Chapter 15 Attracted to HR Violations
Attracted to HR Violations
August
How do you accidentally-on-purpose orchestrate a meeting with someone who’s been ghosting you? Easy. You ask your assistant to schedule one with every new hire in the building and call it a team integration initiative.
Sadie booked me eight of them. Eight.
For three days straight, I’ve been trapped in back-to-back intros with people who either overshare about their cats or speak about their own résumé like they’re apologizing for it.
Today’s finalist is Dixon Hernandez from People Ops, who has been talking about yo-yo tricks like he’s presenting at a medical conference.
I nod. I smile. I sip my espresso like I’m listening.
Harlee is on the 4:30 slot.
I glance at the calendar on my laptop. Prince, Harlee. The name sits there neat and unbothered, like it didn’t wreck my nervous system and then block my number.
Dixon’s still going. Something called “Walk the Dog.” His voice buzzes in the background like a fly I don’t have the energy to swat.
I should be thinking about onboarding. Quarterly projections. Literally anything.
Instead, I’m thinking about the silence after that night. Not the night itself. That part was… clear.
The part that wasn’t clear was how someone can make you feel seen, disappear without a word, and then show up on your payroll like it’s a scheduling coincidence. I drag a hand down my face. Reset. Owner. Professional. Safe.
This isn’t about her, I tell myself. This is about the company.
You know. Regular Co-Owner things.
Dixon finishes with a dramatic flourish that nearly takes out his water bottle. I clap once, slow and polite, like I’m granting him mercy.
“Impressive stuff, Dixon. Really.”
He beams. “Thanks, man. I’ve been working on a—”
“Looking forward to it,” I lie, already reaching for my tablet.
He stands. “Thank you for your time, sir.”
Sir?
Jesus.
He leaves with the same chaotic enthusiasm he entered with, and the second the door shuts I exhale like I’ve been underwater. I open internal comms.
Me: Please tell me Harlee Prince is early.
Sadie: Not going to happen. Still no RSVP either.
Sadie: HR says morale is up 0.7% after your surprise 1:1 sessions.
Me: 0.7% is not worth the trauma I just had to sit through.
Sadie: Want coffee?
Me: Yes.
Me: Bring two.
Sadie: On it.
I drop the device and stare at the calendar again. My jaw tightens until it’s a problem. Fine. Be late. Make it weird. Great plan.
I pull up her résumé, because apparently I’m the kind of man who copes with emotional turmoil by reviewing education credentials. Harlee Prince. Mathematics grad student. Fellowship program. Thorough. Efficient. Diven.
Except for that one tiny detail where she erased me.
A knock taps the glass.
Kelley walks in wearing a grin like a weapon. He drops into the chair across from my desk spreading out wide while he eats an apple.
“You busy?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. Too fast.
He watches me for half a second longer than necessary. “Great.”
And he continues to make himself at home in my office.
“You’ve been doing new hire meetings?” he says, amused. “Trying to impress them without me?”
“Just meeting the fresh meat,” I mutter. “Some of them are memorable.”
Kelley laughs. “They cannot be worse than we were. We were disasters with LinkedIn photos.”
I can’t help it. A smile cracks.
He starts in on a story about our first pitch and the fake acronym he invented. It works. For a minute, it works. My shoulders loosen by a fraction.
Then my computer pings.
Event in 1 minute: Meet and Greet with Harlee Prince.
My smile dies like it just remembered it has bills.
Kelley clocks it immediately. “Oh.”
Before he can say anything else, there’s a soft knock.
Sadie steps in with two coffees and a tablet tucked under her arm, one brow already cocked like she’s walked into a situation she predicted three emails ago.
“Should I be concerned,” she asks flatly, “that you look like you’re about to throw up?”
“Depends,” I say, reaching for the cup. “Is that mine?”
“It is. Extra shot.” She sets it down with precision. “You’ve got that tight collar, loose moral compass look today.”
“Love that for me.”
Her eyes flick to the calendar on my screen. To the time. Back to my face.
That look. The one that says I know exactly what you’re doing and I’m letting you hang yourself just a little.
“Well,” she says, already turning toward the door, “I’ll be right outside if HR needs to sprint.”
“Comforting,” I mutter.
Sadie doesn’t slow. “Try not to commit any felonies before five.”
The door swings shut behind her.
Kelley exhales like a man who just witnessed a near miss. “She’s terrifying.”
“She’s my moral compass,” I say. “Unfortunately.”
He grins. “You sure you’re ready for—”
Another knock cuts him off.
We both glance toward the door, expecting Sadie again. A device she forgot. A final warning. Something procedural.
The handle turns.
And Harlee walks in.
Time does that thing where it forgets how to function.
