Chapter 13 - Cheerful Carrots
There were consequences to calling Adrian Vale by his first name.
I discovered this approximately twelve hours later.
"Angelica."
I looked up from my computer.
Adrian stood beside my desk.
Not Ms. Stone.
Angelica.
At nine thirteen in the morning.
In public.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Maya's head slowly rose over her monitor.
Ben stopped typing.
Apparently we were all going to acknowledge this.
"Yes?"
"The Solara coordination meeting moved to ten."
"Okay."
"I need the revised sections before then."
"They're almost done."
"Almost isn't done."
There he was.
I smiled.
"Good morning to you too."
His expression didn't change.
"Ten o'clock."
"I heard you."
"Then why are you still talking?"
"Because you came to my desk."
A pause.
Behind him, Ben suddenly became very interested in a spreadsheet.
Adrian looked at me for another second.
"Ten."
Then walked away.
I watched him go.
Maya waited approximately four seconds.
Then-
"Angelica."
"No."
She rolled her chair closer.
"Angelica."
"I know my name."
"Apparently so does he."
I looked at her.
"He has always known my name."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
Ben leaned around his monitor.
"He usually calls you Ms. Stone."
"Thank you, Ben. I was unaware."
"He just called you Angelica."
"I was here."
"At your desk."
"Remarkable observational skills this morning."
Maya stared at me.
I stared back.
She smiled.
I pointed at her.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You're thinking loudly."
Her smile widened.
I turned back to my computer.
Unfortunately, I was thinking loudly too.
At ten twenty-three, Adrian rejected one of my revisions.
At ten twenty-six, I told him he was wrong.
At ten twenty-seven, Daniel quietly moved his coffee away from the edge of the table.
Probably wise.
"No," Adrian said.
"Yes."
"No."
"The column can't move another four inches without affecting the corridor clearance."
"It can."
"It literally can't."
"It can if you adjust the partition."
"Which creates another problem."
"Then solve it."
I stared at him.
"That is incredibly useful. Thank you."
"That's what you're here for."
"And here I thought I was decorative."
Daniel looked down.
His shoulders moved.
Traitor.
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
"Do you have something to add?"
Daniel immediately stopped laughing.
"No."
"Good."
I crossed my arms.
"The partition stays."
"It moves."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That isn't architecture."
His jaw tightened.
"Excuse me?"
"That's dictatorship with AutoCAD."
Daniel coughed into his fist.
Adrian slowly turned his head toward him.
Daniel looked at the ceiling.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
"Are you finished?" Adrian asked.
"Probably not."
"I was afraid of that."
I blinked.
Wait.
Was that-
Adrian turned back to the screen before I could decide.
Asshole.
By eleven thirty, I'd revised the partition.
Not because Adrian told me to.
Because after another fifteen minutes of arguing, I'd discovered that moving it two inches instead of four actually solved both problems.
Which meant neither of us had been completely right.
I considered this an unacceptable outcome.
I was reviewing the updated drawings when a phone landed directly beside my keyboard.
I looked at it.
Then at Ethan.
"Pick one."
"Why?"
"Because apparently I can't make decisions without supervision."
I looked at the screen.
Two shirts.
Same style.
Different colors.
One light blue.
One dark green.
"Light blue."
"Really?"
"Definitely."
"Maya said green."
Without looking up from her computer, Maya said-
"Because green is better."
"She's wrong."
Maya looked over.
"Fuck you, Angel."
"Your taste has consequences."
Ethan laughed.
"See, I thought blue too."
"Then why are you bothering me?"
"Validation."
"That's what therapy is for."
He picked up his phone.
Then looked at the pictures again.
"Would you wear it?"
I stared at him.
"Why would I wear your shirt?"
He laughed.
"No. Would you like it on a man?"
"Oh."
I looked again.
"Yeah. Light blue."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Light blue looks good on men."
"Ms. Stone."
My soul left my body.
Slowly, I looked up.
Adrian stood several feet away.
In light blue.
The exact fucking color on Ethan's phone.
Oh God.
Ethan looked at his phone.
Then at Adrian.
Then at me.
His mouth twitched.
Don't.
Maya noticed approximately half a second later.
Her eyes went from Adrian's shirt to Ethan's phone.
Then directly to me.
Absolutely fucking not.
"Mr. Vale."
Ethan, because apparently he wanted me dead, said pleasantly-
"Nice shirt, Adrian."
I closed my eyes.
Maya made a suspicious noise behind me.
Adrian looked at Ethan.
"Thank you."
Then his eyes came back to me.
"I need you."
Something stupid happened somewhere behind my ribs.
Then common sense arrived.
For work.
Obviously.
"Conference room two."
"Now?"
"Yes."
