7. Lina #3
“As I was saying, Dr. Lo, I’m sorry about what happened.” I followed him down the hallway.
Jonathan’s back stiffened as I pulled the heavy metal door, which he had propped open, wider. The air was heavy with tension when I stepped into the tiny, dimly lit janitor’s closet. It was frigid in there and the goosebumps on my neck raised like a warning sign.
I spoke up. “For the sake of peace, I’ll put aside my differences with you and be professional.”
My apology was only half genuine. I wasn’t apologizing because I felt sorry.
I was apologizing because I wanted to look like the adult in the room.
Jonathan was never going to apologize for his lack of professionalism.
He was a higher-up, after all. Like most people in power, he would never admit to his childish antics.
Since he wasn’t going to apologize, I would. For some peace.
“I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again—” I stated again before our only source of light, which came from the hallway, suddenly dimmed.
“Shit!” cursed Jonathan.
He quickly moved to prevent the heavy door from shutting closed. His concrete body slammed into mine in the process. He couldn’t lunge for it on time as our only exit closed with a defining boom.
My head spun a bit as he pinned me against the cold metal door. I tried not to think about the way his defined pecs and one of his biceps tensed against my face. Whether he realized we were face-to-chest or not, he made no indication of it for a long moment.
With each hard breath he let out, I could hear his heartbeat wildly against my ear.
“Fuck,” he whispered. His hot breath brushed across my face and down my neck, and I tried not to squirm under it. “We’re stuck in here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sounding meek.
As far as our whole team was aware, the doorknob inside this closet was broken. It was practically impossible to get out if you were locked in due to rust and wear and tear. It was far easier to work with the still barely functioning knob from the outside.
A muscle on Jonathan’s jaw feathered as he pulled away. I felt something shift behind my head, and I jumped.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand from the back of my head. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Did his hand cushion the back of my head so I wouldn’t get hurt? From the light shake Jonathan gave his hand, that seemed to be the case.
“Why are you even asking that? I thought you hated me.” The words slipped out before I could stop myself.
He may have pulled away, but we were still standing only a breath away. It was impossible to distance myself from him, or him from me. Or I’d pressed my back into the doorknob, and he’d be pressing himself against the small sink for the mop bucket.
I looked up at him. The dim light from the broken light bulb on the ceiling cast dark shadows across his face, caressing him like an embrace. Some tension in his shoulders released, and the hard expression on his face softened just slightly.
“I don’t hate you, Lina,” he mumbled.
Upon hearing my name, my whole facade, which was teetering on the edge of being professional and personal, dropped. I couldn’t hold my composure anymore and frowned. My brows knitted together, and I finally allowed myself to show him the writhing emotions I felt boiling underneath my cool exterior.
“You sure act like you do,” I spat sharply. “We’re supposed to be adult colleagues. Not petty teenagers.”
Jonathan huffed out a long breath, and it danced across my skin in blazing, hot strokes. “I never said I hated you. I said I never liked you, that I didn’t look forward to working with you.” He repeated his words in a low hiss, as if saying a string of curses.
I straightened my spine and looked him directly in the eyes. “I suggest you keep it professional. Our technicians have noticed the way you’ve been treating me, and they’ve been talking behind our backs. If you don’t want them to gossip, you should stop.”
His lips twitched, ready to lash out again. It was more than enough for me to show more frustration over his unreasonable behavior.
“What the fuck is your problem with me, Jonathan?”
His chest expanded with the sharp inhale of breath.
“You’re the rudest and most emotionally constipated person I have ever met in my entire life.
You might as well be a robot. I can barely remember some of the names of the people we knew from high school anymore, but you?
I remember everything about you,” he answered.
“Every time you were rude to our teachers or classmates, I remembered. Every time you looked down at other people with your head held high because you scored better than them, I remembered. That snooty little smirk you’d wear, or that pompous tone you’d use.
I remember everything when it comes to you. ”
My nostrils flared in indignation. I lowered my eyelids just slightly, as I had done earlier, to look like the ‘ice queen bitch’ my brother often called me. Anger bolted across the plane of Jonathan’s features in his silent response.
“Careful, Dr. Lo,” I cooed softly. “You sound like you have an obsession with me.”