Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
I place three plastic cups in a straight row, snickering as I do.
The idea came to me in the wee hours of the morning. When I rolled out of bed, I knew exactly how I would get my revenge.
And it’s sitting pretty on the Havens’ countertop.
Taylor’s matcha is poised beside the Havens’ usual drinks. I requested it exactly how he likes: ceremonial, oat milk, easy on the ice.
It’s a kindness wrapped in a thorny package.
Because when Taylor rolls into the office, he’ll have to acknowledge me. No, he’ll have to thank me—utter the two words he’s managed to avoid until now.
And I cannot fucking wait to hear the phrase leave his unwilling lips. Especially since I have managed to time it perfectly. The Havens will drift into their kitchen any minute now…there’s no avoiding it—Taylor will have to feign his gratitude. In front of everyone.
I let out a little giggle when I hear the creak of the front door. Taylor’s heavy gait pauses in our office before he makes his way down the long hallway…where I lie in wait.
His eyes glaze over my face when he makes it into the kitchen. He doesn’t bother acknowledging my presence as he stows his lunch in the fridge. It isn’t until I clear my throat that he deigns to turn my way.
“Good morning!” I chirp.
It must be the sheer joy in my voice that causes him to flinch. “Morning,” Taylor grumbles, finally looking down at the present I’ve laid out for him.
I watch his eyes widen in surprise before a new sound turns both of our heads.
“Is that a full house I hear?” Adoria calls. “And do I smell a fresh brew?”
I hold out her coffee cup, beaming when she takes it with a reverent sigh.
“You’re an angel.” She turns to Taylor. “Isn’t she an angel?”
His lips do something strange, but I interrupt before he gets the chance to lie. “And a matcha for you! I went to that place you like.”
He knows the one. The Havens took us there once, treated us to lattes that were so expensive I actually choked. Taylor didn’t say it out loud, but I caught his reverent sigh after he took his first sip.
Taylor reaches for his drink, gazing at me like he’s never seen me before. “This is for me?” he asks in a strange voice.
“Mmhm.” I gesture at my matcha. “Already got my own.”
I watch Taylor’s throat bob as he takes the drink in two hands. I wait for his eyes to meet mine… And then my mouth goes dry. Because he’s smiling. Really smiling. The one where his dimple is in full view. And it’s directed at me.
“That was really thoughtful of you, Ayla. Next one’s on me.”
I lick my lips, urging them to move. But the best I can do is make a strangled sound as Taylor flashes me another grin.
“Victor, dearest, come down! Ayla’s brought us coffee!”
Not even the sound of my boss’s voice can tear my eyes away from Taylor. And I’m allowed to look. Because for the first time ever, he isn’t glaring back at me. His attention is on the drink in his hands, which he’s still studying with visible surprise.
Something flip-flops in my stomach. Hope I thought I had smothered long ago stutters my pulse. Could my stupid prank actually turn into an olive branch? I imagine Taylor looking up, telling me he’s misjudged me. And it’s silly—a fantasy, really—but I wonder if we could start over.
Taylor waves as Victor comes shuffling into the room, and I whip back around. I’m getting ahead of myself. Drafting a story in my head as I so often do. Sometimes I worry I live in fantasy more than I do the real world. And yet…Taylor isn’t sending me a covert glare. He looks happy, relaxed. It stokes the hope in my chest, sparking it back to life.
“Shall we move this party into the living room?” Adoria asks. “I have a couple of things I would like you both to prioritize this week.”
“Of course.” I push off the counter. I’m acutely aware of Taylor’s presence as he falls into step beside me. I glance up at him, half-expecting his kindness to disappear now that we don’t have an audience.
But his smile doesn’t waver. “I’ll meet you in there,” he says in a soft voice. “I forgot something in the kitchen.”
I blink, words failing me as he backtracks down the hallway. Taylor has never used that tone with me. I get low growls and gritted rebuffs. And there it is again—that annoying spark of hope. I pat my chest, trying to ignore the pitter-patter of my heartbeat. Should I say something? Tell Taylor that I want us to be friends? Or, at least, less-hostile colleagues?
I mull it over, trying to locate the right words as I follow him into the kitchen. Taylor’s name is on the tip of my tongue when I spot him by the sink.
And then watch him dump my entire drink down the drain.
I stand frozen as Taylor reaches for the faucet, washing away the green evidence before tossing the plastic cup in the recycling bin.
I step out of sight, the butterflies in my chest plummeting to my gut. I hurry back to the living room, some unknown feeling constricting my throat.
It’s not surprise. This is the reaction I expected from Taylor. The casual cruelty I know so well. But something about the surreptitious way he disposed of my gift stings worse than any outright hostility. Because it wasn’t performative. He didn’t do it in front of my face to spite me. He took extra care so I wouldn’t even know.
I watch him through lowered lashes as he makes his way into the room, choosing a seat on the Havens’ long couch. It doesn’t escape my notice that it’s the spot furthest away from me.
He doesn’t look up. Nothing on his face suggests he knows I saw what he did. Nothing on his face suggests he cares.
