A Little Fool for You: A Sweet Office Romance (A Little Love Book 3)

by Emily Childs

  Bastien doesn’t say anything, he’s reading that darn email, and I have few doubts he’s doing it all to make me sweat. It’s working. Maybe I should remind him of his mother’s affections for me, or his sisters-in-law, especially Brita. I’ve gotten to know her the best since she’s Oscar’s cousin, and after Oscar ties the knot with my sister, Brita will basically be my family too. I have power here, small as it is, I can tug on those connections to make Bastien squirm. Maybe. I don’t know, he might write a terrible review if I try it.

  “By Friday. Will you add it to the schedule?” he says flatly.

  “Add what?”

  “My reference is due by Friday.”

  “You need that long to think about it?”

  The smile on his face tells me he’s taken back all the power. “Depends on how the week goes, Brooks.”

  There is nothing more to say to this man. No banter, no playful jabs. I’m frustrated enough I can scream. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. Bastien is selfish, at work and in his personal life. Taking what he wants without thought for the feelings of others.

  With a sort of growl, I turn on my heels, and stomp out of his office. I’m almost positive I call him the spawn of the Devil, or something equally mature. He laughs, I think, because he’s terrible.

  I don’t know what happened to Bastien Olsen.

  Once upon a time I liked him. When we’d been at school together, he dated my roommate, and I always thought they had the makings for the ultimate, cutesy love story. High school friends turned lovers all through college. Cute. Classic. Until right after I graduated last spring, he crushed her heart into a fine powder and turned into this corporate workaholic who withers joy with a single, searing glance.

  If we were back in Boston, I’d tell him to take a long walk into the harbor. I might want to kiss him first, but that’s simply because he’s delightful to look at. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t shove him off the boardwalk headfirst.

  He’s aggravating, and rude, and bossy. More than a typical manager. But I kind of hate knowing his family because frankly, they’re wonderful. There must be a little bit of them in him somewhere. Then that sort of thinking brings me to sympathetic thoughts about something dreadful happening to cause such a change, and then I remember that he still hasn’t agreed to approve my Friday off.

  And I’m back to dreaming of shoving him into the harbor.

  Chapter 3

  Bastien

  I live twenty minutes away and they act like I moved across the country. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I scroll through the family group text I’ve been trapped inside all morning. I haven’t even responded yet.

  Brita: Remember Kirstie’s birthday next week! I mean, how could you forget, but we moved it to 5pm.

  Elle: Is she still into My Little Pony? Because her uncle went insane, and we are surrounded by pink and rainbows. Kaz and Bodie are confused.

  I laugh at that, imagining my five-year-old twin nephews standing around boxes of pink horses.

  Brita: She’s obsessed. Good call Ax.

  Axel: Uh because I am the favorite uncle. Don’t forget it Bass. Wait, is uncle-absentee even coming? Is he on this text? Can we talk about him behind his back?

  Elle: Ax.

  Axel: Talk to me, babe. I’m sitting right next to you. We can do more than talk if you want. Jonas has the kids.

  Jonas: And Kirstie is starting to read. Keep it G.

  Mom: Has anyone put in the flour order for Grandpa and Philip it’s getting low end texting.

  Axel: Mom we’re talking birthdays not the flour inventory. And use punctuation.

  Brita: Don’t eat before. We’re having pizza too.

  Mom: What about cream of tartar question mark. Where is the order file on the computer question mark. This thing is ancient period.

  Jonas: Mom, are you using voice text? It shouldn’t spell out the punctuation.

  Elle: Sig, click the folder at the bottom of the screen. I can be there in five minutes to help.

  Axel: Seriously, is Bastien on this text? It’s been like three hours and not a word.

  Brita: Oh, and Kirstie wants to have a cousin sleepover.

  Axel: Bastien is probably going to get her a coloring book from the grocery store. Or maybe some ball point pens.

  That’s it. I stop working through an algorithm for city growth, and join the madness.

  Bastien: I’m coming! And have an epic gift. I am the best gift-giver. By the way, do any of you work?

  Axel: There he is! I knew if we poked enough he’d show. And yes, we work, but sometimes take a day off, and still make more than you.

