Chapter 8
Sebastian Sterling
My heart sinks when Penelope ignores the two items I placed on her desk. She acts as though they don’t exist as she sets her purse on her desk and her bag on her chair.
Even after greeting her coworkers and reorganizing her space to include the few items she brought with her, she doesn’t acknowledge my gifts.
I swallow my ego and sip my morning tea. Replaying yesterday in my mind leaves me with more questions than answers, but at least I won’t land in jail for murdering my PA.
Hope sharpens my senses as Penelope lifts the cookie and juice off her desk. She stares at them in her hands for a moment before rising and placing the cookie on the kitchen counter and the juice in the fridge with the other communal snacks and drinks.
Despite my disappointment, I cling to my hope.
If she were truly mad at me, she’d have tossed them in the trash.
Or maybe she doesn’t like wasting food.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing will deter me from courting her.
She says she wants to be friends. That’s a good start. If I can get back to the amicable comradery we had in school, then I’ll have more chances to get closer to her.
I pause with my mug halfway to my lips. The earthy smell wafting from my cup gives me an idea.
I didn’t discover herbal teas until late in my college career. After years of way too much coffee and energy drinks, my stomach demanded I cut back, so I found alternatives.
If my preferences have changed, maybe hers have as well.
I watch her throughout the morning and note her choice of beverages, then make like a creep and watch her on the security feeds as she visits the canteen with her new coworkers.
Before my lunch meeting with a few board members—which is at a hotel restaurant a few blocks away—I trek across the street to a convenience store and buy an orange soda and cinnamon roll, neither of which is stocked on the executive floor.
They probably aren’t her favorites, but these seem the best options considering what she’s chosen throughout the morning.
If she turns these down, I’ll try something else. Every morning and afternoon. Even evenings when she stays late. Over and over again until she accepts.
I rush back up to the office, place them on her desk, and acknowledge the workers eating in the break area with a nod before disappearing into the elevator.
The luncheon drags on. Colors and sounds seem muted without Penelope nearby, but I pour my focus into the discussion and thank the board members for their time.
When I return to the office, a mountain of paperwork sits on the corner of my desk.
I sigh and scan the main room as I remove my jacket, adjust my vest, loosen my tie, and roll my sleeves.
My gifts to Penelope are nowhere in sight.
She sits with her eyes glued to her screen, oblivious to the world around her as she works on her task.
After reviewing and signing the first few documents, I set the stack aside, rise, and head to the kitchen to make the one cup of coffee I drink throughout the day.
Not only does it help me combat early afternoon fatigue, but it’s an easy segue between desk work and networking.
With my employees acclimated to mingling with me, engagement is pleasant and laid back.
As the single-cup coffee maker brews my cup, I spot the cinnamon roll I bought for Penelope on the counter. Disappointment and determination war within me.
She may be the most difficult dream to obtain, but I’ve never wanted anything more, so I’ll never stop.
Kole pops up from his desk and interrupts Penelope to ask if she needs anything from the kitchen. She absently shakes her head without looking away from her computer.
I smirk. The building could collapse and she wouldn’t notice.
She’s adorable and sexy when she’s hyper-focused.
The scrunch of her nose, her natural grace as she types and scrolls, and the way she works her lip ring into her mouth all make me want to toss her over my shoulder and carry her away so I don’t have to share her with anyone else.
After a few minutes of chatting with Kole, I follow him to the computer specialist section of the room and mingle with a handful of people.
When a meeting seems overdue, I call the entire tech department to the lounge area on the far side of the kitchen.
Penelope stands beside one of the couches and refuses a seat even when several people offer her one.
After a few minutes of catching everyone up, I open the floor for questions, comments, and suggestions.
Although much of the terminology goes over my head, I gauge everyone else’s reactions and note the ones with the best responses.
With more issues and not enough tech geniuses to solve them before work begins for the new location, no one balks when I volunteer to escort Penelope to the IT equipment rooms after she asks for a visit.
We end the meeting and I wait for Penelope to grab her bag before escorting her to the elevator.
With her on my left, I don’t notice Ms. Kim stepping into our path until I collide with her. Papers fly and my curse punctuates Ms. Kim’s startled squeak as I grab her shoulders and pull her upright.
