lucky understands how things look from Ember’s point of view.
“You need to get your act together, so your bullshit doesn’t get in the way of her doing her job. She’s our manager now, and you need to respect that.”
Ember’s promotion made it easier for me to keep her firmly in the “off limits” zone, or at least it did until earlier this week, when my new workstation put me close enough to hear her voice all day long. Every time she laughs, I’m hit with a mix of pleasure and pain that feels like a caress followed by a punch.
But I can keep myself in check. Griffin, I’m not so sure about.