by Unknown
Donovan checked his watch. “We’ll have to leave in about twenty minutes.”
Camille nodded. She was dropping him off at BWI, before heading to work early. Grandma would organize the kids this morning. She finished her food, and climbed the stairs toward her closet, where she pulled out two hangers with Monday’s outfit.
At work, Camille sat leaning her head against the plush black executive chair. She had a big baby food campaign to work on but, honestly, she wasn’t in the mood for work. She wished she could just take a week off. She sighed, giving herself ten minutes before she had to look over the concepts she’d written down the week before. Camille liked brainstorming her ideas on paper. She sighed louder. Her boss was giving her some static about her slowness, but Camille insisted that jotting down ideas on paper before she entered them on her desktop was critical to her thought process.
“I know paper’s going out of style. My oldest kid is doing half his homework from a tablet now, but I like to hang on to things that are working for me,” she’d told O’Brien.
Her eyes shifted to movement outside the large window to the left of her door. Matt O’Brien himself was now walking directly toward her office. Camille straightened up and grabbed the pencil on her desk. She quickly leaned forward over the notepad. There was a brisk tapping on her door.
“Come in.”
“Good morning.” O’Brien smiled widely. “You’re in earlier than usual.”
Camille gave him a closed-lip smile. She was trying to avoid any small talk with O’Brien, who’d been sending her some weird vibes. At least that’s how Camille preferred to think of it. But really, she got a sense from her boss that he wanted to hit it. And that was not about to happen.
He just stood there, peering down at her. “Uhh.” Camille skimmed over the page on her notepad. “I wanted to get a head start on the baby food project this morning. I know the team’s meeting on Wednesday to talk about everyone’s ideas and begin putting together a campaign.”
“That’s great,” O’Brien said.
He was a good looking man. Tall, tanned, with a great body structure, green eyes, and dark features. But Camille was a married woman. She was also a bit confused by O’Brien’s sudden interest. But as long as she regulated their conversations to work, she knew she’d be straight. Eventually, he’d realize that there would be no opening. In fact, when his hand rubbed against her thigh the week before when they’d had a later-than-usual brainstorming session in his office, she’d given him the stinkeye. His face had gotten bright red, followed by profuse apologies.
The next day, O’Brien was as friendly as usual, and Camille wasn’t sure he’d taken her reprimand seriously.
“The meeting’s still on for the next campaign after lunch, so I’ll see you in the conference room,” O’Brien said, taking a step back.
“Okay.”
He smiled, turning sharply to leave.
That’s what you get for thinking your boss is your friend. And they had been. She and O’Brien had both gone to Georgetown University in Washington D.C., and had even worked on a few class projects together, both being communications majors. They’d fallen into the pattern of calling each other by their last names at Georgetown. They’d even started working at Libertine PR the same year.
They’d been peers.
But D.C. was the political capital of the world, and O’Brien was now her supervisor by job title.
Camille swiveled in her chair and opened a new document. She’d complete the task at hand on the baby food campaign before the day was over. She wanted to leave work by 5:30 p.m., and had to get home to get herself ready. She’d been saving a big surprise for Donovan.
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