16. Rosy
SIXTEEN
ROSY
An alarm blares in the background, pulling me from sleep.
“Stop.”
My muffled voice command silences the noise, and I groan loudly into my pillow.
Whoever invented the working day was cruel.
Alarms should be banned and unlimited sleep encouraged.
Lazily, I slowly push myself up to sit on the side of the bed, then grab my phone.
A new message has butterflies flickering in my stomach and a smile gracing my face.
GymAlpha
Good morning.
A cautious movement catches my attention, and I turn to see Moshi sitting next to his bed, watching me warily.
“He messaged,” I whisper excitedly. “Look at you being brave this morning. Are you hungry?”
Locating some food, I empty it into a fresh bowl, then slowly slide it to him.
“I need to shower and get ready for work, then I’ll be back.” I grab my phone and head to the bathroom, my face already aching from how much I’m smiling.
Me
Good morning
Just as I’m about to start on my skincare, post-shower, I see a notification on my phone.
GymAlpha
You getting ready for work?
A snort leaves me. He’s as minimalist in messaging as he is when talking.
Me
Yup, just got out of the shower. You?
GymAlpha
So you’re still wet?
Heat roars through my body. Crapsicles. I did not see that coming. Indecision wars inside. Should I go with it or pretend otherwise? More typing bubbles appear before they stop, and the worry that he might be regretting what he said has me quickly responding.
Me
Not from the shower.
I drop the phone on the bathroom counter and back away from it, gnawing on my nail. The anticipation churns uncomfortably in my stomach.
Did I misread what he meant?
What if I crossed the line from flirting into sexting too soon?
Is sexting still even a thing?
Leaning forward, I grip either side of the sink tightly, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. A nervous laugh bubbles up, echoing around the room. This is going to be so awkward if I said the wrong thing.
My phone lights up with another message.
Gripping it in my hand, I take a moment to stare at the notification before I force myself to open it.
GymAlpha
Fuck.
GymAlpha
For me?
Me
Yes, for you.
All other words escape me. This is so far out of my comfort zone that I can’t seem to formulate a longer response.
My pulse is racing, pounding in my ears as my eyes fall closed, and I imagine him standing here, behind me, crowding me.
The heat from him searing into my skin as he trails his mouth up my neck before grunting “Fuck” into my ear, the word so low and emphasised that it has the hair on my arms standing up.
GymAlpha
On my way to a job. All I can think about is you.
GymAlpha
Get to work and message me later, little tease.
Disappointment filters through that we can’t continue the conversation, but he’s right. We both need to work, even if I really don’t want to right now.
Finishing up my routine, I head into my room and quickly get dressed, then have a short play with Moshi before restocking his provisions.
Saying my goodbyes to him, I stop in the kitchen, scribble a quick note on the communal whiteboard to ask Steph to check in on him during the day, then rush out the front door.
Another workday. Yay me.
After slotting into a parking space, I check the time and see I only have five minutes left until I start. I can’t even muster feeling bad about getting distracted with Nate.
It felt exhilarating.
Stopping at the cafe a few doors up from the office, I head up to the thankfully empty counter.
“One almond croissant, please,” I request, salivating over the smells and wishing I could eat everything. A small snigger sweeps through me; I sound like Max. Opening up his message from last night, I reread it with a giddy feeling.
SunshineMax
From one best friend to another, good night, sweet cheeks.
Snapping a quick photo, I type out a message and send it to him.
Me
From one best friend to another, this all smells amazing. *inserts photo*
“You look brighter this morning,” Tilly comments.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and take the offered bagged croissant from her as I tap my card on the reader. As I nibble my lip lightly, I smile. “It’s been a good morning, but I have to get going as I’m a little late,” I say over my shoulder as I rush out.
Before I can make it through the door, she yells, “I hope the fucknugget is a little less fucknuggety for you today!”
Laughing, I offer a quick wave as I leave and speed-walk to the office.