She’s put together in a way that looks effortless, which is always the most offensive kind. Hair up. Glasses on. Device tucked against her chest like armor.
The fit is sharp. Intentional. Corporate baddie energy, polished enough to pass inspection and still feel personal.
My brain registers it before I can stop it. Dangerous curves, slim waist, thick thighs and a fat ass. An ass I would really like to run my hands all up and over. I shut that thought down immediately.
Her eyes sweep the room once, quick and controlled.
They catch on Kelley first.
Then the empty space where Sadie was standing.
Then me.
And for one sharp second, I see it. The smallest flicker of discomfort. A shift behind the calm.
Like she remembers exactly what my mouth feels like.
Like she’s bracing.
Kelley stands, smooth and automatic, already in host mode.
“Hey,” he says, warm. “You must be new.”
She nods once. “I am.”
He offers his hand, easy smile, charming, very Kelley. “Wilde.”
She takes it. Firm grip. No nerves. “Harlee.”
“Nice to meet you, Harlee,” he says, and his gaze flicks over her again, quick and respectful, like he’s clocking detail, not claiming it. “Welcome.”
He gestures loosely between me and the office. “Quick thing, before you think we’re all allergic to first names,” he says, voice light. “This one is just jealous, my last name is fucking legendary, and his is…. common at best. So I figured I throw him a bone and even the playing field.”
Harlee’s brows lift a fraction. There's a smile there, I see it.
He nods toward me, grin sharpening. “He’s James. But a word of advice, try not to call him mister unless you want Sadie to materialize out of the vents.”
Sadie, deadpan from the doorway: “I will absolutely materialize.”
Kelley doesn’t miss a beat. “See? Workplace magic.”
Harlee’s mouth twitches. Stifling a smile.
"Isn't there somewhere else you need to be, besides crashing another one of James' meetings?" Sadie asks.
"What? It's only okay when he meets with the newbies? I'm just as important."
"Yeah but his name is first on the brand."
"That's because Wilde James sounds like a porn name." Kelley argues.
Sadie isn't buying it and she folds her arms across her chest already over Kelley and his shit for today. Which is a common occurrence around here.
"Fine okay. Okay."he says lightly, stepping back, “I’ll let you two do your very official, very ass kissing thing.”
He looks at Harlee again, polite and sincere. “Great meeting you. Hope this one doesn't ride you too hard, if he starts asking about your 5 year plan. Run.”
If only he knew.
Then to me, quieter, just enough to sting: “She's a smoke show.” he grins and raises a brow.
“Get out,” I say flatly.
Kelley puts his hands up in defense and heads for the door.
Sadie follows him out, pausing just long enough to look back at Harlee.
“Coffee’s there if you want it,” she says. "Nice meeting you Harlee."
"Likewise." Harlee returns with a polite smile and small nod. "Thank you."
Then she’s gone, door closing with a soft, deliberate click.
And now it’s just us.
Harlee lowers into the chair like she’s choosing it, not like she’s been summoned. Device on her lap. Ankles crossed. Spine straight.
Calm, packaged, corporate. Like she didn’t moan my name repeatedly in my bed a few weeks ago.
“I assume the NDA covers one-night stands?”
That’s how she opens.
My mouth twitches up once, then stops. “I’m not sure it covers your sense of humor.”
“It’s a coping mechanism,” she says, deadpan. “Highly effective.”
I lean back, fingers tapping the edge of my desk like I can drum the situation into something manageable. “If you’re worried about legality, we can start with something simple.”
Her brows lift. “Simple is not what I’d call this.”
“Agreed.” I hold her gaze. “But we’re going to pretend it is for the next… however long this meeting takes.”
Harlee’s eyes flick down, then back up. “So this is a meeting.”
“It’s on the calendar.” I angle my screen slightly so she can see it without making it a performance. Meet and Greet: Prince, Harlee. “That’s what it is.”
“And the part where you looked like you were about to verbally assault me?”
“Unrelated.” My lie lands with a thud.
Her mouth twitches again. “Right.”
Silence stretches. Not awkward. Loaded.
My pride wants to say something sharp. My common sense wants to say nothing at all. Unfortunately, I was raised by women who taught me that silence is a weapon, and I’m not used to losing.
“I didn’t schedule this,” she says first, soft but steady. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You didn’t have to.” She tilts her head. “You have a very expressive face for a man in a tailored suit.”
I exhale through my nose. “You blocked my number.”
Her gaze doesn’t flinch. But something in her shoulders tightens, like I pressed a bruise I didn’t know was there.
“That’s not—” she starts, then stops. “Okay. Yes. I did.”
There’s no apology. No spin. Just a fact placed on the table between us like a paperweight.