See You Monday: An Office Romance (Weekday series Book 1)

by Tiffany Costa

  But sometimes, in the office, she’d hand me notes and her breasts would press against my arm. Or we’d be arguing over a passage and she’d slip me a wicked grin, a gloating checkmate when she realized I was floundering in my position. She always stared at my tattoo but never bothered to ask what it meant.

  And she’d forget herself, brief moments of unguarded access to her mind that I gobbled up, hungry to know her, but unable to break through her walls and also my own treacherous thoughts.

  “Well, fuck the patriarchy. It’s always the root of all evil.” She blurted once.

  “Men are the source of all evil and no one can convince me otherwise.” She’d declared another.

  “I don’t disagree with you, but you didn’t have to raise your voice at me,” I replied, laughing. Then she blushed.

  I lived for that when we argued. For when she got flustered and blamed men for all of the world's problems. She wasn’t wrong, but God the way her neck stained hot pink was intolerably sexy to me. For all her guarded tendencies, she showed all of her emotions in her face and skin.

  I taunted her when she slipped up on her prim and proper personality. “What’s your answer? Eradicate the whole sex?”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t do that.”

  We were standing so close. Comfortable invading each other’s space after over a month of obsessing over the same books and papers. Celeste’s proximity meant nothing to her, but for me, I was begrudgingly living for this. Being close enough to smell the coconut and floral scents of her hair and skin. “Why not?” I asked, just for the fun of seeing her squirm.

  “Sadly, the straight female community would cry. Also, preservation of the species and whatnot.” She deadpanned. Emotionless. I could hardly ever make her laugh. The most I’d ever gotten out of her was a smirk, and like a teenage idiot, I reveled in that. Her deadpan humor had me rolling quite often.

  “Would I be spared from your hypothetical genocide, then?” I held a hand to my heart.

  She smirked, faked a British accent, and stalked away into her office. She looked over her shoulder while she spoke, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Murder is still an option. You’re on thin ice, Mr. Thompson. Better watch your back.”

  “For what?” I raked a hand through my hair. Working with her was the sweetest torture. I’d become a masochist if it meant she’d so much as flirt with me while I watched her hips sway with every stride in those plain mary-jane pumps.

  She delivered the killing blow, gripping the doorframe and locking eyes with me over her shoulder while she answered. “For simply being a man.” She arched a pretty brow over those tortoiseshell glasses and chuckled softly to herself.

  Forty-five minutes later I glanced over at her, curled up on the side chair like a lazy cat, sunbathing while she read. Celeste toyed with the ends of her hair, her feet tucked under her, glasses slipping down her nose.

  For simply being a man.

  God, she’d been with such an asshole. Who would give this woman up? I’m about to spring a hard-on just watching her read… What kind of fucking-

  My phone vibrated, jolting me out of my daydream.

  My mum. Are you too busy with work?

  My blood turned to ice. That could mean anything. But it came from her cell so at least she wasn’t incarcerated. I immediately called her. “Mum, are you alright?” I barked before she could say hello.

  “I’m fine, Isaac.”

  “Are you sure? What’s wrong?”

  “You could ask me how I’m doing instead of expecting the worst.” I detected some hurt in her voice.

  I was sweating. I tugged at my collar, the shirt strangling me. I unbuttoned the first two with shaky hands.

  “Isaac,” her voice cracked, “I got my one-year badge today.”

  I froze. Unable to say anything.

  “I made it to a year, dear. Say somethin’.” She pleaded, her voice small and child-like. Relief opened my lungs and wrapped around me like a warm cloak.

  I turned my chair away from Celeste. My eyes were burning. “Mum, I'm so proud of you. Has it been that long since I saw you?”

  “Just since Easter,” she answered, crying, sobbing quietly on the other end of the line.

  My mother struggled with addiction and alcoholism my entire life. She’d never made it to a year sober, and damn it if I could reach through the phone and shake her, I would. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got work.”

  “No you don’t. Take a half-day and come to London. I’m taking you out to buy whatever you want and then dinner.”

