Tame Me

by Natalie Rios

  “Oh?” I reply in a tone so saccharine, I almost gag. I will kill him with kindness, even if it kills me in the process. Be sure to call 911 to report the murder-suicide. “Well, it’s only fair since you seem to keep forgetting my name. It’s Charlotte.”

  “We’ve been over this,” he sighs, rather dramatically if you ask me. “We’re not friends and you won’t be here long enough for us to reach that point. If we ever reach that point. Using your name simply isn’t worth the hassle at this point.”

  Cocky bastard. Looks like my suspicions are right though. For whatever reason, he wants me to quit. Well, too bad, so sad. I have way too much riding on this to turn tail and run now. And, as my brother had made abundantly clear yesterday, I have nowhere else to run anyway. This is it. I either make this work or I’m broke and homeless.

  “I’m not quitting, Mr. Connors.”

  “We’ll just see about that,” he murmurs, strumming his fingers against his desk. “Do you need me to tell you what you forgot?” My only response is a blank stare that his brows furrowing. “A notebook, Miss Kensington. We’re going to go over my schedule for the day and, as you already proved yesterday, your memory is less than reliable.”

  Damn it. I can’t believe I forgot the notebook! I’m not on my A-game, probably due to sleep deprivation. But I can’t make a mistake like that again. Muttering an apology, I quickly run back to my desk to retrieve the notebook.

  Mr. Connors doesn’t even wait for me to sit down before launching into his schedule. Speaking faster and pausing far less than I remember him doing yesterday, he goes through every hour of his day. Meetings, phone calls, a working lunch...

  Honestly, his day sounds awful. I would feel sorry for him if it wasn’t for the fact he’s a rude asshole. Reap what you sow, jerkface.

  After what seems like hours, but is probably closer to thirty minutes, he’s done. Eyes wary, he asks, “Got it?”

  “Got it,” I confirm. Walking back to my desk, I set a timer on my phone for 10:15am. Since I know I can make it to the café to pick up the next cup, I text Mina to let her know not to bother sending anyone over. No need to risk one of them getting in trouble.

  I wait for the computer to start up and I swear I can smell him from my desk. Did he sneak out of his office to stand behind me? He would. Just to torture me. But no, he’s nowhere in sight. Instead, I realize the smell is coming from his jacket, which is still hanging on the back of my chair.

  Should I hold on to it or give it back?

  No need for a debate, I’m keeping it. I like his scent: strong, earthy, and male. With his jacket by me, I can enjoy the smell without having to endure the ass attached to it.

  Though, let’s be honest: I have no issues admiring the ass either. It’s the mouth that needs to be put to better use.

  There aren’t a lot of things he wants me to do this morning. Some letters to be typed up and sent out, organizing an all staff meeting for next week, contacting the bank again...Blah, blah, blah. Boring. I’m just printing the last of his letters when my desk phone begins to ring. I recognize the number from yesterday: Mr. Connors.

  “Yes?”

  “What did I say about phone etiquette?”

  Rolling my eyes, I tap my pen on the desk. “You said not to answer with just a hello. This was a yes.”

  “Next time, try using the resort’s name. Give customers the impression they’re calling the right place.”

  “I knew it was you, that’s why I was so informal.”

  “Oh, really?” That phrase again. I can hear the smirk in it and want to march into his office to smack him across his beautiful face. And then maybe he’ll stop my hand mid-slap, swooping in to give me a punishing kiss before he throws me on the desk – stop. Right. There. I will not fantasize about Satan. I. Will. Not.

  “Precisely how did you know it was me?” his deep voice interrupts my inappropriate thoughts. “Are you a clairvoyant?”

  “There’s this wonderful little invention known as caller ID. It’s been around for some time now. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  “Of course-”

  “Silly me!” I cut him off. “In your old age, it’s probably harder to keep up with modern technology. What did they use to communicate back in the colonial era? The Pony Express?”

  “I’m only three years older than you.”

  “Really?” I can’t help blurting out. “So you’re thirty-four?” We’re in the same age range and – shit, I sound a little too interested, don’t I? “I guess you just seem much more...I don’t know, mature?”