  Elle: Eh . . . you sure, Ax?

  Axel: Well, we would if we didn’t have two bottomless pits eating everything in sight.

  True enough. My twin nephews eat everything and they’re still small for their age.

  Mom: Flour? Oh, now it made the right punctuation. Cream of Tartar annnnnnn..3e

  Axel: Someone teach the woman how to text. Please.

  Jonas: Mom, why are you still at the shop?

  Brita: Bass, are you really coming?

  Bastien: Why does everyone think I’m a deadbeat uncle?

  Axel: Do you really want us to answer?

  Mom: Wait, Bass? I thought this was the Lindström group.

  Axel: AKA everyone except Bastien.

  Mom: Son, I called you earlier. CALL ME BACK rn.

  Axel: Oh no. Mom is using acronyms. She can’t text but she knows LOL and rn. Mom, YOLO.

  Mom: What?

  Bastien: Calling soon. Everyone else, I’m coming and I’m putting this group on do not disturb for the rest of the day.

  Jonas: Shocking.

  Bastien: Go sue someone, Joe. Love you, see you in a few days.

  And I follow through. The group is silenced, but I’m smiling. Maybe it has been too long since I’ve been back, a month in Olsen time is like ten years, so. I guess I’ve been pulling away, but sometimes a guy has his reasons, and as close as we are, I don’t need to talk openly to help the brigade understand why.

  I like being here, at the office, at my own house. Burying myself in work, climbing the ladder at Everett; those things excite me.

  I love it here.

  I’m running. Hiding. Avoiding. A lot of trigger words my mom likes to use.

  But none of those downplay the truth that I’ve got a good gig right here, and don’t want it to change anytime soon.

  Although, it’s been getting harder to focus the last few months.

  As if on instinct, my eyes shift toward the glass windows surrounding my office. The door is cracked, and I’m hesitant to close it. On one hand, I won’t be distracted, on the other I won’t see Laney. Not in a creepy way. I simply like her laugh, and she’s laughing right now. When she laughs that rugged accent starts to come out. I think she told whoever is on the other line—probably Nicole—to get some chowdah cooking.

  Or when she stormed out of my office earlier, I caught skeezah in the mix of mutterings under her breath. I had to Google that one. It’s not nice.

  I was comfortable simply keeping a distant attraction to Nicole’s sister. We’ve known each other for a long time now. She’s always been there. In school. Now ten feet away from me.

  That distant attraction is getting harder to ignore. Of course, she’d never know. She hates me. I’m a skeezah, after all. It’s not like I want to be terse with Laney Brooks, but I guess that running and hiding and avoiding my mom is always talking about has created a detachment to emotions.

  Laney is a crucial piece of this team, a huge piece of my success, and I don’t tell her enough. I don’t tell her at all, and I should. She’s organized, she manages the endless tasks Holly tosses my way, and she’s not afraid to put me in my place.

  I like it. Too much.

  Liking it, liking her, when I don’t need any distractions is aggravating to the point my mood shifts into something like a bear.

  She challenges me. No denying that. A
s distant as I am, I’m not so detached not to notice everything making Laney is vibrant and good. Her smile, her cleverness, the way she cuts me at the knees and I don’t even know I’m bleeding, is a sort of cruel reminder of risks I should’ve taken years before. Now Laney wants to leave this team. She’s the glue that’s holding us—well, at least me—together!

  Still, I knew this was inevitable. She’s talented, and from the beginning I’d expected the higher ups to eventually notice.

  “If you keep doing that, then you’ll go bald.”

  I snap my head up, not realizing I’ve dug my fingers into my hair, pulling on the ends as I hunch over my keyboard. Laney stands in the open doorway, smirking. Most of the administrative assistants wear high heels and tight skirts. Not Laney. A ruffly skirt, a silky blouse that fits a little too perfectly. All topped off with blue sneakers. I love her glasses, but she’s not wearing them now, and I’ve got a clear shot of the way light draws out the gold in her eyes.

  I frown to hide how much I appreciate those sneakers, those eyes, and everything. “Something you need, Brooks?”

