Chapter 19
Calla
“Miss Becker, a word please.”
I peer up from my computer screen to find Thomas leaning over the door to my cubicle, an unreadable expression about his face.
This is really not what I’d like for a Monday morning at… half nine in the morning. I’ve only just clocked in thirty minutes ago for crying out loud.
“Of course.” I paint of a faux smile, standing and smoothing any my pencil skirt. Tucking my chair beneath my desk, I go to grab my notebook and pen, only for a cold hand to land upon my wrist, stopping me.
“You won’t be needing those, Calla,” Thomas croons, sending a shiver down my spine. “Now, ladies first.”
I barely repress a scoff. Ladies first, yeah right. Thomas McAvoy doesn’t have a gentlemanly bone in his body, not even his cock. He just wants me to go ahead so he can stare at my arse.
Clenching my jaw, I do as he says, minutely shaking my head in Carmen’s direction when I see her returning from the staff room with a steaming cup of green tea.
Treading the familiar path to my boss’ office, I turn left at the water dispenser, only for Thomas to place a palm too low to the base of my spine, practically touching my bum, and direct me to his office instead.
“Uncle isn’t in yet, so we’re going to my office today, Calla.”
Ugh.
I step inside the glass prison, hurrying for a seat, past his expensive state-of-the-art coffee machine, while Thomas rounds his mahogany desk. It might be the same size as his uncle’s office, but it feels smaller, more closed in.
“Do you have any idea why I’ve called you into my office today, Calla?”
I shake my head mutely.
“The reports you filed last week were wrong.”
“Wrong?” I sit further forward in my seat. “How were they—”
“You’ll need to stay back after work today to correct them.”
I furrow my brow in confusion. “Stay back after work? Can’t I just push back—”
“No.”
“But I have a meeting with a client today, I need—”
“Someone else will go in your place, instead.”
“Thomas—”
“It’s Mr McAvoy,” he grits, face turning a ruddy colour. “Don’t let me catch you being slack again.”
“I…” My mouth hangs open. What on earth is going on?
Nobody, and I mean nobody I work with has ever mentioned having to stay behind after work to correct a mistake they’ve made.
Add on top of the fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t make a mistake.
I checked over those reports four, maybe even five times, before I hit send.
Thomas shuffles a bundle of paperwork in front of him, neatening the edges, before he glances back up at me. “Did you have a nice time on Friday night?”
What?!
I swear I have fucking whiplash.
“Friday night…”
“Your date. With Millen.”
“Millen? Oh. You mean Blake?”
Thomas nods shortly. He’s smiling, but the skin around his eyes bunches tightly, giving away his displeasure.
“I did. Thank you.” I spit the last two words from my lips, unable to look at him for a second longer, instead focusing on smoothing out my skirt.
“Did he f—”
A sharp rap on the glass door to Thomas’ office cuts through my ears, a familiar shock of brunette hair appearing.
“Excuse me.” Carmen smiles softly, surely aiming for a demure look. I would believe her too, if it wasn’t for the way she cuts her eyes to me. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, but there’s a delivery man asking for Calla.”
I can practically feel Thomas’ annoyance at being interrupted rolling off him in waves, slithering like venomous snakes just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see him stand, playing with the knot of his perfectly crisp tie.
“That’s not a problem,” he all but coos. “Miss Becker and I were done here, anyway.”
I stand too, biting back the urge to roll my eyes.
It’s quite a shame he’s not as stupid as he looks, otherwise he would have outed himself as a conniving prick months ago, but as is, Thomas is just as manipulating as he is smug.
I bet half the men in this very office, the ones he’s purposefully befriended, don’t know the dangerous predator lying beneath.
“After you.” Thomas gestures for me to go first – of fucking course – staying one step behind Carmen and I.
A rush of gratitude fills me as Car sends me a subtle wink and for a heartbeat, I think perhaps she’s made the whole thing up until I spot a bored looking delivery man holding a large bouquet of flowers in his arms.
“Calla Becker?”
“That’s me.”
He all but dumps the bouquet in my hands, snapping a quick picture for proof and then toddling off, a half-hearted ‘have a good day’ muttered under his breath.
I’ve gathered a small crowd at this point, a handful of my co-workers peering at the flowers over their cubicles, some even walking over to get a better look.
“Who are they from?” someone asks.
