Dirty Jock

by Sienna Valentine

She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me. “Do you seriously think that?”

  I continued to pout. “Maybe.”

  She tipped her head back and laughed, white teeth flashing. “Oh, baby girl.” Her free arm snaked around my shoulders, pulling me against her side and squeezing. “You know I’d never take his side. He was a complete asshole to mention anything about your dating life in the first place.”

  Smiling, I leaned my head on her shoulder. Positive human contact was doing wonders for my mood.

  “I think it’s just been messing with my head that we had sex,” I said. “I’ve never slept with someone and had them be so mean to me afterward.”

  “Well I think there’s only one thing you can do. You gotta give it back as good as you get it.”

  “I have been…”

  “Are you sure?”

  My mind went back to the scene in the kitchen before I left for the evening. I told Cressida what had happened, and her hand tightened on my shoulder.

  “I wanted to ream Oliver out for being so blatantly disrespectful toward what is essentially my masterpiece, but I was afraid,” I admitted.

  “I think if he was going to fire you, he would have done it already.”

  “I know.” My voice was quiet, barely a whisper. I cringed to think of anybody seeing me like this except Cressida. The kettle clicked in the kitchen, but I didn’t feel like getting up to get it.

  “So if you weren’t afraid of him firing you,” Cressida repeated. “What are you afraid of? Because I know you’re stronger than this. You don’t normally let men treat you this way without giving them hell.”

  “Do we have to talk about this?” I craned my neck and looked up at her. “Can’t you just tell me that he’s human garbage and that you love me and that this job will be over in a couple months and that I’ll never have to see him again?”

  “I could tell you that,” Cressida replied, a light smile at the corner of her mouth. “And it would even all be true.”

  “But?”

  “But I think there’s more to the story.”

  I buried my face back in her shoulder, letting out a deep sigh against the cotton of her sweater. “Not tonight there isn’t,” I replied.

  Cressida didn’t push me. She wouldn’t unless she thought I really needed pushing, and right now I didn’t. Right now my feelings of malaise and frustration truly came from Oliver’s rudeness, with a tiny prick of rejection thrown in for good measure. But I pushed that particular feeling into the depths of my heart, where it hopefully wouldn’t poke out too far the next time he treated me like crap.

  “Anyway, all I’m saying is that if you’re really not worried about being fired, then I think it’s time you stop holding back.”

  “That just seems so… unprofessional.”

  She chuckled. “Maybe so, but it’s that or let him continue to walk all over you. You gave him a bit of slack in the library with the paint stuff, and look what he did with it. And really, he’s already set the precedent for acting unprofessionally.”

  I grunted my agreement, finally feeling up for moving enough to make my tea. Gently unraveling myself from her arm and the couch, I rose to my feet and stretched. She was right, of course. About all of it. And yet, as bad as he was most of the time, every once in a while something seemed to change and it’s as if he forgets to be an ass. As if the whole thing is just an act. And in those moments, the spark from that first night shows itself. That was what had me so confused.

  Was I just imagining those moments?

  Cressida smiled approvingly at me. “It’s all going to be good,” she said.

  I nodded. “Yeah. It’s just…”

  “Just?”

  “I don’t know.” I started for the kitchen. “There were a couple moments today…” I sighed. “Never mind.”

  Chapter 15

  Elizabeth

  It was only a few days later when I got my first opportunity to test out my new, unbending attitude – and it wasn’t as if I went looking for the chance to do it so much as Oliver pushing me into it. He had a way of doing that.

  I was on hold with the furniture store I’d ordered the drawing room couches from. Around me, contractors were busy clearing the library shelves. With any luck, we’d have the library’s dividing wall down by the end of the day.

  The easy listening hold music cut out, and the rep I’d been dealing with returned on the line.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Paulson,” Andrea said. “It looks like the order was dispatched after all.”

  Everything was meant to be delivered yesterday afternoon, but the truck never showed up. I thought maybe I’d gotten the dates wrong, which was why I was checking in.

  “So it’ll arrive today?” I asked. I wasn’t going to hold being a day late against them. I had other things to keep me busy anyway.

  Andrea hummed as she clicked away on her end, presumably checking through the documentation and order history.

  “No,” she said. “The truck arrived yesterday but delivery was refused so it was immediately returned.”

  “Returned?” I shrieked.

  All movement in the library ceased. Rodney shot me a glance from the corner of the room, but I waved him away before he could approach. The rest of the workers took that as their cue to continue on.

  “Yes,” Andrea repeated. “The refund should appear on your credit card soon.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” I stormed out of the library and into the antechamber, needing a little privacy. As it turned out, the silly room did have a purpose. “I wasn’t there when it arrived so it couldn’t possibly have been returned.”