  “I’m going to lunch,” she says with an edge in her voice. I’ve earned the biting tone, no doubt.

  “Be back in time for the meeting, I’ll need those notes.” Have fun. See you later. You’re beautiful. All those normal things to say are there on the tip of my tongue. But dropping my guard leads to vulnerability, and vulnerability has taught me a thing or two. I’m not going anywhere near that realm with Laney Brooks. I’ll simply admire from afar.

  She gives me a lazy salute, but as she turns away, she smiles a little wickedly and says, “Oh, your mom called again. Don’t worry I told her you’re sitting in your office right now. Doing nothing that would distract you from taking a phone call.”

  As if on cue, my cell phone brightens with my mom’s number. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, my family, but the more I tell her I’m not coming home this weekend, or for a random family dinner, makes me feel like an even bigger jerk than before.

  I glare at Laney.

  She’s laughing, and intentionally drawing out her accent when she wiggles her fingers and says, “Later baaahs.”

  Well played Miss Brooks. I shake my head, prepare to hear my mother’s disappointment, and answer my phone.

  “Oh, I do have a living son.”

  “Mom,” I groan, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I told you I’d call later. Didn’t you see it in the text?”

  “You know I get mixed up in those things. So, you’re not coming for dinner on Sunday, like you didn’t come for the Labor Day sale. Now Inez told me you’re not sure if you are coming for the tuxedo thing the guys are doing.”

  The ache I keep rubbing strengthens behind my eyes. “First, on Sunday is a work thing, like I told you. Secondly, I wanted to help with the bake sale, but it was in the middle of a negotiation week. We were crazy up here—not always possible to get away. Oscar didn’t go either.”

  “Oscar is getting married. He has more excuses.”

  “Okay, and with the tuxes, I already told you mine is good. It fits, I just need to pick it up.” I glance at the ticket Laney put on my desk earlier, and allow myself to wonder what she’ll look like in one of the burgundy bridesmaid dresses. Not a good train of thought; too easy to get lost in.

  “It’s not about getting fitted. All the guys are going out after. It’s bonding, Bass.”

  “We’re already family.”

  Wrong thing to say. I hear her sigh sadly. “You’re missing the point, son.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “It’s more than that. Lindström is a small town, right?”

  I scrub my face, jaw tight. Maybe my efforts to conceal my reasons for staying away didn’t escape my mom after all. “I’m not hiding, Mom.”

  “Sure, Bass.”

  I make a sort of growly groan as I concede. “Listen, how about I come by after the game on Sunday. We can all do the dessert pass-around thing we used to do. Sound good?”

  My mom instantly brightens. “You’ll stop by?”

  “Yeah. It’ll be fun. It’s been too long since I’ve heard Philip and Grandpa argue.”

  “That’s the attitude I like to hear.”

  We take another five minutes to hang up, but that’s my mom—always remembering last minute things to tell me about my niece and nephews, but at least when she says goodbye it’s more chipper than when I answered.

  I make a note in my phone, not planning to forget, but just in case. There is the matter with the game. I’m supposed to bring someone. I’d thought about bringing Kirstie, but there’ll be adult talk with the others in the box. Jonas would kill me if his daughter came home with a new vocabulary.

  I’ll just go alone. Holly can’t hold it against me if I don’t have a plus one. Even if she’s notorious for being a bit nosy in the personal lives of employees, and on more than one occasion has reminded me I’m turning into a workaholic. As in, when I die, I’ll be alone. She gets rather grim sometimes.

  I’ll worry about all of it later. There is a meeting I need to prepare for if Holly is going to put me on as the lead for the Cutler account instead of Howard. I grimace at the thought. Howard is better suited to keep on track for retirement. He’s fine, but lacks rapport with clients, and his eye for detail has gotten lazy with his corner office. I suppose that’s why Holly sends his charts to me for a once-over.

  I’m ready to take on more. Let’s get real, I’m ready to take Howard’s place as head analyst and run all the data and analysis teams.

  To get there means digging in a little and working a little more than others. I wish my mom and brothers would realize that’s why I don’t come home that often. Not because I’m hiding from anything, or anyone.

