Two Evelyn
I woke abruptly, a damp pillow between my thighs, and vivid images I didn’t need swirling in my mind. I forced myself out of bed, refusing to entertain what my subconscious had started. I’d seen that woman one time—and a full month ago.
Having agreed to start working at Vector Line Media three weeks after accepting the job, I’d spent all of my time preparing in every way possible, memorizing each email they sent and every bit of advice I could find online.
Even after distracting myself with an evening run and cooking a stir-fry with an exorbitant amount of toppings, I’d still been up late into the night, terrified for my first day.
I was obviously young, and while I'd accomplished a lot in school, I lacked real-world experience.
They'd clearly taken a chance on me, and Vector Line Media was far outside my comfort zone.
With my mind full of everything that could go wrong, I searched for a distraction. Hoping to fall asleep, I let my thoughts drift to the mysterious stranger.
But when my heart started racing again at 4 a.m., any chance of sleep disappeared.
Great. I'd be an exhausted mess on my first day.
Only five hours later, I arrived in front of the tall modern building with a café mocha in hand. I headed to my office, which I'd set up during my tour the week before. It was surprisingly spacious and had a clear view of Seattle's skyscrapers through the window.
As I opened my computer, an email from the Chief of Marketing caught my attention. She wanted to meet with me in half an hour.
It was shocking that this woman had the time to meet with me; she wasn’t just my boss, but my boss’s boss.
She oversaw the entire marketing division, which couldn't have been easy, making her pretty impressive.
I'd learned a little about her before starting, though not much.
I certainly hadn't expected to be meeting with her directly on my first day.
As I made my way to her office, I hoped she wouldn't call me "Doctor." It would feel strange coming from someone so much higher up the ladder.
Reaching the sleek white door, I knocked gently, not wanting to startle her.
“Come in,” a firm feminine voice called out.
For some reason now more nervous, I let go of the curl I was fidgeting with and pushed open the door, preparing to shake the woman’s hand and give one of my charming smiles.
As soon as I looked up, I was met with the all-too-familiar redhead I'd spotted at the bar a month ago and had far from forgotten since.
My mind went blank as I stared into her knowing green eyes. Did Ms. Walton recognize me? Or did she always look as if she could see straight through everyone?
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Sorelle,” Ms. Walton greeted, taking a few steps forward, causing her Prada heels to tap against the floor.
She looked different from that night at the bar. Her hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her makeup was lighter, making each of her sharp features even easier to appreciate.
"Likewise. I'm glad to be joining the marketing team." I tried to sound confident, though every ounce of my previous confidence had vanished the moment I recognized her, replaced by a mix of humiliation and undeniable attraction.
Still, I held her fearsome gaze, standing tall even though she towered above me in her heels.
Ms. Walton extended a hand, drawing my attention to her perfectly French-manicured nails.
If she recognized me from the bar, she didn't show it.
She was so composed and professional it bordered on cold.
Then again, she had no reason to be uncomfortable.
I was the one who'd spent the entire evening staring.
Awkwardly, I grasped her soft hand, letting her dominate the handshake. She had such a commanding presence that it made my mind fuzzy.
"Please have a seat. There are a few things I'd like to go over before your afternoon meetings." She settled back into her chair behind a spotless desk.
I sat down immediately, feeling ridiculous for how eager I was to follow her instructions.
“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. Not knowing where to look as Ms. Walton’s eyes scanned over her computer, I stared down at my hands, hoping the thick tension would fade.
When the woman clicked her tongue, my head shot back up, finding her staring at me with an impatient expression of amusement. Her chin was resting in the palm of her hand, her eyebrows raised as she analyzed me.
“What is it?” I asked before I could stop myself. The tension this woman created with just one look, too much for me to bear.
“I was just waiting for your undivided attention, which took you far too long to give me,” she replied coolly before looking back at her computer and beginning to talk about the ins and outs of what she expected from me as the newest member of the team.
The way she had scolded me like a schoolgirl made my cheeks burn red.
"I assume you've reviewed all the onboarding materials we sent over?"
Her tone was condescending, and it barely sounded like a question, so I assumed she wasn't expecting an answer. I simply nodded and waited for her to continue.
The woman looked up from her computer, tilting her head and staring at me even more intently than before. "Is that a yes?"
I hurriedly replayed the last few seconds of the conversation in my mind trying to figure out whether I'd missed an actual question. By the time I realized she was referring to the question I'd dismissed as rhetorical, the silence had already stretched too long.
“Are you even paying attention to anything that’s coming out of my mouth?” The hint of genuine concern—or maybe just disappointment—in her voice managed to make me more uncomfortable than the colder tone she had used earlier.
“I didn’t know you wanted a response; it sounded like a rhetorical question.”
Shit. That sounded rude.
The woman raised her eyebrows, her full red lips curving upwards.
“Oh?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she leaned further over her desk. “Since you clearly need me to spell out everything for you: when I ask a question, I want an answer,” she mocked slowly, before completely changing her tone and continuing to talk less intensely about my responsibilities.
As she looked back at her computer, the lack of eye contact allowed me to finally breathe. Swallowing, I looked away, trying to regain my composure as she outlined upcoming projects and the people I'd be working with.
I nodded along and tried not to blush whenever she occasionally glanced back up to make sure she had my undivided attention.
She did.
Just not in the way she wanted.
If I'd known the woman from the bar would end up being my boss, I never would have let myself think about her the way I had. Maybe then my subconscious wouldn't have decided to torment me with a dream that still refused to leave my mind.
Once again, I was snapped out of my thoughts as a single manicured finger lifted my jaw upward, forcing me to meet the woman’s questioning gaze.