  “That’s because I am. At least when compared to you.” Right. Spoiled trust fund baby versus successful business owner. Heard him loud and clear the first time.

  “Was there a purpose to your phone call, Mr. Connors? Or were you just testing my phone etiquette?”

  “Right. Step into my office.” The line clicks, signaling the second time someone had hung up on me in under twenty-four hours. Rude.

  Not even bothering to knock, I saunter into his office and sit in the chair across from his desk. “You rang?”

  “Did I say you could have a seat, Miss Kensington?”

  “It would be rude of you not to offer. Especially since you’re already sitting in that big, comfy leather chair.”

  “You won’t be staying long. I just wanted to give you this.” Reaching across the desk, I accept the booklet he’s holding out. “I need one hundred copies of that, bound and in color. By three. Think you can handle that?”

  “Of course.” As if I would say no. This is a test. He doesn’t think I can do it and I just know he’s counting on me to fail, get flustered and freak out on him before quitting. All a part of his sick game.

  Well, I won’t give him the satisfaction. If he wants to get rid of me, he’ll have to fire me.

  Returning to my desk, I Google how to bind a book since the shithead neglected to mention if we even have a bookbinder in the office. Turns out, we do. I find this contraption that looks exactly like one of the pictures that popped up in my image search. It takes me another twenty minutes to find binding combs and figure out how to work the stupid binding machine. But after that, it’s smooth sailing.

  I can probably finish the entire project in a couple of hours, maybe less than that. And wouldn’t that just be fantastic? Waltzing into Satan’s office and going ‘see? I can do this!’ before flouncing my hair and skipping off to the café to get his next cup of coffee. But then I figure, why rush? He’ll probably just hand me some other big project to try to throw me off my game.

  Taking my time, I hum to myself until 10:15 when I head out to the café to retrieve Mr. Connors’ second cup of coffee. The café is swamped so I barely get to say two words to Mina. I make it back to the office at exactly 10:30 and knock on Satan’s door.

  “Your midmorning coffee has arrived,” I call through the door in a singsong voice I have a strong feeling will annoy him.

  And I’m right. He opens the door sporting a sour look on his face. “Did you finish those handbooks I assigned you?”

  “Not yet, but you don’t need them until three, right?” Nodding, he closes the door again. Right in my face.

  “You’re welcome!” Pressing my ear against the door, I hear no response.

  The rest of the morning is uneventful. I download Spotify and play music on a super low volume. Since Mr. Connors hasn’t broken down the door demanding I turn it off, I assume he either can’t hear it or doesn’t care. There are no phone calls, which I find suspicious. What’s the point of having someone sit up here if there are never any visitors or calls?

  By noon, I’m ready for a break. That’s when the bartender from last night strolls in. “Hey, Charlotte. You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I cautiously reply. I don’t want to seem too interested. Plus, I can’t even remember the guy’s name. Talk about awkward. “What are you doing here so early? Satan’s next coffee break isn’t for another few hours.”

  “I was i
n the neighborhood and thought I’d swing by to see if you wanted to grab lunch.”

  “Lunch?” Like a deer caught in headlights, I blink at him. “The two of us? Like, together?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. Did you already take your lunch break?”

  “No, I – honestly, I’m not even sure if I get one.”

  “What?” he asks incredulously. “Everyone gets a lunch break. Says so right in the employee handbook.” Damn, I really should read that handbook. “Brody would never deny you a lunch break.”

  “Right.” I don’t want to go with him, but I’m ridiculously hungry. Torn, I walk over to Mr. Connors’ office door. “Let me just ask him if it’s okay for me to go now. You know, he might have something for me to do. Mr. Connors?” A couple of brisk knocks and the door swings open. He’s carrying his briefcase, like he’s on his way out.

  “Hey, Matt. What are you doing here? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” All smiles, Mr. Connors transfers his briefcase to his left hand and offers Matt his right one to shake.

  Well, at least I know the bartender’s name now.

  “No, I’m actually here for your beautiful assistant. We’re going out for lunch.”

