by S Bolanos
“What? Of course it was!” I shouted, recalling the gentle way he’d cleaned the blood from my fur and how every move he’d made had been prefaced with a silent ask for permission. If he was that damn determined for assent with an animal, I couldn’t even begin to fathom the levels he would go to for a human. Suddenly, I felt terrible for believing even half the rumors about him in the office. He clearly wasn’t that person.
“Sara. Hello. You still there?” Charline asked, snapping me back to the present.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“So, what happened?” she prodded.
I can do this.
“After the party, I drove back home,” I started. She nodded along, none of this was news. “But I was so messed up that I couldn't open the door.” She gave me a look out of the corner of her eye. “I’m serious,” I responded defensively. “I was really out of it. I thought about going back to your place, but didn’t trust myself to drive. Anyway, I sort of started to wander around, hoping that whatever it was would go away and I could get inside.”
She made a face, but didn’t interrupt.
“Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But I guess I was more disoriented than I thought, because I kind of got lost. Well, really lost. That's when Michael found me and insisted on taking care of me."
The story sounded even worse out loud and became feebler by the second as I realized how far we were from my house. I hadn’t gone a couple of miles; I’d gone clear across town. At least parts of the tale had a little in common with the truth. The drive had been terrible. And I couldn’t open the door at all, let alone try to steer a car with four paws instead of two hands. All in all, it wasn’t that bad of a story, except I had no idea how I was going to get Michael to back it up.
“Really? He just stumbled across you and carted you off to his place?”
“Well, yeah.”
She speared me with a look. “Why didn’t he take you home?”
If she keeps punching holes in my story like this, there won’t be a story left.
If I told her he’d technically hit me with his car, that was bound to lead to even worse questions. Also she worked in HR, so he’d probably get fired. There had to be a response that would satisfy her, but I couldn’t think of one.
“I was in no shape to object, Charline,” I countered weakly. “I already told you, I was pretty out of it.”
“Uh-huh. I think you’re lying—you’re not very good at it. Something happened.” Charline wiggled her eyebrows.
“Nothing happened!”
“If nothing happened, why did you ask me to come get you? Why not wait for him to get back?”
“Because I’m embarrassed.” I slumped in my seat and stared out the window at a world once more passing me by.
“Well, that seems genuine enough. But what happened to your clothes?”
Crap.
“I must have forgotten them. He offered me these to sleep in.”
“Sure he did. Well, I guess I’ll find out the truth tomorrow at work.”
“Work!” I slapped my head and instantly regretted it.
“Don’t worry, when I didn’t hear from you and you didn’t show today, I covered for you. So, if anyone asks, you were really sick. Like really, really sick. And your phone broke.”
“You’re the best. What kind of sick? That way I know how to answer if people ask.”
She spared me a quick look. “Best to fudge over the details. Tell them you don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Charline!”
“What! It had to be believable. Aside from that dog attack, you never miss work.” I sighed heavily and leaned back into the seat.
Eventually, we pulled up next to my faded green car.
Amazing how two nights of running full out only amounted to thirty minutes in driving time.
“Sorry I cost you your lunch,” I said as I freed the seatbelt.
“No big. I’ll sneak one in. But I should probably be getting back.”
“Thanks again. I owe you,” I added before I shut the car door.
She waved as she backed up. I watched her leave, grateful that she wouldn’t see that I didn’t have my keys. The gate creaked open and I padded through the shambles of pottery to the back door where my cocktail dress was a shredded, bloody mess. I hurriedly scraped up the ruined fabric and flicked the latch open, a much easier task now that I had opposable thumbs.
I groaned inwardly when I arrived at the office Wednesday and found Bob waiting to pounce.
“Sheppard, where have you been?” he demanded before I could even sit down.
“Sorry, Mr. Hargrave, I thought you would’ve been notified. I was out sick,” I said in the mildest tone I could manage.
He scowled at me as if he didn’t believe a word of it. “I heard HR’s excuse, but any reasonable person would have called in. It’s behavior like this that prevents you from moving up in the company, Sheppard. If you can’t take yourself seriously, why should anyone else?”
My jaw fell. “Excuse me, sir?”
“You heard me, Sheppard. Now enough chit chat. Have you seen the Sanderson Report? I could have sworn I gave it to Kyle, but neither he nor Quinn have seen it.”
I stood there staring at him in disbelief.
Who treats people like this?
“Well, Sheppard, have you, or haven’t you?”
My jaw finally closed with an audible snap as I spun to pull out a drawer behind me. I pulled out the cherry red folder and practically threw it at him. “There’s your Sanderson Report. It has triplicates of graphs and alternate strategies depending on how aggressively they want to pursue things. And don’t worry, it’s been proofed as well.”
He stared down at the folder as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing or what I was saying. “You did the Sanderson Report?”
My indignant fury fizzled. “Yes.”
