Chapter 3
I’m always the first one in the office, unless Joshua has pulled an all-nighter. Arriving early to the office, organizing my desk, putting on a cup of coffee, and just settling in before the others arrive has become a routine over the past two years.
Of course Caleb has to disrupt it.
It’s the fourth day since he came to work, and for the third day in a row, he calls out, “Hold the elevator!”
The doors are sliding close as I look up at him heading towards me.
My finger immediately starts pressing the button to close the doors, and just as they’re about to shut, he slides towards me, sticking his foot in the elevator door.
His eyes fly to the button my hand is hovering over, and he smirks.
“I said hold the elevator, not close it.”
I blink slowly, innocently. “Sorry. I must’ve misheard.”
He stares at me for a moment before drawling, “I bet you did.” His voice is filled with a tinge of mocking that I ignore.
I glance at my watch. “You are half an hour early. Again.”
He shrugs out of his coat and pulls off his sweater as I press the button for the seventh floor, the fabric of his shirt clinging to his chest in a way that’s entirely too distracting.
I watch him roll back his sleeves carefully, revealing toned forearms that make my mouth go dry.
He catches me looking, and I immediately avert my eyes, my cheeks warming.
“See something you like, Princess?”
My jaw tightens, and I shoot him a withering look. “My seventy-year-old neighbor is more my type than you, Wilder.”
He waggles his finger at me in a manner that is simply infuriating, clicking his tongue as he says, “Reynolds. Not Wilder. Jesus, Lopez, my brother is going to kill both of us if you out me.”
“Reynolds. Whatever.” I turned back to staring at the elevator doors, wondering if they will open any faster if I hold my breath. “Honestly, keeping track of your fake identities isn’t in my job description.”
“So?” He leans back against the metal wall, watching me. “What have you been up to since college?”
I stare blankly at the elevator doors before turning my body slightly to face him.
“Are you trying to make small talk, Caleb? Because I don’t want to have any kind of conversation with you unless it is work related.
You and I are not friends.” I hold up my hand, wagging my finger between the two of us.
“I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you.
I’m not happy that you are here. I have no intention of making a welcoming work environment for you.
I find you annoying and irritating and insufferably arrogant. ”
He blinks slowly, and then a slow smile curls his lips. “Now, why does that not surprise me? God forbid you grew up and matured—”
“Hold it right there,” I snap. “Just because I don’t want to skip down the hallway with you, holding hands and braiding each other’s hair, doesn’t mean I’m not mature.
It just means I don’t like you. I don’t like breathing the same air as you.
That’s pretty much all there is. Don’t go dragging my maturity levels into it.
I’m very professional when it comes to my work.
” The disbelieving snort he lets out has me bristling.
“Nothing phases me. Just keep your small talk to yourself, and focus on digging up the mole.”
His grin widens, and something dangerous flickers in his blue eyes. “Nothing phases you, huh?” Why does that sound like a challenge? And why does the way he’s looking at me make my pulse quicken?
The elevator doors open just then, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Stepping out, I hurry to my desk before throwing my things on my desk and heading over to the empty kitchen. Putting on a pot of coffee, I hear footsteps from behind me. “Is that decaf?”
“No,” I reply shortly. “I drink normal coffee like normal people.”
“My sister-in-law drinks decaf.” Caleb leans his hip against the counter, facing me. The kitchen suddenly feels much smaller with his presence filling the space.
I bring out my mug from the shelf, glancing at him. “And?”
He shrugs. “Sounds like you’re biased against people who drink decaf.”
Taking out the creamer from the fridge, I look around for a spoon. “Sounds like you keep looking for excuses to talk to me. Unless you want some coffee, why don’t you go sit at your desk and get to work? I’m sure there’s some very important corporate spying to catch up on.”
Silence follows my words, but Caleb doesn’t budge from his spot.
It’s getting very inconvenient to have to move around in the small kitchen when his towering frame takes up most of the space.