  “That is, unless you have something you need me to do,” I quickly add. “Agendas to copy, more books to bind...Oh! Maybe someone needs to stay here to answer the phones? You’re on your way out, right?”

  Mr. Connors glares at me, mouth pursed in displeasure. “Per my itinerary for the day, I’m meeting with the contractor to go over the proposed renovations for the west wing. Of course, you would know that if you had been paying attention when we went over my schedule this morning.”

  “I was paying attention. I just don’t have it memorized and my notes are still on my desk,” I counter. He can give me shit for yesterday, but I’m really trying today. “Anyway, do you need me to go with you? For minutes?”

  His mouth relaxes, eyes widening with amusement. An Aha! face. “No, no, no. You two run along. Nothing else needed on my end.” What the hell? What happened to Satan? This is a perfect opportunity for the bastard to prevent me from having fun!

  “Great!” Matt’s eyes light up and he holds out a hand for me. “Come on! We can take my car into town-”

  “The handbooks!” I’m desperately reaching for an excuse. Anything to get me out of this lunch. “If I leave now, I won’t have enough time to finish those handbooks by 3pm.”

  “Not a problem, I’ll give you an extension until 4pm.” A wolfish grin spreads across Satan’s lips.

  “But what about the phones?” I insist.

  “If no one answers, the call goes to voicemail. Call them back when you’re done. Enjoy your date.” Mr. Connors sends me one final smirk before leaving. And that’s when it hits me.

  The fucking bastard had figured out I didn’t want to go and was being oh-so-accommodating so I would be forced to either tell Matt the truth or end up going anyway.

  “See, he’s not such a bad guy,” Matt says as he leads the way out of my office.

  And that’s how I got roped into a date with Matt, the much younger bartender. Matt isn’t a bad guy. I’m just not interested. But I don’t want to alienate one of the only friendly faces I recognize in town. Which means I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  I try everything in my power to downplay our “date”. For starters, I change the location to the café by claiming I have a ton of work to do even with the extension Mr. Connors granted me earlier. Eating at the café sort of makes this a work thing. Two coworkers grabbing lunch, right?

  The second we get to the café, I bypass the hostess stand and tables, making a beeline for the bar stool seats at the counter instead. Matt appears amused, but follows me without saying a word. After five minutes of stilted conversation, I spot Kyle pushing through the café doors.

  Picture this: a survivor of the Titanic spots a lifeboat after hours of floating around the frigid waters of the Atlantic. Got the image in your head? Good. That’s my reaction to seeing Kyle.

  “Kyle! Over here! Join us!” He says yes, thank you sweet baby Jesus. Truthfully, I don’t give him much of choice. I all but shove him into the empty stool beside me.

  Remember that time Tiger Woods’ ex-wife took a 9 iron to his Escalade? That’s basically what happens to our “date” once Kyle joins us. Not literally, of course. No one flew into a violent jealous rage or anything. But the date vibe dies a cold and brutal death.

  Because we are now a group of coworkers getting lunch. A small group, sure, but no one can get the wrong idea here. Matt looks a tad disappointed, but this is for the best.

  Kyle and I chat briefly, mostly about my new living situation and how things are going with his oldest brother. “I take it since you haven’t called or texted, things are going well?”

  “Things are better, yes. Satan seems to be in a better mood today.”

  “Satan?” Kyle furrows his brows in confusion.

  “It’s her nickname for Brody,” Mina explains as she approaches the counter with another to-go cup of coffee. “Here’s his afternoon fix. A bit early, but you can always microwave it before serving.”

  “Thank you!” I launch myself across the counter to hug her. She laughs, patting me on the shoulder to get me to sit back down.

  “So, Satan’s in a better mood?”

  “Yeah, he even gave her an hour to have lunch with me,” Matt says.

  “Really?” Eyes widening with interest, Mina leans over the counter. “You two are having lunch together?”

  “And Kyle,” I quickly add, bumping his shoulder with mine. Smash, smash, smash! That’s me taking a golf club to the date vibe again.

  “Ah. So, you and Brody...no yelling so far?”