“What on your mind is possibly so distracting that you can’t pay attention to me for more than thirty seconds at a time?” she asked, pulling away her hand and using it to smooth over her own hair while waiting for an answer.
Was this woman toying with me?
“Nothing, I truly am listening,” I assured with faux confidence, subconsciously playing with my hair.
"Sweetheart, your body may be in this office, but the rest of you certainly isn't." Her tone was softer now, though no less direct. "Please try a little harder. We're almost done."
Ms. Walton had to be trying a different approach, because scolding me clearly didn’t work. I needed to get my act together, but the way she called me sweetheart made my heart skip a beat. Pet names affected me more than usual when they came out of this sultry redhead’s mouth.
I longed to hear her call me something equally soothing again. Maybe if I behaved, she would?
Why was I thinking like this? She was clearly a cold bitch who I’d known for less than an hour—not to mention my boss, who couldn’t care less about me. Work was my priority, and I couldn’t let the inappropriate fantasies my subconscious evoked get in the way.
“I’m sorry, I had trouble sleeping last night. It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t look particularly impressed by my excuse, but I hadn’t felt a mere apology would have worked well with her either. It was a shame, as I’d really wanted to impress this woman—even more so now.
For the next twenty minutes, I paid attention with almost painful concentration. I even managed to ask a few questions, which seemed to earn her approval. Whenever the conversation stayed focused on work, she was surprisingly engaged and informative.
Her hot-and-cold behavior was going to be confusing.
“I think we are done here, and I suspect you'll make valuable contributions to the team if you stay focused.”
Her backhanded remark brought another blush to my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I replied in the most professional tone I could muster, gathering my things and heading for the door.
"Oh, and Sorelle."
I froze.
"Don't go out drinking. It's not a good habit."
So she knew.
“You may leave now.”
Too embarrassed to speak, I once again obeyed without another word.
As the door clicked shut behind me, I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
How often was I going to have to interact with this woman?
I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take.
The worst part was that, despite everything, some traitorous part of me was already looking forward to the next time.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions and meetings. Thankfully, it was much easier for me to focus when Ms. Walton wasn't in the room.
Of everyone I met, I'd probably be spending the most time with Jane and Michael. While I liked Michael, something about Jane gave me the impression we wouldn’t work well together.
She seemed far too arrogant and bossy for my liking.
Plus, with me being the head of digital marketing and Jane being the head social media marketer, she worked under me and needed to recognize that.
I didn’t intend to heavily influence Jane's work, but her plans still needed to fit within the digital marketing team's approach as a whole. Hopefully I was wrong, because the last thing I needed was workplace conflict on top of everything else.
By five o'clock, I'd made a decent dent in my workload and was ready to meet Meghan and Blair for dinner.
Despite the rough start, I couldn't deny I was learning a lot already. Maybe Meghan had been right about this opportunity. I’d likely receive more of her advice tonight—although unnecessary, her tendency to be overbearing with those she cared about was her way of showing affection.
Packing up my belongings, I headed toward the front of the building to leave. As I moved forward in a hurry, not wanting to keep my friends waiting, I glanced down at my watch. Looking down, I was oblivious to the door opening in front of me—the door to the same room I’d been in earlier.
Before I knew it, I’d carelessly stumbled into someone. And that someone was Ms. Walton.
"I'm so—" I began, but was cut off by an austere voice.
"Did I not talk to you earlier about paying attention and not being distracted?"
My cheeks burned before my humiliation quickly turned to anger.
"It was an accident, and I apologized. What else do you want?" It came out harsher than intended, yet I needed to prove I could hold my own if I wanted any respect from this woman. While I’d let—maybe even enjoy—her being far more controlling than Jane, I didn’t tolerate disrespect from anyone.
Dealing with constant disrespect for most of my life and still feeling like there was nothing I could do about it from some made me quick to anger when it came from others.
"I'm sorry, what did you say? Do I need to remind you who you're talking back to in that disrespectful tone?"
"I—"
"Talk to me like that again and you're fired."
Her calmness as she spoke made this feel so personal, and now I was about to cry. Desperately, I held back, because I couldn't let the woman know how small I felt. Looking down, knowing that if I looked up, my composure would slip completely, I muttered an apology, trying not to show any emotion.
"Good. And you look at me when we are talking."
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. If I looked up, I’d cry.
"I need to go."
Cringing as my voice cracked, I rushed away, out of the building and into the chilly night air.
The moment I made it to my car, I broke down sobbing. How could I have messed this up too? While trying so hard.
How could I let myself lose control like that? How could I let someone I simply found hot affect me that much? Was the woman serious? Was my job gone?
My body shook as my sobs intensified. Feeling as if I was drowning, I tried to take deep breaths. But it didn't help, my technique proving to be useless.
I’d made a mistake. I never should have let myself be talked into this job. I didn’t belong.
I cried louder, knowing no one could hear me in my car in the company's parking garage.
“It’s fine,” I scolded my worrying mind, not wanting to let myself feel. Reminding myself that this was only temporary—just a means to an end—I managed to bury my emotions.
I sat there for several minutes, staring through the windshield until my breathing returned to normal, and I felt calm enough to drive to dinner.
There, I'd pretend everything was fine.
No one would be able to tell otherwise.
Hiding my emotions had always come naturally to me.
Most people never saw past the version of myself I chose to show them.
That was part of why Ms. Walton bothered me so much.
Somehow, she seemed able to see straight through me, throwing me off balance with little effort.
Every time I was around her, I felt seen.
As I pulled out of the garage, one final thought crossed my mind.
Maybe I should ask around about Ms. Walton. Figure out what her deal was.
No.
That would imply I cared.
And I didn't care. I cared about my job.
Even if that wasn’t true, it needed to become true.