5. Skye #2
That almost-smile returns. "Talk to HR."
"I'll add it to my list of things to flirt my way into."
His brows lift just a hair.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
I duck my head quickly, pretending to focus on my keyboard, cheeks warming.
"Old habit," I say, playing it off. "Flirted my way into a second monitor once. Never looked back."
“What else have you managed to procure?”
I chew my bottom lip and cock my head as I think through the list. “Let’s see…
started with getting my medium iced shaken espresso bumped up to a large by my favorite barista—without charge,” I add.
“Oh! An amazingly comfortable desk chair, you know the ergonomic ones that have that lower leg support thing. One of the maintenance guys at my old office had a thing for me so he snagged it from one of the executive conference rooms.”
He rubs his hand deliberately along the edge of his jaw as he listens. “Sounds like you’re one hell of a negotiator. I might have to keep that in mind.”
“Hey, the next time you can’t wear down some horny old guy, bring me and I’ll take it from there.” His expression doesn’t change but mine does. My eyes practically bug out of my head as I feel the fiery flames of embarrassment lick their way up my neck.
“Oh God, that sounded so bad. I just meant?—”
He lifts a hand. “I understood.”
“Unfortunately,” I continue, hoping to breeze past that insane remark, “the only thing I couldn’t manage to negotiate was keeping my amazing, overpriced boutique gym membership.
” I let out a soft, disappointed sigh. It’s silly…
ridiculous really, but it was the place I went to shut the world out and just breathe.
“Finally met a person you couldn’t charm a deal out of?”
“Yeah, my ex. It was a joint account that he had set up. So naturally, when we broke up, I lost those privileges. And with getting fired, I wasn’t exactly in the best financial position to be paying for a premium gym membership.
” I focus on the pen I don’t remember picking up, twirling it between my fingers.
“And even though with what you pay me here, I could afford it, the thought of working out at the same gym as him and risk running into him?” I huff, letting out a half snort in the process. “Uh… no, thank you.”
Reece doesn't reply right away, and when I glance up, his eyes are narrow, his jaw tight. But I see it, the flicker of something in his eyes.
“Oh my God.” I snap out of it, dropping the pen and refocusing my attention on my computer. “I’m sorry, I was just rambling.”
He doesn’t respond right away, but the silence feels… intentional. Not awkward. Not dismissive. Suddenly I remember feeling that same cold stare the few times I saw him when visiting Archer.
I keep my eyes glued to the screen, pretending to dive into the next calendar update, letting the moment drift quietly into the background where it can’t haunt me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shift. He lingers for half a second, like he might say something, but then he turns and walks back into his office without a word, the door clicking gently shut behind him.
I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and focus on the glow of my monitor, willing my pulse to even out.
By the time afternoon hits, I’m wilting. The office is gorgeous, but whoever designed the HVAC system clearly never considered that silk blouses and anxiety sweats don’t mix well. I’ve been subtly fanning myself with folders for the last hour, but it’s not helping.
Sweat beads at my hairline. My blouse is sticking to my back.
I glance toward Reece's office. His door is closed, and I can hear the low murmur of another call. I stand up, leaning past the wall of the alcove to glance down the long, expansive hallway that leads to the elevators. There’s nobody in sight.
"Screw it," I mutter and reach for the top button of my blouse.
Just one. Then two. Then a third. The relief is immediate. The cool air hits my chest, my breathing finally feeling less restricted. I grab the small desk fan someone thoughtfully left for me and angle it directly at my face, closing my eyes as the artificial breeze dries the moisture from my skin.
"Much better," I whisper to myself, leaning into the fan's path.
That's when I hear the door open.
"Skye, I need you to—" Reece's voice cuts off abruptly.
My eyes snap open. He's standing in the doorway of his office, one hand still on the handle, his gaze fixed directly on my unbuttoned blouse that leaves my breasts very clearly exposed in my sheer lace bra.
His expression is shockingly unreadable, but there's a slight tightening around his eyes. I freeze. I’ve gotten myself into a decent amount of embarrassing situations in my life—it’s par for the course when you speak before you think—but this…
this might be the most absolutely insane situation I have ever gotten myself into.