  “I’m looking at the paperwork right now, ma’am.”

  She did not just ma’am me.

  “And who signed for this?”

  She must have gotten my file mixed up with someone else’s. How else could she explain how designer furniture that I’d had to order in from across the country had been returned without me even getting to see it?

  “Uh, Oliver Burnley? Yeah. Oliver Burnley.”

  I’m going to kill him.

  “I need to get that furniture back,” I replied. “Immediately.” I began to pace. The wood squealed beneath my feet. I couldn’t wait to tear it up. Maybe I’d use my bare hands.

  “I can check with the transport company,” Andrea offered, “In the event of a non-delivery it would have gone on the next truck back to the warehouse.”

  “But surely in between yesterday and today it couldn’t have gotten very far?” I pressed.

  “I can’t be certain, ma’am. I’ll check in, like I said, but just be prepared in case it takes a couple days.”

  Double ma’am’d.

  “Thank you, Andrea,” I said between gritted teeth. “You’ve been a great help.”

  “Anytime. I’ll call back when I know something.”

  I hung up the phone and resisted the urge to toss it across the room. I couldn’t believe Oliver returned my furniture before they even got it off the truck!

  A shape materialized in the corner of my eye and I spun, half-expecting it to be Satan himself. Rodney’s kind eyes greeted me instead, and he opened his arms. I shot forward and pressed my face into the front of his hoodie, even though it was covered in dust and little bits of debris. I needed this.

  “What did he do now?” Rodney asked, patting my back.

  I pulled away. Even needing one as much as I did, it would have been unprofessional for any of the workers to stumble in and catch us hugging. I needed their respect, and I wouldn’t get it if they all thought I’d gone soft.

  “He returned the drawing room couches.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Rodney said. “The ones from that company you told me about? Where they design furniture for celebrities and heads of state?”

  I sighed. “The very ones.”

  Rodney’s jaw ticked. I wondered what it would take for him to finally snap on my behalf.

  I wondered what it would take for me to fi
nally snap. I suspected I was close.

  “I’ve got to go confront him about this,” I said. “If nothing else, we’re gonna have to pay to get them re-delivered.”

  “Do you think he’ll approve that?” Rodney looked skeptical. “I mean, he obviously didn’t like them that much in the first place...”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks he likes,” I replied. “This is my design. Those couches were statement pieces in a room I’ve otherwise left essentially bare. If he doesn’t want them after seeing the whole arrangement, then fine, we’ll figure something else out. But I’m getting them back here first. He has to at least give them a chance.”

  Rodney’s smile told me that he approved of my attitude. “Do you want to punch me in the chest a few times to get all jazzed up?”

  “Hell yes I do,” I said. “But I can’t because that would be ridiculous. So instead I’ll just visualize punching Oliver in the head instead, on my way to find him.”

  Rodney turned back toward the library. “Good luck, kid. I think he’s in his study.”

  Of course he was. He was always in his freaking study.

  I stomped across the foyer to the west hallway, letting my rage coil tighter and tighter with each step. I couldn’t afford to back down on this. If he’d expressed his concern to me like an adult, I might have listened. But he’d crossed the line here.

  I knocked on the door and waited the normal amount of time, trying not to let go of any of my internal fire. When I still heard nothing after about a minute, I knocked again, this time louder. The door was heavy and pounding on it hurt my knuckles, but now wasn’t the time to worry about a little pain. This was war.

  “Oliver!” I called, hoping to provoke him into answering the door by using his first name.

  Silence.

  Well, here goes nothing.

  My hand clamped down on the brass knob. It turned easily, the door creaking open on its heavy hinges.

  I strode in with confidence, feeling like absolutely nothing in the world could take me down. I was in charge.

  I was channelling Cressida and Rodney and maybe a little bit of Chuck Norris.

  Oliver apparently hadn’t noticed my glorious entrance. Either that, or he was outright ignoring me. He was sitting behind his desk, his feet tossed casually on its surface. He had his phone pressed to his ear with his right hand. In his left he tossed a rubber band ball into the air.

  On the off chance he really hadn’t heard me knocking, I tried calling out to him. “Oliver,” I said. “I need to speak with you. It’s important.”

  Without even glancing in my direction, Oliver made a dismissive gesture with the hand holding the ball. He couldn’t even be bothered to put the damn thing down to wave me off properly. The nerve.

  I listened to his side of the conversation. Maybe it was an emergency.

  “Sneer all you want, but I still think they’ll make it to the finals this year. They got the best draft picks overall, even if they didn’t get the top players.”