“You’re late, Rosemary,” his terse voice calls. My boss, Peter, or Pete, as he tries to get everyone to call him, aka the Fucknugget. “You should be starting work at 9 a.m., not arriving at 9 a.m. I don’t appreciate tardiness from employees. You should know this by now.”
There’s something about the way he scolds me that always has my knees locking tight, throwing me back to the feeling of being in trouble in school.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I had trouble with my car this morning.” The lie sits like acid on my tongue, and I avoid his gaze so he can’t see through it. Sliding my bag under the desk, I sit in my chair, then start up the laptop in front of me, hoping he’ll see I’m busy and leave.
Instead, he leans against the table, perching far too close for comfort. “You’re on my way here. I can always pick you up and we can car share together.”
It comes out as more of a statement than a question, and I have to fight to suppress the urge to shiver.
I need this job.
“That’s thoughtful, but it’s okay. I can manage,” I respond, opening an email and typing a reply.
Take the hint, please.
“Let me know when you change your mind,” he says, standing and straightening his cuffs.
I blink to hold in my retort. He said when, not if.
“I’ve added a meeting in your diary for later, so I can go through the resumes you screened for the IT PA vacancy and the construction payroll assistant one too. I only had time available at lunch, so we will have to do it then. I’ll order us something.”
He walks off without waiting for my response. I have to take a second to centre myself and let go of the frustration.
I imagine it as a large, writhing, black ball, then stuff the feelings inside a large box, stamping on it for good measure, before mentally flicking the lid closed and locking it tightly.
Exhaling, I open my eyes and force my concentration back on the work I need to do. I finish the email I started, then press send. Grabbing the croissant, I savour it, enjoying the sweet almond paste intertwined with the buttery, flaky pastry.
The next few hours pass easily as I work my way through the to-do list, feeling the satisfaction thrum through me as I tick off each completed task. Then the meeting reminder notification pops up, and my mood plummets as my stomach rumbles.
Great.
Why can’t he just read through the resumes I sent him, then let me know who he wants shortlisted? Why does he have to have a meeting so we can go back through what I’ve already sent him?
It’s pointless and a waste of time.
Breathe, I remind myself, then take a second to ensure the box is locked tight and take a few long exhales.
Checking my phone, I see a couple of message notifications and click on the first one.
SunshineMax
Best friends don’t tease each other like this. What do I have to do to get one of those tasty muffins?
After a morning of work and having to deal with Peter, Max’s message feels like a small burst of sunshine on a drizzly day. Some of my tension fades, and I send a quick response.
Me
I’m sure you can bribe Brynn to make you some. Why would you choose a muffin when you could have a croissant? Far superior and the perfect breakfast option. I can confirm it was buttery and melted in my mouth.
I open the second notification, seeing it’s from Nate.
GymAlpha
Still thinking of you.
A slow, leisurely warmth glides through me. His messages feel so natural and easy. Something I could so easily get used to.
Me
Sorry for not messaging sooner. Work has been busy, and I’m just about to head into a meeting. Hope you’re having a good day. I’ve been thinking about you too
GymAlpha
Make sure you get time to eat. Shouldn’t be skipping lunch.
His response reads terse and blunt, but after getting to know him a bit already, it’s hard not to laugh knowing he’s probably sitting there scowling at his phone.
We’ve had two meals together so far; each time he plates up the food for me, picking out the best bits and making sure I’m fed before he is.
I bet the idea of me skipping lunch is pushing those big, growly buttons of his.
Me
Good thing you’re so good at making sure I’m well fed.
GymAlpha
Got to make sure you’re full and satiated.
Pure heat hits me at the thought of how full he could make me feel. The rest of him is oversized…surely what’s in his pants is too.
My laptop pings with a reminder to let me know I’ve got five minutes left, and just like water to a flame, the warm feeling is snuffed out. I sigh loudly.
Me
I’ve got to head into the meeting. ttyl x
Shoving my phone back into my bag, I grab the laptop, papers I’d printed, and a bottle of water from my desk, then walk over to Peter’s enclosed office. Knocking on the door, I enter when he looks up from his laptop screen.
