4. Rosay #2
He laughs, and his voice disappears as he says, “I’ll see you next week.” A moment later, Winnie’s chipper tone adds, “I’ve gotta run too, but I’ll send you all the pictures and details. ”
I groan loudly—more like an exasperated yell—and draw the attention of some passing coworkers. My glare has them moving on quickly, but of course it would bring Satan himself.
Graham appears in my open doorway just as I’m banging my head against the desk.
“Everything okay in here?” He leans against the door, and as much as I try to stop them, my eyes zero in on the toned and tatted forearms beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp white Oxford.
The material is just tight enough to showcase his large biceps and muscular chest, and a glimpse of darkness behind the near translucent shirt reminds me of a People gossip magazine cover with a tatted and shirtless Graham under a snippet saying, “Investments aren’t the only thing Golden Graham works hard on. ”
Yeah, as if dating heiresses and celebrities is that difficult.
I divert my attention to the stack of folders, clenching my fists against the errant thoughts and refocusing on my hatred of the man in front of me.
“Everything’s fine.”
“You sure?” he replies sardonically. “I could’ve sworn I heard you breaking rule 27 in the employee handbook.”
I stare at him, unsure whether he was dropped on his head as a child or if he’s simply looking for a reason to annoy me.
Rule 27 has nothing to do with a noise limit but deals with break room etiquette.
I decide not to let him in on the fact that I memorized every rule in the handbook years ago for a bet that earned me an extra week of vacation.
Instead, I cock my head to the side and allow my cheek to tick up into a smile. “You’re the type of person that reads the back of shampoo bottles and brings your own utensils out to eat, aren’t you? ”
He chuckles, and I hate the way my stomach swoops when a smooth divot appears in his cheek. “The cases of food poisoning rise every year.”
“You’re weird.” I grab a folder off the stack, smacking it loudly against the desk. “Did you need something? I’ve got work to do.”
“Keep your crowing to a minimum or else I’ll buy the entire floor noise canceling headphones and add it to your spreadsheet .” He says the final word with a hint of amusement, and I dutifully ignore him until he leaves with a huff.
***
“Are you sure your grandfather isn’t available next weekend?
” I ask, unwrapping the birria tacos Stella brought me.
We were supposed to meet Tilly for lunch, but Jessie is sick, and my morning meetings ran over.
Like the gem she is, Stella brought lunch to me and is now camped out in my cushy guest chair.
“I’m sure.” She laughs and tosses the aluminum foil from her chorizo and egg taco into the wastebasket at the end of my desk. “Pop-Pop is taking his girlfriend to her sixtieth class reunion.”
I groan and collapse onto my forearms. “What about your hubby?”
“Not a chance.” She relaxes in the wingback chair, tapping away on her phone.
I can’t come to the wedding stag after I’ve told my family I’m engaged. “I’d rather pay someone than allow my family to think I’m single again just a week after telling them I’m engaged.”
“You’re engaged?” Graham’s deep voice fills the room.
Fuck.
I take a moment to gather my scrambled thoughts before allowing myself to take in the glower of the man leaning against my office door. He’s dressed in a tight teal button-up and pants that fit entirely too well in places where my gaze should not be roaming .
Shoving the small—miniscule, really—bit of attraction deep into the dark corners of my mind, I reply, “Eavesdropping much? Rule 35 in the handbook. No listening in on client meetings.”
Something like disappointment flashes across his features before being replaced with a scowl.
“Try closing the door next time, and last I checked, Stella is not a client with us. Stop slacking and get back to work.”
Without another word, he walks away.
Weird.
The last thing I need to worry about is my boss—who dislikes me already—finding out about my conundrum. I’m already the family disappointment, I don’t need to add the laughing stock of Thompson to the list.
Stella lets out an unladylike snort. “Gah, I can’t believe he saw your boobs.”
Heat floods my chest at the memory, and I’m thankful my black blazer covers my collarbone. I throw a rubber band ball at her. “Don’t remind me. It’s his fault I’m in this situation.”
“How so?”
I slip out of my flats and prop my feet up on the desk.
“Graham kept us over in a meeting, and I missed all the good guys at speed dating. You know they match up early.” I grit my teeth and launch into the story of how the mariachi band, the spotty connection, and Graham’s phone call landed me in the position of needing a fake fiancé for my sister’s wedding.
“Wow.” Her mouth forms a perfect “o” but morphs into a smile that she quickly traps between her teeth. “Sorry. That bites.”
I blow out a raspberry. “I know, right?”
“You could always ask Graham. ”
I blink a few times, wondering if I’m having an aneurysm or if I actually heard her right. Her expression is calm, no hint that she’s joking. “You’re serious?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, why not? You need someone willing to be called Graham, and if I remember correctly, wasn’t it you that told me to hate bang Jameson to cut all the tension when we worked together?”
“Graham and I are nothing like you and Jameson. We genuinely can’t stand each other. Sure, he’s hot, but he knows it and that makes him ten times more annoying than he has any right to be. Plus, he’s my boss, not my rival for a promotion,”
“But—”
“We’d probably end up strangling each other if we had to fake liking one another, smiling, touching, not wanting to claw the other’s eyes out. You know, normal couple stuff. I’d rather douse myself in honey and run through chicken feathers.”
“Okay,” she drags out the word, popping her lips as she stands. “I’m going to let you work through that and get back to me later. Though, you should probably smooth things over with him before asking if he’ll pretend to be your fiancé.”
I squeeze her tight and sigh into her embrace. A knock at the door breaks us apart, and another employee asks for help fixing their spreadsheet. Just as Stella reaches the door, I say, “Please ask Pop-Pop if he’ll take pity on me.”
Her chuckle follows her down the hall, taking my self-preservation with her.