“That was fast,” Isaac and I left my office together.
“Damn it, Isaac!” A deep voice boomed. “You need to clean this office. It’s a bloody fire hazard at this point! Whoops, sorry.” An older man I immediately recognized as Michael Townsend crossed the room and shook my hand enthusiastically. “Celeste McAlaster, welcome!” His hair was white, and he wore the years of his work in the lines on his forehead and around his eyes. Years of reading, squinting, and worrying about people in this world he’d never met were chiseled into his otherwise plump face. All the senior executives had that look. I glanced over at Isaac and saw that he was starting to develop them too. It was the weight of trying to make this world a better place, even against the biggest, most corrupt government pushback.
One day, I’d have them too, no matter how much anti-aging cream I used.
I cradled our handshake with my other hand, as if hugging his hands with my own would better convey my gratitude. “Thank you so much for this opportunity. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to be here. Working with Mr. Thompson is a privilege and I appreciate anything you had to do to make that happen for me.”
He scoffed, “Don’t you worry one moment about it, dear. Isaac practically jumped down my throat to have you in his office. Your work on Myanmar was absolutely eye-opening. You’re an exquisite writer. We’re lucky George let us have you.” He was devilishly charming for an older man. He looked nothing like Isaac, dirty blond hair peppered with white and brown eyes full of laughter, but also years of leadership. “Isn’t that right Isaac?” He added smirking at my colleague.
Isaac cleared this throat and shot me a smile. He looked uncomfortable, shoving his hands in his pockets like I wasn’t supposed to know this information. I didn’t know how to feel about it. He’d specifically framed it like I was placed in his office by the higher-ups, not that he’d orchestrated the whole thing.
“Thank you. But you don’t have to butter me up. I would have been happy to fetch your coffee for the rest of my life just to get away from New York.” I laughed nervously. I wasn’t entirely joking though, I’d have done anything, despite it being a downgrade from my old position. Ego be damned. At least for a while until I rose up the ranks again.
“His loss, dear.” Mr. Townsend alluded. “I know it’s a bit of a step down, but you will learn a lot from Isaac. And hopefully some of your organizational skills will rub off on him as well.” He waved to the chaos, “Perhaps you can start in here.” He shot a glare at Isaac, who put up his hands and shrugged boyishly, like he’d been caught and was denying responsibility. His button-down stretched over him, revealing that Mr. Isaac Thompson might be a gym rat.
“Anything you need, just ask.” Mr. Townsend turned to leave. He turned back to shoot another glare at us. “Isaac, you better behave. Don’t bully this one. She comes very highly regarded.” He tapped the door frame twice before disappearing down the hall.
A truly thick and uncomfortable silence stretched on for an eternity between us. I could hear the whooshing of the blood in my ears.
“He’s kidding.” Isaac tried to break the silence with a forced chuckle.
“Don’t worry. I found out my fiancé was cheating on me for years with a mutual friend at the altar in my wedding gown.” The silence got worse. The kind of silence that screamed.
Naturally, I filled it with more oversharing.
“And some of his family was in on it.” I let out a demonic cackle. “You don’t scare me. This room does, though.”
I was most definitely scaring him. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
He forced another chuckle and took the conversation to an abrupt left. “I have to send half these boxes to storage from my last project. I was waiting for you to start, to focus on the new project. Teamwork, you know.” He winked and flashed me a dazzling smile. His eyes were the perfect shade of navy, flecked with bits of sky blue.
I rolled my eyes. Of course he waited for the woman to come and organize his stuff. And of course he’d completely avoided talking about anything personal. Not that I wanted his thoughts on my wedding debacle… but most people at least said sorry.
CHAPTER 5
Isaac
We’d been sorting through boxes for over an hour, keeping the conversation strictly on the straight and narrow. I had absolutely no desire whatsoever to talk about her wedding day. I’d heard enough from the rumor mill, and it was heartbreakingly sad to think that would happen to anyone. But to have her say it to my face was another experience entirely. I was acutely aware of the depth and darkness in her eyes, the way her lips were unmoving, neither smiling nor frowning. A blank frankness in her expression that iced my soul and gave me the primal urge to bash that man’s face to bits. What a coward. Indecent little worm who couldn’t confess his sins and instead put her through that public humiliation.
Any man who could fuck around and ruin a woman like that deserved a public stoning. Or any woman, I supposed. It goes both ways.
So, work. We talked about work. I could talk about work. I was very good at talking about work. I was also sure she didn’t want my sympathy, even though I felt it.
“How much do you know about Russia?” I asked Celeste as she reached down into a box that, admittedly, I hadn’t the faintest idea what could be inside. I hadn’t labeled that one. She could find memes of cats for all I knew.
“I’m up to date on the present dictatorship, the meddling in foreign elections, and all that. But Russian history wasn’t something I studied extensively.”
“Did you study history?” I hated small talk as much as the next bloke, but I was thankful Celeste was good at it. The getting-to-know-you phase was surprisingly tolerable with her. She was easy to talk to, even if she had a tendency to overshare.