I gently place the flowers upon the edge of my desk, carefully disturbing the cream tissue paper around the edge to pluck out the thick cardstock embedded in between two red roses.
Yours, Blake.
I vaguely hear the oohs and aahs from the women around me, but the sounds are mostly drowned out by the roar of blood in my ears.
It feels like hours pass as I stare at the small card in my hand, thumbing over the embossed lettering, tracing the swirls and curls of Blake’s name, until someone claps loudly, right beside my ear, scaring me half to death.
“Back to work everyone!” Thomas calls, pouring a bucketful of freezing cold water over the moment.
Footsteps scurry as my co-workers return to their cubicles, bowing their head and getting back to work.
I slide back into my chair too, but I don’t immediately boot my computer back up, too busy placing the card back into the flowers without disturbing the petals.
The blistering heat of Thomas’ gaze sears into the side of my head, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
“That includes you too, Miss Becker,” I hear him grit. “Flowery bullshit isn’t an excuse to slack off. I want those reports filled in correctly and on my desk by the end of the day.”
My lips curl into a snarl. “And if I don’t get them finished in time?”
“Then, I guess the two of us will be staying back until you get them finished.”
I can’t repress the shiver that wracks my body this time and knowing Thomas he probably gets a kick out of it.
Blake was right. He is a fucking prick.
Two extra hours.
That’s how long Thomas keeps me behind, pouring over these fucking stupid reports, which I know I filed correctly the first time around, until he finally nods his head and tells me I can go.
Ugh. Dickhead.
I don’t get home until 7:15 p.m., my eyes aching from squinting at the small print of my computer and in desperate need for a large glass of wine.
Discarding my tight pencil skirt and blouse somewhere on my bedroom floor, I throw on an oversized t-shirt, faded with use, and head into the kitchen. I place the kettle to boil to soften up my cup of noodles and fill the biggest wine glass I own with the last of my rosé.
I carry everything into my bedroom, powering up my phone while I wait for the steam to dissipate from my dinner.
Gulping back my wine, I pull up Blake’s contact, hitting the call icon.
It rings twice, the sound loud and tinny in my otherwise silent apartment, before he picks up.
“Calla?”
“Yeah, it’s me. You okay?”
“I’m fine. You?”
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Been better. Where are you?”
“Home. What—”
I’m jabbing my thumb into the video chat button before Blake can even finish his sentence.
“On a scale of one to ten, how shit do I look?”
“That’s a trick question,” Blake replies, his smirk appearing in the camera causing my stomach to flip upside down.
I shake my head, taking another gulp of wine. “No, seriously.”
Blake scratches at his bare pec, shuffling the camera a little and giving me a glimpse of him sprawled out on his sofa wearing nothing but those tracksuit bottoms of his. “You look… tired.”
“As I should. I was kept back at work for two extra hours tonight.”
“Two hours?”
I regale Blake with the tale as I scarf down my dinner.
“Surely, that isn’t legal, Calla.”
I pop my shoulders. “Depends. I’ll see if it’s on my payslip or not. If it is, then I guess I got paid for the extra work.”
“The extra work you didn’t need to do?”
“Yep.”
“Did he… try anything while it was just the two of you?”
“Nope.” I swig back the last of my wine. “It was strange. He stayed in his office, and I stayed in mine.”
Blake hums somewhere low in the base of his throat, before he gruffly mutters, “Good.”
Stomach pleasantly full, I shuffle a little way further down my bed until my head hits the pillow.
Blake laughs lowly. “You’re not falling asleep on me, Calla, are you?”
I shake my head, but the heaviness of my eyelids betrays me.
“I wanted too—” I press a hand to my mouth as I begin to yawn. “Shit, sorry. I wanted to say thank you for the flowers you sent.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiles, twin dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. “I thought it would send McAvoy into a spin.”
“It did indeed. I’m surprised steam wasn’t coming out of his ears.”
Blake laughs at that; the low sound sending a pleasant shiver up my spine.
I smack my lips together, feeling the glide of my deliciously cool sheets kiss my bare legs, the tide of sleep pulling at my consciousness. “Are we—still up for Friday?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” I allow my eyes to close for just a heartbeat… and perhaps another heartbeat after. “I can’t wait to see you.”
There’s silence on the other end of my phone, but I’m too tired to crack open my eyes and see what’s going on.
Maybe, Blake—
“I can’t wait to see you either, sunshine.”