  I could imagine my mum nodding, head in her hands, muffling her sobs. I’d seen this woman cry more times than I saw her smile in my lifetime. Oftentimes, I was the one wiping her tears and healing her wounds instead of the other way around.

  I used to hate her for that.

  But as we hung up, I had to wipe away my tears and gather myself up off the floor. The sound of her happy sobs echoing through me. She’d made it to a year. This was the longest she’d ever been sober, probably. I glanced over at Celeste, her chin still resting on her fist. When I was sure my face wouldn’t betray me, I turned back to my work and tried to concentrate.

  I struggled the rest of the afternoon and packed up my things when I heard Celeste’s footsteps in her office.

  “Are you leaving on time?” She shot me an accusing smile.

  “My mum is coming to visit tomorrow. I have to get my flat ready.”

  “That’s so sweet. Are you two close?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m jealous." She handed me her notes and tossed away a few stray papers that were piled on the corner of my desk.

  “I imagine you miss home and your own mum.”

  Celeste scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Not even a little. But that’s a story for another day.”

  We both looked at one another, shifting our weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Unsure how to navigate questions about our personal lives. Celeste laughed nervously and I took a step toward her. She didn’t back away, instead she turned her gaze to the floor. “Not a lot of people would have the balls to move across the ocean alone.” I mused.

  “Yeah, running away from my problems. Not sure it was an act of bravery.” She fidgeted with her fingers.

  “Not everyone who gets cheated on starts a new life. I didn’t.”

  Her lovely eyes flicked up to me through dark lashes. “Sorry, it sucks.”

  “I’m better off, and so are you.”

  She didn’t answer. So, I cleared my throat and led her out of the office. She shut the lights off behind her and stepped aside while I fumbled with my keys. Idiot. Fucking wanker. I should have just stuck to the script. Work. And hating men. Russian oligarchs and sugar babies.

  Celeste’s dainty manicured hand clasped mine, stopping me and plucking a different key from my chain. She let out a breathy chuckle. I locked the door and stood there, like a bloody awkward teenager waiting for his first kiss.

  “I’ll color code your keys tomorrow if you want.” Celeste smiled up at me.

  “And what,” I leaned into her, “makes you think I want any more of your organization in my life?”

  Celeste tsked. “Sometimes it’s not about what you want, Isaac, it’s about what you need.” Celeste’s eyes danced with mischief, sending a quiver deep through my abdomen. Two teasing moments in one day, she really did want me dead. “See you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Celeste

  “Nice of you to show up,” Isaac teased.

  “I’m not five minutes late. You’re fifteen minutes early.” I tried extra hard to act unfazed by strutting right past him into my office. In reality, I was mortified. I hated being late. I’d spent a few extra minutes picking out my outfit today and fussing over my hair, curling the heavy mass. “Hand me your keys,” I command, holding up my bag of nail polish.

  He placed a hand to his chest as if he�
�d been insulted. A wide grin crept across his lips. “I got you something, also.”

  “Coffee?” I perked up at the thought.

  “Better.” He pulled a brown paper bag from under his desk.

  “Booze?” I was even more excited.

  He choked on his coffee, stifling a laugh. Sputtering he shook his head no. “Just open it.” He tossed it to me. I had to drop my handbag to catch it.

  “What is it?” I felt like a kid on Christmas. I couldn’t imagine what would be inside. I pulled out a tee-shirt with the company logo on the back and simple lettering that read London Office. I wore the goofiest smile. “I love it!” I didn’t care how childish I looked, I wanted him to know I really was surprised and thankful.

  “I thought you needed one.” He crossed over to me holding it up against my chest. “I had to guess your size. It looks rather big now next to you.”

  “Thank you. This was really sweet.” I followed his lead and ducked into the fabric as he pulled it over my head. I threaded my arms through the holes, accidentally running my hand up his solid chest, the rippling of his muscles flinching at my touch. “I needed a new running shirt. I’ll wear it proud.” I tried to hide that my hand was currently ablaze from that contact. Kieran’s teasing was getting in my head.

