Читать книгу Her Favourite Rival - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
IT WAS NEARLY seven by the time Zach switched off his computer and slid the paperwork he was taking home with him into his briefcase.
A single light shone on the other side of the department. Audrey’s office. He hesitated, then changed course. He couldn’t help smiling when he stopped in her doorway. The sleek, put-together woman from this morning was long gone. Her hair had been released from the updo and hung to her shoulders in a rumpled mess. Her jacket had been discarded and her sleeves rolled up. Her shoes were abandoned in the corner, lying on their sides. She glanced at him before her gaze returned to the computer.
“If you’re looking for the quarterly report, I passed it on to Tom already,” she said, referring to a dense, complicated report they circulated among the department to save on paper waste, one of Makers’s feeble attempts at being environmentally aware.
He knew without asking that she was working on her range review; it was what he’d be doing, too, if he’d just learned that his new boss was going to be breathing down his neck during the presentation.
“Unclench, Mathews. Your review is probably word perfect, as always. Go home and get some food and sleep.”
Her gaze lifted to his again, her expression incredulous. “As. If.”
Which was exactly what he’d say, too, if their positions were reversed.
“If you’re overtired, you’ll make mistakes.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Humor me and at least stop for dinner, then.”
She frowned, as well she might. What did he care if she ate or not? She was his rival, not his friend.
“This may come as a shock to you, but I’ve been looking after myself for a few years now. I think I have the hang of it,” she said.
Fine. He wasn’t even sure what impulse had driven him to swing by her office, anyway. Whatever it was, it had been a mistake.
“Suit yourself.” He started to turn away, then hesitated. “If you get to the point where you’re ready to chew your arm off, there’s a stash of protein bars in the bottom left drawer of my desk.”
She blinked, clearly surprised by his offer. He lifted a hand in farewell and headed for the exit, unsettled by his own altruistic impulse. For a long time now, his energies had been focused on only two things—protecting his mother from herself and establishing himself in his career. Everything else—women, friendships, outside interests—had taken a backseat. It was the reason his last girlfriend, Tina, had walked. She’d said he didn’t care enough, and in the eight months since their breakup he’d come to acknowledge that she’d been right. The bottom line was that there were only so many hours in the day, and he had only so much energy. Which was why he’d been sleeping alone since Tina bailed on him.
So why was he looking out for Audrey, worrying about whether she was skipping dinner, for God’s sake?
He threw his briefcase onto the backseat of his Audi sedan and slid behind the wheel, uncomfortably aware that part of his motivation might be that Audrey was about his age, with a damn fine figure and a low, sexy voice that had always intrigued him.
Yeah. Hard as it was to admit, apparently he wasn’t immune to the urgings of testosterone.
Well, his gonads were going to have to find someone else to fixate on, because there was no way in hell he was going to so much as look sideways at a work colleague. He’d seen too many people undone by workplace affairs to be stupid enough to go there.
It took him half an hour to drive across town to his place in Surrey Hills. He’d bought his down-at-the-heel three-bedroom Victorian cottage as an investment and was renovating it in slow stages. Once it was finished he planned to sell it and upgrade. All part of his five-year plan.
The air still smelled faintly of paint when he let himself in, despite the fact that he’d redecorated the front part of the house more than four months ago. Maybe if he cooked a little more, there would be competing smells to drown out the paint odor. He wasn’t about to start tonight, though.
There was leftover Chinese in the fridge, and he nuked it before sitting at the kitchen counter and going over the papers he’d brought home.
Tomorrow was a big day. He had a friend from university who had worked under Henry Whitman at his previous company, so Zach knew Whitman’s reputation for making lightning assessments. If he screwed up his presentation or failed to impress, things were going to get tense.
They might get tense, anyway. It all depended on what Whitman’s mandate was from the retailers who’d employed him to lead their company. Build and cultivate, or slash and burn.
He put his paperwork into his briefcase at nine and grabbed his car keys. What he really wanted was a hot shower and an early night, but ever since he’d spoken to Vera this morning there’d been an alarm sounding in the back of his mind, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d checked on his mother.
He drove west until he was wending through the streets of his childhood in the working-class suburb of Footscray. He stopped in front of his mother’s house, but didn’t get out of the car. Now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to face her. In all likelihood she would be high, and he wasn’t up to managing her tonight. Familiar guilt tugged at him, but he’d learned long ago that no matter what he did, he would always feel guilty. A tougher lesson had been learning that he was also entitled to a life. Nothing would be gained by his sacrificing everything on the altar of his mother’s addiction.
