Sixteen Vanessa
It had been several days since our last brief encounter near her office.
Our sole interactions took place in obligatory meetings, where all I received were passive-aggressive glares.
I opted for nonchalance, unsettling her expectation of a reaction.
It was apparent she now wanted to get something out, but I was letting her come to me.
It wasn't going to be pretty when she did; she was beside herself with frustration.
It seemed evident that her unfriendliness toward Lillian was merely an extension of her sentiments toward me, as she too was a constant target for Evelyn's discourteous looks.
While I hadn't explicitly divulged details to Lillian, she sensed the escalating tension between us.
I hoped she didn't assume it was a breakup of sorts, because it wasn't, regardless of Evelyn being hell-bent on treating it as such.
Her childish behavior, and the mystery of what provoked it, remained unsolved, leaving me distressed.
It was not an issue workwise, because Adam was her direct superior. Now we were merely following the proper chain of operations, all her work coming to me through him. If he noticed anything, he was wise enough not to bring it up.
Today, I was leading another meeting that she had to attend, a prospect that clearly displeased her.
It would be followed by a small marketing and finance department mixer.
While I could maintain a professional relationship regardless of my personal feelings for her, she didn't seem able to do so as easily.
I shouldn't have been surprised. Whenever she liked something—whether it was me, my rope work, or anything else—she wore it all over her face, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
It stood to reason that anger was no different.
During today's meeting in particular, I could feel her eyes roaming over me more consistently. After a while, I met her gaze, which she quickly averted as if burned by it.
Lillian shot me a knowing look, her keen eyes flicking between us—the annoyingly devoted spectator she always seemed to be.
I needed this idiocy to end.
I’d been careful not to hurt her since her first day when I’d learned my lesson and quickly caught on.
Still managing to do it again unintentionally was bothersome.
She was sensitive when it came to me, for reasons that were left unsaid between us.
But her submissive need to please and be praised stood out even more.
I couldn’t resist letting my dominant side out around her, and that was proving even more dangerous.
Eventually, we all gathered in the main hall, laying out the dish or drink we’d each brought.
I’d suggested we cater, but Lillian had believed a potluck would build community.
As I hadn't baked in a while, this presented me the opportunity to practice my favorite pumpkin pie recipe.
My pie was a huge hit among the people. The wine selection, however, was mostly cheap and disturbingly sweet liquid.
It was fine, as I enjoyed drinking what Lillian had brought, obviously with me in mind.
She smirked from across the room when I poured my second glass.
"Who made this pie? I need to get the recipe," Evelyn asked Michael, loud enough for me to hear from a few people away.
I'd been watching her just as closely as she'd been watching me—only far less obviously.
While I appeared unaffected, I'd spent the last several minutes quietly eavesdropping on her conversation with Michael, and the few others she'd had, searching for any clue as to what had unsettled her.
I continued my conversation with Lillian's assistant, observing from afar as Evelyn quite literally ate a quarter of the pie, smothering it with my homemade whipped cream. How predictable.
After the conversation ended and before someone else could approach me to waste my time with small talk, I took out my phone and sent Evelyn the recipe.
The change was immediate. Her gaze dropped to her screen, her brows pulling together in a brief, symmetrical knit while her upper eyelids lowered ever so slightly. There was no hesitation, only a sharp, directed tension that disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
Good. Signs of anger, not discomfort.
leaving Michael she headed in my direction. Yet instead of acknowledging or ignoring me, she forcefully bumped her shoulder against mine in passing.
That was quite enough of this.
I grabbed her wrist in one swift motion, stopping her from walking off. No one's watching eyes would catch the movement, and Evelyn surely didn't have quick enough reflexes to dodge it either. She whipped her head around to face me, her blue eyes narrowing, pupils dilating slightly.
"If you want to express something, I'm here to listen, but petulance is not a currency I accept." My voice stayed level.
"But I have to tolerate your petulance?" she quipped, disdain dripping from her words. She was not in control; this could not happen now.
"Evelyn," my voice was firm. "I am sorry if I bothered you, but we are not having this conversation here." I leaned closer, my words only meant for her ears.