  He cocked his head to the side. “You run?”

  “I did. I used to. I have to get back into it. It’s been a few weeks.” I rambled smoothing the shirt over my torso. It was big, but I wasn’t swimming in it. Isaac was watching me, beaming, but beneath that was something smoldering, hungry. I had to catch my breath as his smile faded and his eyes followed the trail of my hands down my waist. I tugged on the hem of my shirt and his eyes stayed with my fingertips.

  Then they flicked up to meet my clumsy stare. “You never mentioned that. We should run together sometime.” He was standing close enough that one small step forward and our toes would be touching against the dark hardwood floor.

  “We never talk about our personal lives.” I pointed out, my skin burning from… embarrassment? No. Something else entirely. He smelled so clean. He’d shaved this morning, I could tell from the scent of his aftershave, the smoothness of his skin. My heart was pounding in the hollow between my exposed collarbones. I tried to swallow it down and clear my throat of my nervous pulse.

  This was new territory. We were toeing the line of friendliness. This wasn’t a part of our usual rhythm. The blue of his gaze, an open invitation to a melody I didn’t know how to harmonize. I didn’t like the thought of running with him.

  Or maybe I didn’t like the prospect that I liked that he invited me to run. I couldn’t think straight with his eyes on me like that.

  “Too right.” His voice was softer, contemplating. “You curled your hair today. It’s lovely like that.” His gaze raked down the tumbling curls, and dragged back up to meet my own.

  He cleared his throat, his voice returning to its normal business tone. “Although you’re free to do whatever you want in that shirt, I got it for you for the bi-annual fundraiser.” As quickly as that moment of intimacy came, it dissolved as he turned on his heel and went back to his desk.

  “A tee-shirt? For a gala?”

  His brows furrowed in confusion. “No, the London Gala is once a year. I’m talking about the office fundraiser next Friday.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” My mood soured instantly. I ripped the tee-shirt over my head unnecessarily aggressively. I must have missed an email.

  I loathed it when I had to admit that. I could not define how much I detested ever admitting I didn’t know something to Isaac. To anyone, really, but mostly to him because I still felt inferior, like I had taken a step down in my job. And we were both know-it-alls. Which was why I read way, way, past my bedtime to catch up to his breadth of knowledge so that I could keep up with his current events rants. “I know the backlog is extensive, but have you finished the article on blah, blah, blah?” he’d say before ranting about whatever the hell he was thinking about at that moment.

  Cue eye-roll.

  Initiate punch to his chiseled jaw fantasy.

  Scream internally.

  Ugh, and now, fight this unidentified feeling in my abdomen.

  “Twice a year the office gets together and each team puts down a donation. Our sponsor matches our donation. We play a round of jeopardy, trivial pursuit, you get it… and then the money we raise splits between whichever charity our sponsor chooses and whichever we choose.”

  Okay, no condescension. I breathed a sigh of relief. His boyish enthusiasm was charming. “Which charity do we represent?”

  Isaac’s expression changed, an emotion I couldn’t grasp flickering before he shook it away and replied. “Global Alliance Against Trafficking.”

  “You're working with them for your book, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s on the back burner for now while we meet our deadline. Anyway, we have two weeks to prepare. First thing every morning after we’re all settled in?” Isaac’s voice inflected upwards, but he wasn’t asking, he was demanding. I’d grown accustomed to the scattered way he talked. But I still wanted to add some punctuation and fix his run-on sentences.

  As if on cue Payton burst through the door without knocking. He never knocked. Like he was trying to catch me doing something illegal. If I ever found Isaac insufferable… Payton was insufferable times infinity. “Morning,” he addressed Isaac.

  I murmured a curt, “Hello,” and rightly predicted that he wouldn’t even look my way. In the whole month I’d been here, Payton pretended I didn’t exist when he came to do Isaac’s bidding. I repaid him in kind.