"Is your shirt undone?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral when his eyes finally manage to find mine again. Heat floods my cheeks, not from the temperature this time, but from pure mortification.
"Yes! Oh my God, yes, but I was sweating so much and the AC up there"—I gesture wildly at the vent above my head—"it's like it's broken or something, and this blouse is silk which seemed like a good idea this morning but now I'm basically wearing a portable greenhouse, and I found this fan and I just needed to cool down for a second because I was literally melting and?—"
He holds up a hand, and I immediately shut up, my fingers fumbling to rebutton my shirt.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth but he doesn’t let it take hold. Instead, he cocks his head, taking a step closer to my desk and sending my already racing heart into panic attack zone.
"This behavior wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with why you got fired from your last job, would it?"
The words hit like a slap. My face goes from pink to crimson in about two seconds flat. "Oh my God, no!" I practically shriek, my hands freezing mid-button. "I would never—that's not—I'm not some office exhibitionist!"
His expression immediately shifts from amused to panicked. "Shit, I'm sorry. That was just a joke. A terrible joke. I didn't mean— It was unprofessional, I’m sorry."
We stare at each other across the space, both of us clearly horrified by how that just went. The silence stretches, thick with embarrassment and the hum of my desk fan, which suddenly sounds obscenely loud.
I finish buttoning my shirt with shaking fingers, my face still burning. "I should… I should probably go to the restroom and—" I gesture down my body, unsure of what I’m even trying to say.
"Right," he says quickly, then clears his throat. "The building runs warm; it’s all these glass windows. I'll have facilities look at the AC."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak without saying something else mortifying.
He takes a step back toward his office, then pauses. "For what it's worth, I've seen worse first-week adjustments." And then he disappears back into his office, closing the door with a soft click.
I drop my head into my hands and groan because I very much doubt anyone else has ever flashed their new boss and ex’s dad on their first day.
Maya is going to have a field day with this.
I lock the bathroom door behind me like it's going to hold back the emotional avalanche currently brewing in my chest.
The mirrors have those soft built-in lights like I’ve seen at expensive hotels. The marble countertop is cool to the touch, the scent of expensive hand soap lingering in the air. I grip the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection.
"You're fine," I whisper to myself. "This is fine. Everything is totally, completely, not even remotely fine."
I look like I'm keeping it together. Sure, I’m flushed, maybe a little windblown from the tension, but not hysterical.
My lipstick's intact. My blouse is still tucked in.
I haven't sweat through my blazer, which frankly feels like a small miracle considering the heat radiating off Reece Blackwood's body when he’s near me feels like the sun.
My phone is already in my hand before I make the decision to call her. Maya picks up on the second ring.
"Oh no," she says by way of greeting. "What happened?"
"How do you always know?" I whisper shout, my words echoing around the empty space as I squat down to check beneath the stalls, making sure that I’m alone. My heels sound sharp against the tiled floor as I scurry back over to the sink to wash my hands.
"Because you're calling me from a bathroom and not texting. It's giving spiral."
"Accurate," I breathe, pacing a tight line between the sink and the automatic towel dispenser. "I'm spiraling. I am deep in the spiral. I've passed the panic level and reached the stage where I'm wondering if I need a therapist or a priest."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing."
Pause. "What did he wear?"
"A white shirt. Rolled-up sleeves to reveal a priceless Rolex. Veins in his forearms. Maya."
She groans. "That's emotional assault."
"He smells like sin and restraint and top-shelf bourbon. I am unwell."
"You're doing amazing."
"I almost flirted with him. I said something about flirting my way into a second monitor and he looked at me like—like?—"
"Like he wanted to pin you against his desk and make you forget your name?"
“It’s gets worse.”
“Spill,” she says without missing a beat.
“I may or may not have unbuttoned my blouse to use a fan because of my anxiety sweats and um…” My voice cracks. “He definitely walked out of his office and saw me.”
“Oh Jesus.” She sighs. “How unbuttoned?”
“Three. Sheer bra.” I make a strangled sound and slide down the wall until I'm crouched on the floor like a shell of the woman I confidently strode into this office as. "Why did I take this job?"
"Because it's temporary, you're qualified, and you've been playing it safe for so long your soul was starting to atrophy."
I groan. "Okay, wow. That was poetic and a little rude."