“My bachelor's is in history.” She flashed me a bright smile from across the room. I was enjoying her company. She was enthusiastic and whip smart. Unlike me, she answered all of the questions I asked. “I minored in international relations.” She said as she flipped through a file, reached further into the box, and pulled out an old spiral notebook. “Foreign diplomacy. That sort of thing,” she continued without looking up. “I wanted to be a politician. Bring America into the twenty-first century.” She held up her fist and held her other hand over her heart in a mock salute.
I was struck by that. This wisp of a girl, running a country. “What made you change your mind?”
She sighed, rolled her eyes, and looked at me. “I met my ex.”
Yikes, I thought. The very last thing I gave a toss about was what happened between her and her cheating fiancé. I was not fond of the idea of becoming her therapist. The only thing that mattered to me was that she was mine now.
Not mine like that. Just here… working for me. With me.
“Sorry about that,” I mumbled. I felt the sudden urge to make a fool of myself. So I added, “For what it’s worth, he’s a complete wanker letting a woman like you go.” This was why I hated small talk with beautiful women. I never knew when to shut up.
She shot a look at me, and I couldn’t tell if she was flattered or flabbergasted. I wasn’t trying to make a pass at her, but it certainly came out that way. Especially since all I knew about her at this point was her work in New York and her college major.
She went back to skimming some stack of papers I’d thrown in a manilla folder. “Thanks. I can’t wait till everyone else is as over it as I am. I have a feeling it was a blessing in disguise.”
“I hope you’re right.” We fell into a silence, nothing but the shuffling of paper and the sound of her heels clicking on the hardwood to accompany us.
“What is this?” She held up several, almost illegible, pages of diagrams.
I went up behind her to get a better look at the folder. “That looks like some notes I took,” I answered. I didn’t expect her hair to smell like coconut, or for her body to tense up at how close I stood. The intimate way I could tell it was her hair and not her skin m
ade me clench my jaw shut. I was a lesser man for wanting to lean in and nibble the back of her neck, kiss her ear, and whisper every last dirty thing I could do to her.
I backed away and snatched the papers from her hand instead. “They’re notes from an interview.”
“With who?” Thankfully, I could detect no knowledge of my lurid thoughts in her expression.
“I’ll have to check my calendar.”
She side-eyed me. “You have the date but not the name of the interviewee?”
“I’m not good with names.” I sputtered.
She burst out into laughter.
I was more than a little offended.
She grinned up at me, already rummaging through another box. “Would you be angry at me if I digitized this whole office?” She set the file down onto one of the many color-coded piles she’d created with little sticky notes lined up neatly on the floor to identify countries and topics.
I was overtaken by an idiotic possessiveness of my mess. “It would take weeks.”
She pulled out a book from the box and studied the cover. The way she pulled her glasses up away from her eyes and squinted to read was suddenly very irritating to me.
Had she considered bifocals?
This rigid and nervous creature had softened as we talked and organized. Her shoulders now hunched over slightly as she skimmed, her weight on one foot, making her hip curve out just so. She looked up at me again through aggravatingly sexy lashes. “Is everything in this box Ukraine related?”
“Probably.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes and tossed a folder onto my desk. I didn’t know what was in that folder either because I was distracted by her stance, trying unsuccessfully to turn off my senses. Celeste pulled a silky floral scarf from her bag and tied back her hair with it. The way her ridiculously long hair made her arch to capture it all, made it impossible for me to look away. Her bangs grazing her forehead, eyes closed. Fuck. She was stunning.
Gorgeous.
And a total nerd.
She laughed and took a deep breath, sending me another side-eye that hit me in the gut. “You said you knew where everything was,” she teased, smiling.
She made me want to rip off her blouse and do unspeakable things to wipe that grin off her face. “As a general guideline.” It took me two steps to get to her, and I tripped over a pile on my way, blushing. Fucking blushing! I snatched the book from her and tossed it onto my desk. She glanced at my desk, which was getting more mountainous by the minute.
“That should go in this pile,” Celeste said, pointing to the pink pile.
I grabbed the book back and tossed it onto the correct pile. “Happy?”
Celeste laughed, her voice a honeyed sunshine. “Very.”
I’d had it with her teasing. “Brilliant. I’ll do the rest, thanks.”
Her smile turned to confusion. “Sorry? What am I supposed to do if I’m not organizing this?”
I pulled out four volumes on modern Russian history and politics. She had to understand the past to be able to properly organize the present. “Take this stack of books and start reading. Annotate and outline anything you think is important.”
“Are you serious? I can do that at home. I’m here now and—”
“You can sit on the sofa if you need to be in this very room.” I pointed to it as more of a warning than an invitation. She better not sit down.
“Okay.” She drew out the vowel sounds and raised her brows. She tightened her lips and I could see the muscles of her jaw clenching. Celeste’s fingertips were freezing against mine as she took the stack of books and turned. The elegant click of her heels echoed in the tense silence.
And she parked herself right there on my sofa, pulling out pens and notes in various colors. I tried not to stare as she pulled out her laptop and started clicking away.
“What are you doing?” My tone was harsh, but she didn't flinch.
She sighed deeply, showing her annoyance. “Creating a key,” she responded coolly. “So that everything is organized before I even start. Am I annotating for you, also, or just for myself?”