“Rosemary, take a seat. I’ve just ordered some food. It should arrive shortly, but we will get started in the meantime,” he says, waving a hand at the chair placed in front of him. Placing my laptop on the desk, I take the seat and hand him the first resume from the stack of papers I’d printed.
“She’s a strong candidate, has experience at a similar company, and has been a PA for six years. Prior to that, she was an office manager at the same company for four years,” I list, then clasp my hands together as I wait for him to glance through the details.
Thirty minutes into our meeting, a loud notification comes through on his phone, and he stops to check it. “Ah, the food’s here. If you can go and collect it, Rosemary?”
Please would be nice.
“Yeah, sure.” Pushing up from the chair, I head out of his office, down the hallway to the front door, passing my desk on the way and wishing I could hide underneath it.
Once I locate the delivery driver, I take the bag with a thanks, noticing it’s from the local Turkish restaurant.
My heart sinks. Most likely, he’s ordered meat, even though I keep reminding him that I’m vegetarian.
He doesn’t seem to care. My thoughts turn to Brynn, and his sweet, caring way of making sure I’m included and have plenty of options to eat.
Exhaling loudly through my nose, I head back into his office with a polite smile pasted onto my face.
“Here’s your food,” I comment, and place the bag in front of him on the desk, then sit down in my seat.
“I ordered for you too; even paid for it.” His words are a dig that has my spine straightening, and a niggle of guilt over feeling ungrateful tries to take hold.
Saying no isn’t something I find easy to do, especially not to someone of authority i.e. my boss. And not whilst he’s staring at me so intently, an eyebrow cocked almost mockingly as he waits for me to take the cardboard container from him.
“Thank you,” my reply is automatic, the politeness in me not allowing me to forget it.
“Good, now eat and we can get back to work,” he commands, and it irks me.
When Nate does it, it makes me feel all languid and cared for; he says what he says to look out for me. When Peter says it, I get the intense urge to tell him to fuck off. I’m worried one day I might run out of patience and come out with it.
I swallow back the frustration that pulses thickly in my throat, full of all the words I want to say but am too weak to. When I open the container, a hunk of meat lies next to a bed of rice and halloumi.
The empathy in me is too strong and potent to be able to comprehend eating another living creature, so I stopped eating meat at a very young age.
I know many mock the choice—shit, many people have mocked me to my face.
I’ve never questioned or pushed their reasons for why they eat meat, nor do I have an opinion on those who do, but people seem to like to make harsh judgements with even harsher words regarding my choices.
Would it be easier if I could force myself to eat meat? Yes. But I can’t do it.
With hesitancy, I pick up a wooden utensil and scoop a forkful of the rice and guide it into my mouth, chewing and swallowing it down before moving on to a piece of the salty cheese.
We continue to eat in tense silence. My body feels hyper-aware, and I can feel the tiny pinpricks of his gaze watching me.
Wiping my mouth on a napkin, I sit back. “Thank you for the food, but I can’t manage to stomach anymore.” I sigh, as I lean back, trying to pretend I’m too full to continue.
It’s another lie.
“Seems such a waste.” His reply is careful and direct, almost predatory, and my discomfort increases. “I’ll finish yours.”
Grabbing the container, he grasps the fork I’d left inside, spears a piece of the meat, and pops it into his mouth, keeping his eyes on me.
The fork I just used…is inside his mouth.
The move would feel intimate if any of the guys did it after dinner, but here with Peter? It feels invasive and wrong.
I fight to hold back the shiver that wants to roll through me.
Clearing my throat, I retrieve my laptop and start typing a couple of email responses as I wait for him to finish, wishing I was anywhere but here.
Once he finishes eating, we finalise the rest of the applicants, selecting the ones for me to contact and arrange interviews with.
As I head back to my desk, my shoulders slump with exhaustion.
I’m ready for today to be over now.