Samantha
SAMANTHA
F ucking asshole. The entire meeting was an absolute disaster. I’m so angry and embarrassed that I don’t even want to look at Chandler. Now we’re back in the office that we're forced to share with each other, and I have no choice but to work ten feet away from him all day.
I was tempted to stomp on his foot in the elevator when he asked if I had a tough morning. It was absolutely humiliating. I felt so out of place that I thought about faking sickness so I could go home, but that would have made me look even worse. Now he has the nerve to tell me I shouldn’t have been late after he parked his car in my spot again. Of course, he would because he’s Chandler. And Chandler is an asshole.
“You know, maybe I wouldn’t be late if someone didn’t take up my parking space," I say. His response is a smirk and a shrug. He turns his attention back to his computer, and I put a finger to my chin, pretending to think.
“You know, technically, I could have it towed.”
His eyes zero in on me, looking Incredulous. “You wouldn’t. ”
It’s a dare, and I’m all for playing that game. I feign indifference with a shrug. “Guess you’ll find out.”
I turn back to my computer and hear him get up from his seat. I look back at him and see him looking out of the window toward his car. He places a hand over his chest and lets out a relieved sigh. I hold back a laugh.
Today is busier than usual, and it still manages to drag on. I can hear Chandler muttering to himself as he clicks the mouse on his computer. The sound of him hitting several keys on his keyboard with unnecessary force is driving me insane. It takes a lot of effort not to say anything about it. That’s what he wants, and I’m not in the mood right now.
An email from Ken comes through, an announcement about the work party. Looks like Ken got the hotel booked for August. Great. I hate work events, but I have to be there. I just hope I didn’t ruin our chances of having a full bar. When I get drunk, I lose all control over what comes out of my mouth, and last time someone had to call me an Uber. Not my finest moment, but free alcohol would be the only thing to look forward to at this thing. I look for any more emails from Ken, specifically mentioning anything about the fact that he’s considering having Chandler and me travel together. When Ken mentioned it in the meeting, I was caught off guard and was hoping he would expand a bit more on that, but nope. I was completely blindsided. I’m not sure how I feel about traveling for the new prospects. Guess I’m left to wonder if I’ll be stuck on a plane with Chandler. Stuck working on another project with Chandler. Stuck in a hotel room with Chandler. The thought intrigues me, not because I like the idea of sleeping with him, most definitely not, but because I haven’t had sex in almost 7 months. I know we’d have separate hotel rooms, but the thought of making him sleep in the bathtub makes me laugh.
I flip my hair over my shoulder, stretching my arms above my head, and I can feel Chandler watching me, like a sixth sense. I don’t turn to face him. Instead, I sip my coffee, letting the sweet, earthy flavor linger on my tongue. I make sure to bring in my own coffee and syrups, and I can have all of the honey lavender-flavored caffeine my heart desires. God knows I’ll need it to get through the rest of the day with all of these reports.
Even though I technically have to report to him when it comes to triple-checking the newbie's invoices, I don’t consider Chandler my boss. He does, though. At the work party last year, Ken made him introduce me to some of the other people at the company, and he kept telling everyone I was his assistant and had me pick up lunch for him every Tuesday. I believed him until Ken told me we were partners. Chandler doesn’t manage anything except getting under my skin. I check the clock; it’s almost noon. I didn't have time to eat anything this morning; I also didn't have time to pack a lunch like I normally do. I look back at Chandler, and his eyes are glued to his computer screen as he types. He looks like something created by a mad scientist whose only purpose is to crunch numbers. And annoy me. A human calculator with a smart mouth. I look at the time on the computer screen again and bite my lip out of nervous habit. One more minute until noon. It's a race to see who gets to take their break first. Chandler usually wins. As soon as I see the number 12 on the screen, I grab my bag, but as soon as I do, Chandler clears his throat, and I already know I've lost.
“Sam, I’ll need you to send me that report on that factory for review before it’s sent over to them," he says. I'm not sure why I thought today would be different than any other day, but it seems like Chandler's habit of making me take my lunch after him is a hard one for him to break.
“I’ve already sent it to them," I say, grabbing my purse from underneath my desk. Maybe if I just move quickly, I can make a break for it.
“And," he adds. I hear squeaky wheels against the wood floor before he appears beside my desk in his chair. “You were late today.”
“Maybe if you showed up as early as I did, you could take your lunch before me.”
He knows I won’t get here before him because he comes in at 6 AM and then stays late. When I first started working here, I was convinced he had a secret apartment in the janitor's closet.
“Unlike you, I wasn’t made in a lab," I say. “Some of us have a life.”
He raises his eyebrows at me.
“Do you?” He asks, that smug look still on his face, and I let my eyes roam over his blue button-up shirt that covers his form.
I wish I could say that he’s not conventionally attractive, but he truly is. His dark blonde hair and blue eyes made my knees a little weak the first time I’d met him. He works out a lot, too, which I only know because he likes to talk about the gym. A lot. His time at the time gym obviously pays off because I can't stop myself from noticing how his muscles seem more defined underneath his work shirt when he shifts in his chair. He keeps a slight stubble on his chin as well, and I’ll admit, at first, I’d had my fair share of fantasies about how his 5 o’clock shadow would feel rubbing against my thighs. I quickly realized, however, that looks are really the only thing he has going for him. He is smart, I'll give him that, but he's a dick. I've seen him somehow manage to charm some of the women in the other departments at our work events, and If it weren’t for the office policy of no workplace relationships, I’m sure he would have fucked his way through the entirety of the female staff by now. Although, he almost always seems to have his attention solely on me.
“Last I checked," I say
“What do you even do outside of work?”
I don’t respond because the truth is I don’t do a lot. Occasionally, I’ll get drinks with my friend Penny, but lately, I spend a lot of my time drinking wine, watching TV, and reading. Last night was an anomaly.
When Penny asked me to help her with a showing for her next listing, there was no way I could say no. I had almost given up on my dream of becoming an interior designer, but when Penny asked me to help her with a showing, something in me broke free. My ambition came back full force, and I’d stayed up late working on a design for the sunroom. Penny swears it's the focal point of the home. I just wish I could do it full-time. So far, Penny has been my only prospect.
“Sam," Chandler says, interrupting my thoughts, and I take in the smug smile on his face. "We need to work together. It’s a requirement for you to send those reports to me before sending them to our clients.”
He’s not wrong, but he’s so tedious when it comes to these reports. He’ll respond to my emails, asking me to clarify the information I sent to him, and when I send him the exact same report and highlight the areas he says were incorrect, he responds with, ‘Oh, looks like I missed it!’ Every. Damn. Time. We stare at each other for a moment, and I curse myself for thinking he looks particularly handsome today. Like a male office model or something, and he knows it.
My face heats up. He seems to notice this because when he pulls back, he’s smirking at me like he’s won a game. I know it's childish, but sometimes annoying him makes my day worth it. Right now, I really wish he wasn’t aware of how good-looking he is. I clear my throat and push all thoughts of how hot he is out of my mind.
“Fine," I say. “I’ll have them sent to you by the time you get back from lunch."
“Good.” He nods and then goes back to his desk to grab his cell phone and head out for lunch.
He walks past me, and I flip him off and mutter, “Asshole.”
I don’t think he hears because he doesn’t look back. I send him the report and try to figure out what to focus on next.