I release her as soon as she regains her balance, but she wraps her fingers around my forearms and sinks her long nails into my flesh.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she simpers.
I swallow my disgust and try to tug my arms away, but she tightens her hold on me.
“As long as—”
Penelope shoulders her way between us and grabs Ms. Kim by the hands.
“Oh my goodness, Julie, are you okay?”
Ms. Kim’s eyes widen, and her mouth drops open. The fear in her expression doesn’t match the moment, but when it doesn’t fade, I realize she must share history with Penelope.
“Y-you know my name?” Ms. Kim whispers.
“I do now. It’s nice to finally meet you, although I’m sorry it was because of this big oaf. Seriously, Sebastian, haven’t you learned to stop running into people just because they’re smaller than you?”
Ms. Kim’s pallor worsens. Penelope looks over her shoulder at me and pulls her lip ring into her mouth as she studies my chest. The mirth in her expression—along with her unexpected intervention—shocks me into silence.
“Between you and me, Ms. Kim, I think you should sue him for damages to your image,” Penelope stage whispers.
Confusion joins the terror in Julie’s eyes.
“But first, I think a trip to the powder room is in order,” Penelope finishes with an exaggerated gesture to my chest.
I follow her pointed gaze and bite back a laugh when I realize what she means.
Ms. Kim’s makeup left an imprint of her face on the dark fabric of my vest.
If anyone in the office wasn’t already watching us, Ms. Kim’s horrified gasp is loud enough to turn their heads our way. She whips around, yanks her purse off her desk, and runs to the restroom with her high heels clacking in the silence.
My heart leaps into my throat when Penelope’s delicate fingers take my wrist. They barely wrap halfway around, but I eagerly follow her silent commands as she turns my hand over and opens my fist. She presses a few wet wipes from her bag onto my palm before releasing me and stooping to gather the papers Ms. Kim threw everywhere.
I dab at the makeup but it’s hopeless, so I take off my vest and tie and drape them over my arm before unbuttoning the first few buttons on my shirt.
By the time the elevator doors close behind us, the office is back to normal operations, but a storm brews in Penelope’s expression.
“I hate bullying,” she hisses.
Insult roars through me at her choice of words.
“Bullying? That wasn’t—”
She huffs and angles her body toward mine, so I do the same until we’re facing each other.
“It was. Just because she’s a woman, is smaller and weaker than you, and an employee, does not disqualify her from being a bully.”
Every inch of her vibrates with fury and indignation. I’ve never seen her so animated outside of explaining computer-related subjects.
“She planned to run into you then used peer pressure to ensure you played along. I saw her calculate when to leave her desk. She even ducked her head at the last second. It was classic manipulation and a clear case of bullying,” she sneers.
Without my permission, my hand reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear. She flinches but recovers and aims wide, startled eyes up at me. I can’t stop my fingertips from trailing down the side of her throat and along her collar.
“Then I owe you a thank you,” I murmur.
Her pupils shrink and she swallows.
“No, you don’t. I—”
“You saved me, sweet pea. I owe you,” I insist.
Her breath hitches, and a tantalizing blush creeps up from her chest.
“I would’ve helped anyone. No one deserves to be bullied,” she murmurs.
I tease her collarbone before cupping her chin.
“But it wasn’t just anyone. It was me,” I say.
I lean closer, looming above her and holding her in place without touching her body.
Her eyes lose focus. She inhales through her nose. Her heartbeat pounds in her jugular.
“Were you jealous, sweet pea?” She blinks and blushes. I lean closer and whisper, “Don’t be. I’m all yours.”
She swallows and curls dainty fingers around my wrist.
“I wasn’t jealous. I was mad. You looked so uncomfortable,” she says.
I brush my thumb along her cheekbone, marveling at how small and feminine her face is in my hand.
Her lower lip trembles. Tears shimmer in her hazel eyes. My heart aches.
“Don’t cry, pipsqueak. I don’t think I could survive your tears.” She blinks and worries her lip ring between her teeth. I can’t take my eyes off her tempting mouth.
“I’m still uncomfortable,” I half lie.
My discomfort is for a completely different reason, but she doesn’t need the details.
Her brows scrunch. She circles my forearm with both hands. Her fingertips don’t quite touch.
“Did she break the skin?” she asks.