  “None. Actually, he left me alone all morning-”

  “Mina!” A fake French accent that can only belong to Jacques flows toward us from the open kitchen door. “These pastries will not bake themselves!”

  “Yeah, and no one’s in a rush to eat them either,” Mina mutters under her breath. “Seriously, it’s the middle of the afternoon. Too late for the breakfast crowd and too early for the dinner crowd.”

  “What sort of pastries are you making?” I ask, but Mina doesn’t get a chance to answer. Jacques sweeps into the room, moving with the force of a tornado across the restaurant. "Sheesh, he's on a tear."

  "Tell me about it," Mina sighs. Leaning forward, she signals for us to do the same before whispering, "That table wasn't happy with their meal. The wife sent a dish back and Jacques had a fit. I had to convince him to let it go and make something else. He's hand delivering the plate so he can apologize."

  Ah. No wonder he's pissed. The proud Frenchman probably didn't like hearing someone hated his cooking. The table is close enough that I manage to catch the tail end of their conversation. "The vichyssoise is on the house. Bon appétit."

  Ugh. He mispronounced all but one French word in that sentence. Turning my attention back to Mina, I ask, "Is Jacques French-French?"

  "French-French? Is there another kind?"

  "I mean, is he actually from France? Or is he an American with a French grandmother or something?"

  “You know, that’s a good question. I honestly have no idea. He said he graduated from a culinary school in France and with that accent, we all just assumed he was a transplant.”

  Except his accent is totally fake and his word pronunciation would make him the laughingstock of France. He sounds more like what Americans assume a French speaker would sound like.

  “Mina! Where is Mina?” Jacques calls again on his way back to the kitchen.

  “Ugh, I better go.” Wiping her hands on her apron, Mina shoots me a small smile. “Your Satan might be in a good mood, but mine’s got his pitchfork out.”

  “Maybe they switch off days?” I joke. With one last smile, Mina heads back into the kitchen. “I guess I better get back to work, too.”

  “I’ll walk you,” Matt volunteers, hopping out of his seat and hol
ding out a hand for me.

  Fighting back a grimace, I turn to Kyle. “Are you heading that way, Kyle?”

  Kyle, bless his heart, plays along. “Sure am. Maybe I’ll pop in and say hi to big brother.” Matt doesn’t seem thrilled about us remaining a trio and bids us goodbye when we reach the main resort building. Kyle barely waits for him to be out of earshot before pouncing.

  “So, no interest in Matt?”

  “Ugh, no. I mean, he’s cute and all but...” I have zero interest in dating at the moment. None. Zilch. Nada. I wouldn’t even care for a fling. My libido is running at negative speed, if such a thing is possible. “I have no interest in being Mrs. Robinson.”

  “Mrs. Robinson?” Kyle frowns. We had reached the office and the door is wide open. Meaning Satan is afoot somewhere.

  “You know, from the movie The Graduate?” Kyle simply shakes his head. “Older woman seducing the younger man. It’s disgusting and so not my thing.”

  “Glad to hear it, Miss Kensington,” Satan’s rich baritone comes from behind me. I give myself a few seconds to prepare before turning to face him.

  Yup. Rich chocolate eyes, a chiseled face, and luscious lips curved into a sexy scowl. Be still my wet panties, Satan is still one handsome fucker.

  So much for my low libido, huh?

  “Though I am surprised to hear you’re a fan of classic movies,” Satan continues.

  “Never judge a book by its cover,” I quip before attempting to handover his cup of coffee.

  Mr. Connors doesn’t take it. Instead, he stares at the cup, like I’m holding out a mutant alien baby instead of his third caffeine fix of the day. “What is that?”

  “Well, let’s see. It’s a cardboard coffee cup with the café’s logo on it.” I open the carton’s lid and take a hearty whiff. “Containing a brownish liquid that smells like coffee. I’ll take caffeinated beverages for $600, Trebek.”

  “Classic movies and Jeopardy? You’re just full of surprises today. Unfortunately, your sense of timing still needs a bit of work. Last I checked, it’s a quarter after one, not a quarter to three. Perhaps you should purchase a watch if you ever receive a paycheck from us?”