He didn’t throw the drink away to hurt me. No, the thought of accepting something from me was simply so abhorrent he’d rather throw it away.
For some reason, I feel like I’m the one he tossed in the trash.
The Havens are saying something. I see them form the words, but I don’t hear a single sound. It doesn’t hit me that they’ve left the room until Taylor’s voice penetrates my haze.
“I’ll book the venue if you can get catering.”
My head jerks up. Taylor doesn’t wait for my assent. I watch him walk away, anxiety joining the dread curdling in my gut. I have no idea what I’m supposed to book, or why. But there’s no chance in hell I’m asking Taylor for answers. I’ll figure it out for myself.
I always do.
“Ayla, did you hear me?”
I glance up from my menu, trying not to meet Adoria’s inquisitive stare with a blank one. But it’s hard. I haven’t been able to focus all day. Even when the Havens asked us to join them for a lunch meeting, I almost forgot to bring my notebook. Now, apparently, I didn’t hear the very question I’m supposed to answer.
“I’m so sorry, could you repeat that?”
Adoria’s eyes narrow. “I was asking where you’re at with your itinerary. Have you chosen a hotel for our trip?”
My stomach bottoms out. Trip? It takes me far too long to recall she asked us to book accommodations for Italy. I was too preoccupied with my musings to start researching them yesterday. And today has been an utter waste. Which means I don’t have an answer. Horror floods my cheeks. I have never, ever failed to answer one of Adoria’s questions.
I lick my lips, willing the right words to come. But my mind has gone blank.
“I—I…”
I don’t know what to say.
For the first time in a very long time, I don’t know how to solve a problem. And for the first time as an assistant, it’s a problem I caused.
“There are a few hotels that meet your requirements,” Taylor cuts in. “We haven’t called all the establishments yet. I’ll send you a shortlist once we’ve spoken to the hotel managers. They still need to confirm we can book the presidential suites.”
I glance at Taylor in shock. Did he just…help me?
I try to catch his eye, but he turns back to his menu, studiously avoiding my gaze. The possibility niggles at me throughout lunch, burrowing under my skin alongside my other Taylor-related doubts.
He’s thrown my entire day off-kilter. None of his actions fit inside the neat box I’ve labeled enemy inside my head. Taylor’s brand of unkindness is cool to the touch. He doesn’t crack, doesn’t yell or push and shove to get his way. He gives me the kind of icy looks that have the ability to freeze me from the outside in. Throwing a drink in the trash? Not a move out of his usual playbook. But him stepping in to help me is almost worse. It’s more shocking, more…insidious. Taylor doesn’t do a single thing without purpose. There’s a reason he chose not to let me crash and burn. And I don’t want to meet the day I find out what that reason is.
I eat without tasting a single bite until it’s time to pack up. The Havens are the first to leave our booth, Taylor following shortly behind. I watch his well-muscled back squeeze between two waiters before I reach out, grasping him by the wrist before he can follow the Havens out the exit.
He glances over his shoulder, brows furrowed in obvious agitation.
“Thank you,” I say in a rush, practically spitting the words out. “Nice save back there. I owe you one.”
I hope he’ll say “no problem” or “don’t worry about it” —you know, the normal kind of pleasantries co-workers sometimes exchange. I’d even accept an icy glare, why not. Whatever it takes to put this behind us.
But Taylor lifts his chin, making me feel about two inches tall. “Don’t thank me. Just do better.”
He attempts to turn, leave me to stew in his rebuff. But my fingers still circle his wrist. He makes it one step forward before my iron grip has him swinging back around.
“I’ve saved your ass a bunch of times, too,” I hiss. Taylor gives me a strange look and I wonder if he can see the steam I imagine is coming out of my ears.
He steps closer, flashing a smile at the table of patrons seated behind us. “Name one,” he says in a tone so low it tickles my spine.
“When I caught the duplicate entry on your expense report,” I force out through my teeth.
“We saw it at the same time.” He clucks his tongue. “That the best you got?”
“I pulled an all-nighter last month when you called in sick. I finished two separate decks Victor had assigned to you.”
This catches Taylor by surprise. I see the flicker of doubt enter his eyes before he smothers it with a frown. “If that’s true then you have my sincere gratitude.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m sure.”
I drop his wrist to fish through my purse. “I’ve got the email on my phone. You want proof, Hedlund? I’ll give you—”
This time, someone’s warm hand encloses mine. I jerk back, eyes flying up to Taylor’s. He’s moved even closer, putting us almost toe-to-toe.
“You’re turning red, Montes,” he murmurs. “It’s fine. I believe you.” Cool as a cucumber, he drops my hand.
I scramble a step back, cursing my face for betraying my nerves. This is another new side of Taylor. What happened? Did he wake up this morning and decide to purposefully fuck with my carefully crafted perception of him?
“How about this…you do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
My eyes narrow as he waits for my reply. He’s wearing that Taylor smirk again. The one that doesn’t reach anywhere close to his eyes.
“I’ll do my job,” I promise. “Who knows, I might even decide to take yours.”
With a flip of my hair, I flounce out of the restaurant. If Taylor is stewing, no hint of anger shows on his face when I glance back at him one last time.