same flaws I did but managed to point them out without embarrassing her. And create a valid solution. That takes special skill.”
I’d like to show you my special skills.
No. No, I would not. My special skills are completely based around work.
You know what skill I should pick up? Poker. Because Gavin clearly doesn’t see the internal battle raging behind my composed face. I look totally normal, not like a woman hanging on the precipice of a breakdown caused by the two sides of my brain having it out in an MMA deathmatch.
Sorry, Gavin, I’ve revised my five-year plan. I’ll be playing in the World Poker Tournament in Vegas. See ya!
“Thank you,” I say again, feeling like a robot. Robotic is better than a giggling schoolgirl, so I’ll stick with that.
“I’d like to start grooming you.”
I choke. I literally choke on my own spit at his words, and I am coughing and trying to clear my trachea so I don’t become some weird statistic. The number of women to choke to death on their own spit: one.
Gavin’s eyes go wide, and I’m not sure who is more embarrassed. I know what he meant. But grooming? Just such a poorly chosen word.
“I’m sorry.” Gavin stands, looking like he wants to do something, but doesn’t know what. “Are you okay?”
My eyes are watering—thank goodness for waterproof makeup—but I can finally breathe again. I pat myself on the chest, then take a long swallow of water before I answer.
“Fine,” I manage. “I choked on spit.”
Because I just had to say that phrase out loud in front of Gavin. I want a sinkhole to open in the floor and swallow me up. Preferably without this painful couch, which I swear is bruising my butt cheeks.
Gavin blinks, and then bites his lip to hold back a smile. That jerk. I barely survived an attempted murder by saliva over here and he thinks it’s funny?
Also, he should really never bite his lip like that in the office. It’s decidedly not office appropriate.
“Sorry about my word choice,” he says. “I meant training you. Mentoring you for a new position. To accomplish that five-year plan. Maybe in less time.”
Forget choking on spit. Did he say less time? Now my fingers twitch toward my bag, wanting to crumple up my letter. Because if Gavin is going to actually promote me, I should stay.
But that’s not the only reason you were planning to leave. You were going to leave because of him. And how hard it is to work with him. And the witches in this office who refer to you as a robot.
I made myself a promise—quit by tomorrow. I have to remove myself from this painfully torturous work environment.
But can I really turn this opportunity down?
“Obviously, that sounds great. But what does it entail? I already shadow you most of the time.”
And I will happily shadow you outside the office should the occasion arise.
“I want your voice. Your thoughts. Your ideas.”
I swallow. Hard. He did not say he wants you, Zoey. Your thoughts. Not your body. Not your heart. Not your utter devotion. He likes your brain, and that is all. Purely professional.
That’s a start. We’ll lure him in with our brain—
There is no luring. We are not luring. No. Shut it down.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and I realize that I have gone silent, my brain having its own conversation.
I consider his question. Am I okay?
Not in the slightest. If anyone knew the way my thought life runs wild behind my composed exterior, they would not think I was okay.
“Yes. Sorry. You just caught me by surprise.”
“It shouldn’t come as a surprise. You’ve surpassed my expectations over and over again. Today was no exception.”
If he pays me any more compliments, I’m going to pull a Tom Cruise and start jumping on this sofa.
“Were you testing me?” I ask.
Why does my voice sound coy? We will not flirt with our boss. We will not flirt with our boss. We will not—
“Did you like it?”
My face might be Switzerland, but the inside of me is a country filled with soccer hooligans celebrating a World Cup win. Running through the streets, screaming. Those obnoxious horns are blowing. Flags are being tossed in the air.
Because I am definitely not imagining the flirty edge to Gavin’s voice or the heat in his gaze. His eyes could ignite a rain forest. It sends a series of tremors through me that I mask by gritting my teeth.