  Was he ignoring me so he could continue talking about… sports?

  I stormed over and knocked the rubber band ball out of the air mid-throw. It bounced against the floor, careened off a wall and then went behind a filing cabinet. I was overstepping, but I didn’t care. If I didn’t release some of this rage, I was going to turn green and destroy the whole mansion.

  “I need to talk to you,” I repeated. “Now!”

  Chapter 16

  Oliver

  “Ollie,” Damien said uncertainly. “Do you want to call me back?”

  “No, keep going. It’s just my designer,” I said, spinning in my chair to face the wall. “She’ll go away.”

  I certainly hoped she would go away, but from the expression on her face I could tell that was unlikely. I had a feeling I knew exactly what this was all about, too.

  “She most certainly will not go away,” Elizabeth said bitterly, coming to stand in front of me again. She crossed her arms over her chest in her best attempt to look intimidating. It was cute.

  “Look man,” Damien said. “I know you said you needed a distraction, but I think she’ll make a better one than me.”

  I somehow didn’t think either of them were going to give me a choice. Damien had been clear that he couldn’t talk for long because he had work to do. Elizabeth was making it clear that she believed her time should be prioritized over my own.

  “Fine,” I exhaled. “I’ll call you later after I deal with my untoward employee.” I met Elizabeth’s piercing gaze and ended the call. She opened her mouth to speak.

  How sweet. She thought she was going to get to have her say.

  “I can’t believe the nerve of you!” she spouted. “I spent hours drafting the design for that room and sourcing those couches. I—“

  “Let’s get one thing straight here,” I interrupted. My voice boomed through the study, and she inched back from my chair instinctively. She glanced from me to her feet and then back up, as if irritated that she’d given up even a fraction of space.

  Before she could collect herself again, I swung up out of my chair and stood at my full height. She didn’t back down, and that simply wouldn’t do, so I crowded her until we were chest to chest.

  “You work for me, Elizabeth. You don’t work for the furniture company. You don’t work for the fucking logistics company. You work for me. And when I don’t like a piece of your shitty fucking furniture, it goes back to wherever the hell it came from.”

  Elizabeth’s glare wavered, but she seemed determined to hold her ground. “No, you listen to me!” she replied. “We agreed that you could have creative veto, but there was no reason for you to send back that furniture before you even saw what I was planning on doing with it. You don’t even know what room it was for!”

  “I knew it was hideous and I wanted it out of my house!”

  “You didn’t even let them unload it, you probably didn’t even see it!”

  “I saw enough as soon as they opened the truck to know I didn’t like it.”

  “It was a part of my design,” she barked. “This is the kitchen all over again. And did you not end up liking the kitchen?”

  I smirked. “I haven’t decided. I wouldn’t be too anxious to find out, since in all likelihood that’ll mean you’re out of a job.”

  “You love the kitchen and you just don’t have the balls to admit it,” she snarled.

  “If those couches were part of your god-awful design, then you may need to scrap that whole thing and start over. I don’t want to know what kind of vomit-inducing aesthetics you have in store for the rest of my house.”

  She either didn’t notice the deflection or didn’t care. I was itching for a fight, and today she seemed happy to oblige.

  “You wouldn’t know good design if it walked up and slapped you across the face,” she spat. “And maybe it should. Somebody needs to.”

  I stepped forward, forcing her to take a step back, closer to the wall. She glanced uncertainly behind her, so I moved another step, then another, until her back pressed against the wall and my toes lined up with hers.

  “So you want to hit me, Elizabeth? Is that it?”

  “I want you to get your head out of your ass and see that the whole world doesn’t revolve around you!”

  “As far as this house is concerned, it does,” I said snidely. “And you’d do better to remember that the next time you think about busting down my study door to interrupt me with your inane problems.”

  She knitted her brow together in consternation. “If we’re exchanging tips, here’s one for you: learn to act like a goddamn human being.”

  The air between us sparked with electricity. I couldn’t resist getting a little closer, anchoring my hands on either side of her head to lean in. She smelled of honey and lemon. I inhaled it greedily.

  “What would your darling Harry do in this situation, huh?” I asked. “Would he beg your forgiveness? Would he kiss your feet?”

  Her eyes n
arrowed. “This has nothing to do with Harry.”

  It had nothing to do with the furniture either, but I wouldn’t admit that. Even to myself.

  “I’m just curious,” I said, tone laced with venom. I leaned in closer and lowered my voice. “Do you want me to act more like Harry? Is that it? Is he the glorious paragon of humanity all men should aspire to?”

  “Maybe you should act more like him,” she hissed. “Why not? Would being decent for once be such a bad thing?”