I saved my file and stood.
Ethan picked up his phone.
"Blue?"
"Blue."
Adrian was already walking away.
I grabbed my notebook.
"Buy the blue one," I called over my shoulder.
Ethan laughed.
"Done."
Adrian's shoulders seemed to get approximately half an inch more rigid.
Interesting.
No.
Not interesting.
The client had changed the arrival sequence.
Again.
So Adrian's interruption was legitimate.
Annoyingly.
We spent twenty-five minutes discussing vehicular circulation, lobby visibility, and whether moving one planter six feet would somehow destroy the architectural integrity of the entire hotel.
According to Adrian-
possibly.
According to me-
he needed a hobby.
I didn't tell him that.
Mostly because I liked being employed.
Eventually.
That evening, I cooked.
This was not unusual.
I liked cooking when I had time.
It gave my hands something to do and my brain something to focus on that wasn't architecture.
Or work.
Or Adrian.
Especially Adrian.
I made soy-garlic chicken.
Rice.
Rolled omelet.
Broccoli.
Cucumber.
A few small avocado rolls because I'd bought too much avocado and apparently lacked self-control around grocery stores.
And carrots.
I had a tiny flower-shaped vegetable cutter.
There was absolutely no practical reason for me to own it.
I owned it anyway.
Normal carrots were depressing.
Flower-shaped carrots were objectively superior.
I packed dinner for the next day.
Then looked at everything still sitting on the counter.
I'd made too much.
Again.
I stared at it.
Well.
Lunch the day after.
I reached for another container.
Stopped.
I forgot.
Adrian's voice from Friday night.
I looked at the food.
No.
Absolutely not.
I started putting it away.
Then remembered black coffee.
Eight at night.
I was working.
I closed the refrigerator.
Opened it again.
This was ridiculous.
He was a thirty-eight-year-old man.
He had successfully founded and operated an entire architecture firm.
He had two children.
Presumably he understood food.
Whether he chose to consume it was none of my business.
I closed the refrigerator.
Three seconds passed.
I opened it again.
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
The next morning, I brought two containers to work.
One for me.
One because food waste was morally irresponsible.
That was all.
I put the second container in the office refrigerator.
And forgot about it.
Mostly.
Until seven forty-six that evening.
Solara had apparently declared war on my personal life.
At seven forty-six, I was still at my desk fixing a set of client revisions that should have taken forty minutes and had somehow consumed two hours.
The office was nearly empty.
Daniel had left.
Maya had left.
Ben had left.
Ethan had left almost an hour ago.
Adrian was still there.
Of course.
His office light remained on across the floor.
I finished the revision.
Sent it.
Closed my laptop.
Then remembered the refrigerator.
Shit.
I went to the break room.
Opened it.
There were two containers.
Mine.
And his.
Not his.
The extra one.
The completely incidental, emotionally neutral extra one.
I stared at it.
I could take it home.
Obviously.
That was the normal option.
I picked it up.
Heated it in the microwave.
Walked out of the break room.
And somehow went in the wrong direction.
Toward Adrian's office.
Interesting.
Apparently I had lost all sense of geography.
His door was open.
He sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie gone, staring at his computer.
The crooked little house was visible on his forearm.
I knocked lightly against the open door.
He looked up.
"Ms. Stone."
I walked in.
Put the container on his desk.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
"What's this?"
"Food."
His eyes lifted.
"I'm familiar with the concept."
"Your eating habits suggest otherwise."
A pause.
"What is it?"
"Dinner."
"For?"
I stared at him.
"You."
Something changed in his expression.
Tiny.
Almost nothing.
But there.
"Why?"
"I made too much."
"You made too much."
"Yes."
"Convenient."
"Do you want it or not?"
His eyes returned to the container.
"What is it?"
"Why?"
"I'd like to know what I'm agreeing to eat."
"You're surprisingly demanding for a starving man."
"I'm not starving."
"Did you eat dinner?"
Silence.
"Lunch?"
More silence.
I stared at him.
"You didn't eat lunch?"
"I was busy."
"Oh my God."
"I had coffee."
"That isn't food."
"I've survived this long."
"Against all odds."
I pushed the container closer.
"Eat."
His eyebrow lifted.
"Was that an order?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
"Don't make me take it back."
He reached for the container.
I immediately regretted everything.
This was weird.
Was this weird?
This was definitely weird.
I should've just taken it home.
He opened it.
And stopped.
Silence.
I watched his face.
His eyes moved slowly over the compartments.
Chicken.
Rice.
Rolled omelet.
Sushi.
Broccoli.
Cucumber.
Avocado.
Carrots.
His eyes stopped.
Oh no.
"What?"
He looked at the box.
Then at me.