His jowls wiggled as he glared at the glossy cover another moment then gave an aggravated huff. “It’s too late to have one of the guys look it over, the presentation is this afternoon. I’ll have to do it myself. Fetch me a coffee so I can get started.” He turned on his heel to disappear back into his office, then stopped and turned back to me. “For your sake, Sheppard, this had better be good,” he said, waving the folder for emphasis.
I swallowed, instantly anxious in the face of the blatant threat. He didn’t wait for me to find my tongue, simply vanished behind his office door, the crash of blinds echoing in his wake. The breath I was holding burst forth and I clutched a hand to my racing heart. I’d only wanted to prove myself. I never thought I’d get fired over it.
At that moment, one of my coworkers popped their head up a couple cubicles down. “You’re back, huh?” Kelly asked, making her way towards me. “Was starting to think you were done with this place.” She blatantly eyed me from head to toe. Kelly was one of those women with perpetual resting bitch face, so it was difficult to tell if she was about to be exceptionally nasty or compliment my blouse.
I dropped my hand back to my side, refusing to be intimidated by a woman who believed that sleeping your way through the office was the only way to get ahead. “Yeah, I’m back.”
“You’re not contagious, are you?” She borderline sneered, once again looking me over. Whatever illness Charline had concocted must’ve been truly impressive.
“No, I’m not contagious,” I answered without going into details. She continued to stand there staring at me and the awkward tinge in the air intensified. “Can I help you with something?” I asked when she didn’t leave.
“You’ve got some nerve taking that Sanderson Report. Robert has been looking for that thing for days.”
I refused to cower before her. “Well, it’s done now, so he doesn’t need to worry about it.”
She raised a penciled brow, no doubt surprised at my uncharacteristic hostility. That made two of us. “At any rate, I’d get that coffee if I was you.” She spared me one last condescending look, then turned
and walked back to her own cubicle.
What is going on with me? I never confront Kelly.
With a shake of my head, I made my way to the coffee station. As much as I disliked Kelly, she was right about one thing, it wouldn’t hurt to get the brute his coffee. I turned the corner and ran smack into the last person I wanted to see. Or more appropriately, he ran into me.
At least he didn’t hit me with a car this time.
“H-hi, Michael,” I stuttered.
"Hey, Sara, I've been wanting to talk with you," he said, his expression serious.
Blood rose to my face as my stomach sank to my feet.
Oh no, Charline told everyone the real story. No wonder Kelly was giving me a strange look. She thinks someone like me slept with Michael Freaking Howell.
“I never did get a hold of you last week," he added when I didn’t say anything.
Okay, maybe Charline didn’t tell anyone about finding me at his place. The reassuring thought was quickly forgotten as the rest of his words sunk in. Crap, I totally forgot we were going to hit up that burger joint last Thursday. He probably thinks I stood him up.
"Right. Not sure if you heard, but I was a bit under the weather." I sent up a silent prayer that he’d accept the lame excuse.
“I did. I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” he said, leaning against the wall and preventing me from going any further. A couple of co-workers walked past. He spared them a smile and a wave, then returned his full attention to me. “In all seriousness though, there is something I’ve been wanting to talk with you about. Think you could meet me in the parking garage after work?"
That’s definitely not lunch.
I cast a nervous glance at another pair of coworkers eying us, not fully convinced that everyone hadn’t heard some version of the lie I’d told Charline.
"Uh, sure, I guess. But why the parking deck?"
"Perfect. See you then,” he said and promptly walked off without answering my question.
It wasn’t until I was pouring the cream in Bob’s coffee that it dawned on me what Michael might want to talk about.
8
Werewolves Are Real
Five o'clock rolled around, but my palms had started sweating at four. It took me searching two different parking levels to find the right one. Michael’s yellow jeep stood out in blaring contrast to the gray concrete surrounding us. He stood, leaning against the hood, arms crossed, scowling at the ground.
I wiped my hands on my slacks and approached. How do I explain any of this? He’s probably totally pissed that I’ve ruined his reputation by sullying his standards. What must people have said to him?
I fought the increasing urge to run the other way as fast as I could. I’d find a new job somewhere else, hopefully somewhere that genuinely appreciated me. Starting over might not be so bad.
I wonder how far I’d get before he noticed.
My shoe scuffed the concrete and I winced at the betraying sound. Unsurprisingly, Michael looked up.
"Great, you made it!" His enthusiasm caught me off guard and it took me a moment to formulate a response.
"Of course I made it. So, what's this thing you've been trying to talk to me about?" I asked, playing coy while I mentally crossed my fingers. Please don’t be about how I was supposedly at your house.
He glanced around then said, “Maybe we should talk about it somewhere more private.”
Fuck. It’s totally about that.
He pushed away from the hood. “We can go back to my place and I can make you dinner," he said, then opened the door of his jeep and started to get in without pausing for an answer.