Brat.
“I’ve already read those.” I spat. Oh my God, I was acting like a child. I really was a lesser man. A child being mean to the pretty girl during a group project.
“Okay,” she answered stoically. She pulled out a second pair of glasses and swapped them for the ones on her face. My back was turned but the sound of her rummaging through her purse went on for an absurd amount of time. Curiosity overtook me and I finally whipped my head around to kill her with my glare. Celeste’s head was bent into the volume, legs crossed, sweeping lip chap over her full lower lip. A deep sigh later she was busy scribbling away and rolling a pen between her index and thumb.
Who the hell did she think she was? Always sighing like that… I didn’t actually mean for her to stay in my office. This was my space, and no one ever made themselves at home on that couch, except me. I pulled out all the Ukraine files, threw them back into the same box, then moved on to the next.
I was hyper-aware of her unbothered presence across the room as we worked. I glanced over at her more times than was appropriate, borderline leering at her. She had this habit of biting her lower lip and then licking the top one before she scribbled onto the page. Her lipstick had already worn off, she had applied lip chap twice, and the natural pink was making me think absolutely inappropriate things. The way those lips would look wrapped around my…
Stop. I grabbed my gym bag and shoved my phone in my pocket, shifting my half-erection like a fucking teenage wanker. Embarrassing. I hadn’t had an erection at work in… a very, very long time. I had to get out of that office. She was sucking all of the air out of it.
“I’m going for a run. Do you want a coffee when I get back?”
She didn’t lift her chin, just her eyes. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them, switching her right for her left on top. Was she teasing me on purpose? Most likely not, but I didn’t want to acknowledge that this sexual frustration was all in my head. “Is it on the way?” Her voice was soft, like she was somewhere else.
“They’ve got a great latte.” I ignored her question. “If you like that sort of thing.” I would be going out of my way for this peace offering. I felt guilty for staring, and for being an ass because I couldn’t control my own thoughts.
“I do, thanks. How much is it?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get me next time.” I said, hoping to smooth over the tension in the room. She blushed red from her chest up to her cheeks. I practically sprinted outside and down the stairs. My blood was on fire, I needed a freezing shower. We had to work together. I could not, absolutely not, think about her like that.
This has to stop right now.
Thankfully the underground level of the building was a gym. So, I didn’t have to go far. I changed my clothes, tossing my suit pants and shirt in the locker haphazardly. I pounded my heels into the treadmill. I needed to focus. Clear my mind. Release the energy having Celeste in my office created. I couldn’t even remember her last name through the echo of her laughter in my head. I closed my eyes but the image of her arched back was burned into my eyelids.
I turned the treadmill up, punishing myself.
McAlaster. Her name was Celeste McAlaster.
CHAPTER 6
Celeste
What an ass. I whispered to myself. I had whiplash from how quickly we went from friendly banter to sending angry glares at each other. I couldn’t even focus in that room with all the mess surrounding me. But I stayed to prove a point. I could be just as much of a nuisance as he was. I would not let him bully me. He, and all men for that matter, could just go and stuff it where the sun don’t shine.
I recalled his gaze on me, white-hot and intimidating. My insides stirred when he’d said Anthony was a wanker. And what was that smile at the end? Did he think he could just charm his way into making me do all the tedious work? I rolled my eyes and cringed again at all the clutter.
/> Who goes running at lunch after being twenty minutes late to work?
Damn when I saw him… Kieran told me he was hot, but I was entirely unprepared for how smoking hot he was. Why on earth did God create men with dark hair and blue eyes? For what purpose other than to make us lose our senses? And in those navy suit pants, crisp white shirt, and black leather jacket. And the accent.
Gah! That smooth British accent I’d been guilty of fantasizing over just like every other American girl on this planet. I didn’t want to think about why I wasn’t reduced to a pile of mush around him. All roads pointed to Isaac being absolutely fuckable.
Well, he was my boss. So that ended that, I guessed. That was why I didn’t feel the way I should have felt. The way I thought I should feel, yet was indifferent.
Nothing to do with my broken heart, no. Couldn’t be.
Ignoring my introspection, I fixed my concentration on the book he’d given me, sinking back into the worn, supple leather. Russian history had always eluded me. Its position in the world as neither East nor West complicated its rich and troubled past. I’d always known Russia through its relation to other countries. In New York, I was assigned first to Central America and then South-East Asia. So, my knowledge of Russia beyond what was reported by Isaac these past years in HRI publication was limited to how Russia interacted with the rest of the world.
I felt a twinge of inadequacy as I lay the hefty volume on my lap. Isaac was a book annotator, I learned. Well, I wouldn’t really call it annotating. He scribbled in the margins, little asterisks, and brackets pointing his attention to certain passages. No words, just arrows, and punctuation, nothing that could give me a peek into his thoughts. Aside from what he deemed was important. Very little in this book seemed important to him, if I were going off his annotations which were few and far between. I compared it to the second book in the stack, an economical history of Russia, and there was significantly more scribbling in that book.
See You Monday: An Office Romance (Weekday series Book 1) Page 4