"Why is that?" She challenged, not matching my discretion.
I leaned in further, my lips nearly grazing her earlobe. "Because I'm not having my other employees see what I let you get away with."
It was the truth, and she seemed to recognize that if anyone else spoke to me like this, they'd be fired instantly. She had a way of stretching my patience to levels I didn't know it could reach.
"I don't wanna talk to you." Her voice was calmer, knowing she owed it to me for putting up with this.
"Wonderful, then get yourself together and stop whatever this is." She didn't like that answer, and I could see her emotions taking over again.
"Perfect, but I don't think I'm the one who needs to get their shit together."
She would not be getting out of this situation without a serious conversation.
"Evelyn, office. Now." She nodded, her senses kicking in as she realized the hole she’d dug herself into.
Without another word, I turned and walked toward my office. I didn't waste a glance over my shoulder. She knew where I was going, and I knew she'd follow.
I walked straight up to my desk, sitting in my chair, but she stood across from me, arms crossed, body stiff. I hadn't shut the door, not wanting to make her uncomfortable—regardless of being 97% sure that wasn’t the problem.
"You can sit," I gestured toward the chair.
"No." Another transparent attempt to provoke me. Whatever. I was picking my battles.
"Speak."
"I said I don’t wanna talk to you."
I let out an impatient sigh at her lack of cooperation. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what this is about.”
"Oh, so now you care about my feelings?"
That obviously evoked her.
"Is this about last weekend?" I had to be direct. This needed to be addressed more urgently than I’d previously assessed.
"What about it?"
Was this a game to her? Having me worried I sexually harassed someone was funny? I twisted the rings on my fingers, waiting for an answer.
"If I crossed a line, I apologize—" I began, my increasing heart rate and the growing pit in my stomach barely concealed behind my solemn expression.
"Don't apologize to me, apologize to your girlfriend."
I was completely and utterly taken aback, a feeling I rarely experienced.
"Excuse me? My what?" I dared.
"Sorry, maybe not your girlfriend. I shouldn’t have assumed you’re not just casually fucking."
Jealousy—all of this was jealousy. Though I was not involved with anyone, it was the only explanation.
"Absolutely not." It wasn't an answer to the question; it was me putting an end to the conversation. "You are very much excused from my office.”
She didn't need to be asked twice, heading toward the door before throwing out one last provoking comment. "Good, have fun touching your blonde," she murmured under her breath.
I laid my palms face down on my desk, clenching them though refraining from standing up. "I'm going to give you a moment so you can think about what you’re saying," I instructed calmly.
"Oh, sorry. I should be more specific. You probably mess around with a lot of blonde women, so that wasn't clear enough."
"You know what, this conversation was a mistake. Leave."
A forced smirk covered her face, attempting to mask her disappointment. "So you're not even denying it?" Her voice wavered ever so slightly on the last word—the antagonistic remark, a heartbroken woman's question.
"I don't owe you any answers. I'm sorry I gave you the impression my relationships are any of your concern.”
She winced, stung by my words. Even after all this, I didn't want to hurt her.
"But for the record, I don't just mess around with people,” I added against my better judgment.
Evelyn appeared even more hurt.
"Could've fooled me, after everything I saw at the coffee shop." Her face contorted at the memory.
Oh. Elizabeth.
Without context, that could have looked remarkably wrong, but with it, I didn't even consider us coming across that way a possibility.
"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”
"So I imagined her hands around your waist and her lips pressed against your cheek? I didn't see her pull you against her body more times than I can count. If I hadn’t continued running, I likely would’ve seen you two French kissing like teenagers with the way she wouldn’t stop groping—”
I couldn’t listen to this anymore; utterly disturbing. Her depicting nonexistent sexual chemistry between my sister and I was far worse than me rewarding her disrespect with answers.
I cut her off abruptly. "For the love of God, Evelyn. It wasn't like that—" I spit out with disgust, nearly gagging.
"I don't even care."
I am sure you do not.
"Good, so stop talking about my sister like that."
Evelyn's skin gained more color than ever before, as her demeanor turned sheepish, visibly shrinking a few inches.
“—What?" She froze up, at a loss for words.