"Wait a minute,” I said, finally coming out of my stupor.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“I’m not following you home. I barely even know you.”
His brow furrowed. It was a toss-up whether he was genuinely confused or just not used to hearing no. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust. I know we work together, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to blindly follow you home. Until a week ago, I didn’t even know you knew my name.” So that was a little more honesty than I’d intended, but it didn’t change the fact that he barely qualified as an office acquaintance.
His face fell at the onslaught. “What do your instincts tell you?”
“That I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. And you definitely don’t know me,” I said emphatically.
It was a little bit of a fib. He’d technically taken care of me—rather well in fact—and if he’d wanted to hurt me, he could have done it already. But that logic didn’t do anything to shake my paranoia. Before, I’d been a stray dog. Now, I was a woman.
“And besides, why should we go to your house? There are plenty of other places we could go and talk.” I gestured to the garage we were currently standing in.
"You’re right, we haven’t known each other long, but I bet we have a lot more in common than you think. As for the house…" He paused looking anxious and glanced around the nearly empty deck. “What I want to say, I’d rather no one else overheard.”
I was instantly doused in cold and at the same time my palms started sweating again in earnest.
Shit. It really is about the lie I told Charline.
Officially feeling guilty as hell, I caved. “Okay, you win. We’ll go to your place.”
His face visibly relaxed and my stomach rolled. “Great. I’ll see you there,” he said and resumed getting back in his jeep.
“Wait,” I called out once again. “I don’t know where you live.”
Confusion flashed briefly across his face. Then he got out and walked towards me. I stiffened, not sure what to expect, and stood frozen as he took out a pen and scrawled on my hand. “There, that’s the address, but I bet you could find it in the dark.”
I blinked and frowned at him. He simply winked and walked back over to his jeep.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Not everyone stalks you, you know.
“Michael, wait.” He ignored the outburst. This was starting to feel like a bad idea. There was no way I could get to his house without looking like I already knew where I was going. “How about I follow you?” I suggested.
Again, no response.
“Seriously, wait a damn minute!”
He got into the Jeep despite my protests. My loud aggravated cry echoed back at me. His engine revved to life and the headlights flashed against the concrete wall. For a split second, I was back in the middle of the road, heart pounding, feet sliding on slick asphalt, about to get creamed by oncoming traffic. I blinked the vision away right as his tires started to roll back.
I scrambled back to my car as fast as I could, determined to at least appear to be following him.
Why the hell did I agree to this?
I screeched out of the space and hit the accelerator to catch up. Unfortunately, I lost him by the fifth light, but even with one wrong turn, I managed to pull up right after him.
I slammed the car door and stalked over to where he was propped casually against the blood red door. He looked back at me, the picture of innocence.
"You didn't exactly make it easy to follow," I huffed.
He simply snorted and unlocked the door. Inside, he tossed the keys on the peninsula and plopped down the same way he had the other night. For a moment, I feared he was going to pat the seat, but he leaned back instead.
I closed the door and chose the love seat adjacent to him. "Now what's this all about?" Some human-decorum part of my mind sent up all the red flags that I was entirely too comfortable in what was supposed to be a strange house.
“See, I told you you’d find the place no problem,” he said with a smile.
I rolled my eyes and let out another huff.
Might as well get a handle on this now.
“About what people said at the office,” I started, not wanting to assume what he’d heard.
He shrugged and leaned forward to rest h
is elbows on his knees. “They were all lies,” he said matter of fact.
“Um, yeah.”
Okay, so maybe this isn’t what I thought it was.
“You weren’t sick,” he said with a straight face.
Like that, I was lost again.
I shouldn’t have come here. Why did I come here?
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I asked, more nervous than ever about the answer.
Abruptly he stood up. “Do you want a drink? I could use a drink.”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid straight from a decorative bottle. The smell of whiskey filled the air and burned my nose. He downed the glass in one go and seriously seemed to be contemplating another. Both the glass and bottle scraped across the granite counter as he pushed them away.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” he said, turning back to me. "Where were you Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night?"
I scoffed at the unexpected question in light of his demeanor. "What, you don't want to know where I was Monday night as well?" If this was supposed to be some roundabout way of calling me out for starting rumors, I didn’t appreciate it.
"I know where you were Monday night.”
The makings of a blush started to burn my cheeks. I pushed past it and fired back, "How could you possibly know that?"
"You were here," he said matter of fact without an ounce of accusation or insinuation.
I blanched.
Maybe he's mad about what Charline said. No doubt the tale has acquired some colorful details. Maybe this is all an elaborate ruse to get back at me for starting rumors.
"Look, Charline gets…interesting ideas sometimes. She clearly took the lunch too far," I tried to explain as my face heated more with each word.
“This has nothing to do with Charline or the rumor mill, which hasn’t been turning nearly as much as I would have expected.”