  My stomach tightens.

  Seems that lie is getting harder to sell. Even to myself.

  Chapter 4

  Laney

  The Vanilla Bean is a block from the building and reminds me of a small-town bistro. Vintage pastel paint on the wooden tables, hardwood floors, and lace drapes around the windows. Not my style, but it works. People from Everett, or Dominion Engineering, or Lux Software frequent the tables near outlets to work while away from work, I guess.

  I have half a mind to whip out my tablet and finish a report before returning to the dungeon of my office. But Nicole shouts, rather embarrassingly, across the shop. “No! Get that work face off this second. For you, it is not allowed inside this place. Ever!”

  Heat fills my cheeks when I glare at the barista who looks more like our dad with her shiny black hair and slender nose, while I take after our mom with glasses and nut-brown hair.

  Nicole opened her café during my sophomore year at college. A risk to be sure, but three years later her place is the hit of the commercial block. People know her by name here, and whenever I need to decompress, I can always find a stool at the counter, or a quiet corner booth, or if there isn’t any room, Nicole sends me to the kitchen.

  “Keep the tablet away,” she warns when I lean against the counter.

  “I wasn’t going to pull it out.”

  Nicole snorts and wipes off the espresso machine. “Your regular?”

  “Please,” I say, and settle onto one of the barstools at her counter. “And a plate of cheesy garlic knots.”

  “Cheesy, huh? Bringing out the big guns already.” She shoots me with her fingers and sets to work preparing boysenberry lemonade and a basket of her gooey bread knots. She suits this place, but Nicole has always loved to cook, and socialize. I’m pretty sure everyone within walking distance knows her as the beautiful, funny coffee shop girl who hosts trivia night and speed dating on the weekends.

  Nicole slides my order over the counter, then leans on her elbows, grinning at me. “Happy Monday!”

  “Thanks,” I grumble.

  “Uh, oh. What’s wrong?”

  I take my glasses off and rub the bridge of my nose as I open the email from Piper again. “Nothing. Just the same old
destroyer of happiness leading my office.”

  Nicole smacks my arm. “You are such a drama queen.”

  “Hardly,” I tell her. Biting my cheek, I send a quick reply informing Piper that Mr. Olsen will be at the meeting, and add a cute: he’s looking forward to Holly’s expansion plan. He doesn’t deserve my little additives, but I say it all the same. Resting my phone facedown, I start to pick at the buttery rolls. “You know he hasn’t approved Friday off yet?”

  “Come again?” Nicole narrows her eyes.

  “See, not such a drama queen now, right?”

  “Lane, you’re coming.”

  “I know,” I say hotly. “I’ll be there, I just need to convince a certain grump of it.”

  “A grump? You’re not talking about me, right?”

  Nicole whips the counter with her towel, laughs, then steps out to wrap her arms around Oscar’s neck and plant a lingering kiss on his lips.

  “Ah, the sister-robber,” I say when my sister allows the man to break for air. “Lucky for you we weren’t talking about you.”

  Oscar Lundin is tall, at least two heads over Nicole’s petite figure. He’s the director of human resources at Everett, and happens to bake exquisitely on the side. Those bakery kids. Before I let myself slip down the rabbit hole of wondering if Bastien can bake well too, I scoot over so Oscar can sit next to me. When I graduated business school, he helped me secure my job, but then, I helped him secure his fiancée. We’re pretty even.

  I suppose my poor roommate’s broken heart had one positive outcome. Since Amy dated Bastien, I met Oscar, then Nicole met Oscar, and the rest is history. In truth, I’ve never seen my sister happier.

  “Watch out, lover,” Nicole says. “She’s stressed, and might bite your head off.”

  “I am not stressed,” I say in a sort of whine. “Geez, I can’t tell you anything without you blabbing to him.”

  “She doesn’t, I promise.” Oscar laughs and grins at Nicole. The sort of grin a girl deserves. I feel a pang of envy and wish it didn’t make me like Oscar so much. When they started dating, I vowed to despise him for interjecting into our tiny family. But here we are almost three years later, and I can’t picture Nicole with anyone else.