  “I hope you’re as smart as your resume says you are. Isaac and I have a winning streak.” He plopped a box of trivia cards on the desk.

  As we went through the trivia cards, I was expecting Payton and me to butt heads, as usual, and for Isaac to bulldoze over me, as usual. But they didn’t. We actually quizzed each other fairly and laughed when someone was lacking an answer. It was rare, but at least it wasn’t me. I’d only tripped up a few times, as compared to the two of them, who stumbled twice as much as I did. I felt a childish sense of satisfaction that I knew more useless trivia than they did. I was having a lot of fun, despite my reserves against Payton and even Isaac.

  It was Payton's turn to pull a card. We were on the anatomy deck. “Oh, this one’s for you, Celeste. The tube connecting the duct that conveys sperm from the testicles to the urethra.”

  Isaac and I locked eyes and answered in tandem.

  “What is fallopian tube!” he said.

  “What is vans deferens!” I spoke over him.

  Isaac’s blue eyes pierced into me and he lifted a brow.

  Payton flipped the card over to reveal the answer. “Celeste, dare I say you know more about Isaac’s parts than he does. You get the point.”

  “How did you not know that?” I laughed. Then Payton’s suggestion hit me. I felt a hot blush overtake me and tried to remain stoic.

  I could not look anyone in the face. I looked past Isaac out the window, trying to cover up my hot cheeks. Which just made it worse, because when I did meet Isaac’s annoyed glare the blush reignited, creeping from my stomach over my chest and up to my cheeks again. “What? I just like anatomy.” If I could crawl into one of the boxes in the corner I would. And I would hide there forever.

  “Mmmmhm,” Payton chuckled. He was enjoying me being on the spot. It reminded me that he was on my team but he was not on my side.

  CHAPTER 10

  Isaac

  The tension between Payton and Celeste was steadily escalating over the past hour. I could see his wheels turning as he kept a mental score against her. His last comment had been completely uncalled for. “Alright then, that’s enough. Let’s get back to work.”

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Payton answered. I understood the undertone. He was making it very clear that he was still pissed I had kept him as my assistant and not moved him into Celeste’s place. />
  But his writing was shit and Celeste was one of the rising stars in the company.

  “Thanks again for the shirt,” Celeste stood from my chair and waltzed into her office.

  I caught myself watching her ass sway as she left. She was wearing a skin-tight pencil skirt and a flowery black top that hugged her slim waist. Of course she was a runner, her calves cast a sharp shadow when she wore towering heels. Today they were plain, patent leather, and sexy as hell.

  I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes, as if I could erase the image of her ripping her shirt off from my memory. This little attraction I had for her was getting out of control.

  Could she sense it? I’d helped her slip into the tee-shirt, recalling the momentary touch of her hands up my chest, and mine brushing against her shoulders. It felt like I crossed a line, not because we did, but because my mind was busy frolicking in the fields of impropriety while I did it. We’d touched before, by virtue of our working together. Our shoulders pressed against each other while we examined something on her laptop, our fingers touching while she handed me articles. Bumping into each other while reaching for the same book.

  But helping her into the shirt, that was intentional. Her excitement over a tee shirt was so…

  Fucking cute.

  I just wanted to be near her. I had wanted her to hug me and whisper her thank you against my chest. I wanted…

  I wanted her to go away. To do something so unattractive I could stop this infatuation before it infiltrated any further into my days. To… I didn’t know, hate puppies! Or be unable to keep a plant alive. Litter the street.

  Anything.

  She was everywhere in this office. She never left!

  I looked over at her. Celeste had a habit of pacing her office while she read, her hair pulled back in a scarf, a pen in her teeth, a highlighter in between her fingers. I watched her too much, cataloging all the details of her. To my shame, I’d been caught daydreaming about ripping that scarf out of her hair, sitting her on that desk and feasting between her legs.

  Celeste smiled at me through the glass brightly, totally unaware that I was contemplating how she tasted. I bet she tasted sweet. So sweet.