I can’t do anything without brushing against him, and every accidental contact sends little sparks through my skin that I refuse to acknowledge.
He doesn’t seem to be in the mood to get a hint and leave.
“You know what your problem is?” He finally straightens, and I feel nothing but relief—and maybe the tiniest bit of disappointment.
“No. But I’m sure you won’t be able to resist enlightening me with your infinite wisdom.” I reach for the pot.
He grabs the pot before I can and pours coffee into my mug, slowly, his eyes on me.
The simple gesture feels oddly intimate, his hand close enough to mine that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“You think everyone is beneath you. You call me arrogant—Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? I’m not the one holding some weird grudge from our college days.
So I was a better student than you. Get over it. ”
My rage boils over instantaneously. “You were not a better student than me, Wi—Reynolds, you just had daddy’s money to buy your way through everything while I was working my ass off to afford textbooks. And I’m not arrogant; I’m selective. There’s a difference.”
Before he can say anything, I add coolly, “I’m just drawing lines. Boundaries, if you will. Seems to me you don’t understand what that word means. That’s not my fucking problem.” I sip my coffee, holding his gaze and trying not to notice how his jaw clenches when I mention his family’s money.
“Boundaries? Right,” he scoffs, but there’s an edge to his voice now that wasn’t there before.
Annoyance snakes its way through me. I turn around, ready to end this conversation and leave, but his next words throw me off guard. “You’re just worried I will upstage you. Like I’ve always done.”
My whole body goes still as I try to process what he just said.
My first instinct is rage. My second instinct is to throw the entire cup of coffee in his face.
I consider it. Nobody’s here. The kitchen has no cameras.
It will be his word against mine. Very tempting, but I’m not going to play dirty.
However, just as a precaution, I set the cup down on the counter to avoid further temptation and turn to face him.
“What is it, Reynolds? You can’t handle the fact that not everybody thinks you shit rainbows and sunshine? Can your fragile little ego not handle somebody not worshipping at the altar of your supposed greatness?”
For the first time, I see a more obvious reaction.
His shoulders tensing, the slight narrowing of those gorgeous blue eyes.
His hands flex at his sides, and I realize I’ve hit a nerve.
A sly smile curls my lips. “Oh, was I right? Does it bother you I don’t fall at your feet like every other woman you’ve ever met?
Poor baby, must be such a shock to your system. ”
He tries. He tries to brush off my words, but I’ve honed in on his weakness. And it makes my smile broaden. “Why, Reynolds, I never took you to be the needy type. You should probably work on that insecurity. Maybe add it to your list of New Year’s resolutions.”
He pulls back his shoulders, something shifting in his expression—part frustration, part something else that makes my breath catch. I pick up my coffee, returning to my seat, a spring in my step.
I expect him to follow me to continue the argument, and when he doesn’t, I hum to myself happily, proud of getting one over him.
It might have been a petty blow, but I don’t hold myself to such high standards where I would feel anything akin to guilt for hitting below the belt. He was the one goading me.
Marinating in my small win, I start up my laptop and begin going over the finalized campaign ideas.
This time I’m working on two campaign ideas, just in case one is leaked.
The idea of having a backup campaign alleviates some of the tension plaguing me.
I’ve not yet discussed this with anyone, that I’m working on another campaign idea, but I know I will have to eventually run it by Iris.
The only problem I foresee is that working on two campaigns at the same time will mean more resources being divided, and I don’t know whether or not it will affect our main project.
I hear Caleb’s chair creak beside me, and I ignore him.
In college, I never had any guy on my radar.
Except for Caleb. He was always there, on the edge of my vision, always lingering.
He was charming and funny, the most popular guy in our department.
Everybody knew him or had heard of him. He was always surrounded by girls, arriving late to class, lounging in the back row.
I don’t think I ever saw him set foot in the library, and considering I spent all my free time in there, I would know.