Chapter Twenty-One
Ruby
I glance up from the computer. Brent is on the rowing machine across the gym. He’s not rowing. He’s leaning back, hands loose on the handle, eyes fixed on me.
The man is creepy.
My stomach knots. I look away and type faster, even though there’s nothing urgent on the screen—just a stack of signed liability waivers I’m entering into the system before filing them away.
“That’s not how we file those.” Greg’s voice comes from behind me.
I didn’t hear him approach. I straighten, my fingers pausing over the keyboard. “It’s how we’ve always done it.”
“It’s not how I want it done.” He steps closer, leaning just enough to see my screen. Not touching. Not quite. Close enough that I have to fight the urge to shift away.
“How do you want them filed?”
He doesn't answer immediately. He studies the screen for a second, like he's deciding what needs fixing today. “By expiration date.”
“We've always kept them alphabetically.”
“We're not doing that anymore.”
What in the fuck is up with this guy? “That would take a while to reorganize everything.”
I’m careful not to say the words in a whiny tone, but it proves harder than I imagined. It’s been a few days since he made a random change that caused me more work than it produced in efficiency.
“Then you should get started.” He straightens as if he’s proud of himself.
My fingers curl against the desk. “Okay.” Arguing doesn’t go anywhere. I’ve tried that already.
“And Ruby?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Check with me before you change anything moving forward.” The words are said casually, like a warning. Like I’ve done something wrong.
“I didn’t change anything.”
His mouth curves. Not quite a smile. “Just making sure we’re on the same page.” He walks away.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary. Same page. Right.
Across the gym, Brent is watching—the bell jingles. Someone laughs. Life continues. My phone vibrates against the desk.
Xavier: Everything quiet today?
I stare at the message longer than I should. He didn’t have to check in. He did anyway.
Me: The creep is here.
Two seconds later, I type.
Me: He’s leering from the rowing machine.
Three dots appear.
Xavier: Be careful.
The second the message is received, more dots appear.
Xavier: Don’t walk out alone.
Warmth and irritation twist together in my chest.
Me: I can handle it.
The response bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
Xavier: I know.
I set the phone down, the screen dimming before I can read anything else into that word.
“I don’t pay you to text.” Greg’s voice cuts through the air behind me.
I flinch. Not from fear, from surprise. I didn’t hear him approach.
“I was checking the schedule.” I turn away from him. The guy is an ass. I was on my phone for less than two minutes.
His eyes flick to my phone, then back to my face. “Looked like messaging.”
“I answered a question.”
His jaw tightens. “From whom?”
“A friend.”
He studies me a moment too long. “I saw Xavier Cole’s truck at your place the other day.”
The words hit like cold water. Why did he go by my house? It’s a dead-end road, and as far as I know, he doesn’t know my neighbors. “He was helping with renovations.”
“Then I was right to notice.”
Greg’s mouth flattens into a line. “You should stay away from him.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s a player,” Greg says. “Everyone knows it. He wouldn’t respect you.”
My fingers curl against the edge of the desk. “That’s not your concern.”
“He had no reason to be on your street,” Greg continues, voice low, certain. “Not unless he was going there on purpose.”
His certainty feels like a hand closing around my throat. Eyes never leaving mine. It feels less like concern and more like a warning.
“He was. As I said, he was helping me with renovations.” My heart thumps once, hard. “And my personal life is none of your business.”
He’s the one who had no reason to be on my street. He would’ve had to drive all the way down. Past my house. Where there were no other houses. No through traffic. To see where Xavier was parked.
“I need to get back to work.”
His gaze lingers another beat before he straightens. “Just looking out for you.”
He walks away. I stare at the computer screen without seeing it and looking out for me, watching my house, noticing who parks in my driveway…. And leaving notes? I shudder at the thought.
My skin prickles. Across the gym, Brent is still watching. The lilies and roses on the desk smell too sweet. This has nothing to do with my secret admirer. Stalker. Whatever I call him. I don’t have to put up with Greg’s criticism and strange behavior.
I open a blank document. My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Dear Greg,
Please accept this letter as notice of my resignation…
The words come easier than they should. Not running, making a sound decision. Jake’s voice echoes in my head. Xavier’s words replay in my head. I print it before I can talk myself out of it.
My phone buzzes.
Xavier: You went radio silent.
Me: Sorry. Something came up.
Three dots appear again.
Xavier: Is everything okay? I’ll be there in 5.
The fact he cares enough to drop whatever he’s doing to rescue me makes my heart swell. Even though I know it’s not how I want him to care about me, it still feels good.
Me: Don’t do that. Everything’s okay. I’m quitting.
Greg glares at me. In less than a minute, he’ll be hovering behind me telling me I’m wasting company time by being on my phone.
Xavier: Are you safe?
I clutch my chest and close my eyes. Don’t read more into this than is there. I inhale and tap out a response.
Me: Yes. I’ll tell you tonight.
Xavier: I’m here if you need me.
I stare at the message until the screen dims. He’s only helping me with renovations and giving me a job. Nothing more. He’s not my protector. Or my savior. He’s a friend. Hell, I don’t even know if I can call him a friend.
Still, it feels nice that he’s concerned enough to check on me.
I fold the letter, slide it into an envelope, and write Greg’s name across the front. My hands are steady as if my body knew I was making the right decision before my brain did.
Greg’s office door is open. His glasses are perched low on his nose as he types on the computer.
When I knock on the frame, he looks up with a frown covering his features. “Shouldn’t you be at the desk?”
His tone holds that same criticism that’s always there. He can come to my desk and tell me what to do, but I have no right to come to his.
“You got a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
The words shouldn’t feel creepy, but right now, everything feels off.
I step inside and hold out the envelope. “This is my notice.”
He doesn’t take it. He stares at the envelope like it’s written in another language. “Your what?”
“My resignation.”
A red tint climbs up his neck until it covers his cheeks. He lifts his hand. “You’re quitting?”
“Yes.”
His jaw flexes. “Because of Xavier.” He almost spits out his name.
“No. It has nothing to do with Xavier.” My eye twitches. “I don’t feel comfortable here anymore.”
His eyes sharpen. “I told you he wouldn’t respect you.”
“This isn’t about Xavier.”
“He’s been in your house,” Greg says, voice tightening. “He’s manipulating you.”
The room feels smaller, like it’s closing in on me.
“I’m leaving.” If there was any doubt remaining before this conversation, there’s none left. “My last day will be next Friday.”
He stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “You’re making a mistake.”
“I don’t think I am.”
His hands flatten on the desk, knuckles whitening. “After everything I’ve done for you.”
‘Done for you?’ Like I’m in debt to him. That’s bullshit. I was qualified for the job. I don’t sluff off. I earned every dime of my paycheck.
My pulse roars in my ears. “I appreciate the job,” I say. “But I’m done.”
His eyes darken with anger, causing the hair on my arms to stand. “You won’t find another place that values you as I do.”
The sentence lands like a claim. I step back. “I’ll take my chances.”
I turn before he can respond, before he can say something that makes this more unnerving.
The gym noise swells as I step back into the lobby, weights clanging, music pulsing, Brent’s laugh somewhere near the free weights.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Xavier: I’ll be around tonight.
I don’t try to convince him I’m okay. Or that I can handle things on my own. I can, but for once, I don’t want to.