The lights were on in the front room, the flicker of the television visible through the thin net curtains. There was no car in the driveway or any other sign of a boyfriend. He sat staring at the lit window, hoping like hell that Vera had it wrong. After ten minutes he started the car and drove off.
He stripped and stepped beneath a hot shower when he got home. Moments from the day flashed across his mind’s eye as he let the water run over his shoulders and back, but the one that stuck was the picture of Audrey striding so purposefully and self-importantly across the foyer at 6:30 a.m., a stack of papers in hand. The look on her face when she’d realized it was him and not Whitman...
He laughed out loud. She’d been so damned annoyed. Mind, so had he. But it hadn’t taken her long to find her feet again, calling him on his haircut, just as he’d called her on her new shoes.
It was a pity they worked for the same company, because if he was free to follow his instincts where she was concerned—
What? You’d date her for a while and then screw that up, too?
The smile slipped from his lips.
It was irrelevant. As he’d established more than once today, Audrey wasn’t exactly his biggest fan, and he’d never make a move on her, even if she was.
He turned his face into the spray, reminding himself that there were worse things in the world than being lonely and horny.
Just because he couldn’t think of them right now didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
* * *
AUDREY RUBBED HER temples, willing her aching eyes to focus on the screen. She was so tired she could barely see straight. She’d tweaked her presentation within an inch of its life, but anxiety kept her at her desk, going over and over each page. She wanted to knock it out of the park tomorrow. She wanted Henry Whitman to remember her as the go-getter with the awesome range review, not the chipmunk-cheeked banana-eater from the staff room.
She wanted—
The low, demanding growl of her stomach echoed. She’d been ignoring her belly for the past two hours, but now she was getting to the sick stage of hunger where she was feeling more than a little shaky.
Ever heard of the law of diminishing returns? Time to go home, princess.
She knew the voice in her head was right. Her brain was mush, her judgment out the window. As much as it killed her to admit it, Zach had been on the money when he’d said that if she was overtired, she’d make mistakes.
She hit Save, then—to be safe—made a backup of her presentation and emailed it to herself. She was shutting down her computer when her phone rang in her handbag.
She grabbed it and recognized the number as her parents’. She hesitated, not sure if she was up to a conversation with her mother right now. Then she straightened her spine and took the call.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Audrey. Have I caught you at a bad time?” Her mother’s voice was cool and briskly efficient, as though she was working her way down a to-do list and talking to Audrey was the next item to be crossed off. Knowing her mother, it was probably not far from the truth.
“No, no, you’re good. How are you? How’s Dad?” She could hear the polite stiffness in her own voice but was powerless to stop it. After years of agonizing over their relationship and trying to make up for the mistakes of her past, she had come to accept that this was simply the way things were—not so bad, but not so great, either.
“We’re well, thank you. I won’t keep you, but I wanted to ask you to save the seventeenth for Leah’s birthday. Your father is keen to take her somewhere special for lunch.”
“Sure. I’ll put it in my calendar now.” It was her sister’s thirtieth, so it made sense that their father would want to make a splash.
“She’s been working so hard lately, she deserves a treat.”
Like both their parents, Leah was a doctor, but while Karen and John were both G.P.s, Leah was training to be a cardiothoracic surgeon, something their mother had always wanted for her.
“How many years left now?” Audrey asked.
“Four. Which seems like a long time at the moment but the sky is literally the limit when she’s completed her training.” There was no missing the pride in her voice.
And why not? Leah had always been the best at everything. High school had been a walk in the park, she’d graduated at top of her class at university and she’d secured a place in the cardiothoracic program without breaking a sweat. It stood to reason that once Leah finished her training she would have a stellar career that would make their mother even prouder.
“Well, she’s on the downhill run now,” Audrey joked. “She can start taking it easy soon.”
“I don’t think your sister knows how. We had a spa day together last week and she spent the whole time checking her messages and making phone calls. Typical high achiever.” Her mother gave a fond sigh.
Audrey picked up her pen and started drawing circles on the notepad beside her phone.
“How’s everything else? Did you sort out the problem with the lawn?”
“What problem with the lawn?” Her mother sounded completely blank.
“The drainage. Last time we spoke you’d had some problems with flooding down the back.”
“Oh, that was months ago. Your father had someone come in and dig a ditch or something. Anyway, it’s all fine now.”
“Good.”
They talked about the weather and her parents’ garden for a few more minutes, then her mother insisted on “letting her go.”
Audrey closed her eyes, aware of the old, old hollow feeling behind her breastbone. Every now and then, her mother or father or sister said something that gave her a glimpse into the world they shared with one another—cozy dinners for three, outings to the theater, European holidays. Last week, a mother-daughter spa day.
And Audrey hadn’t spoken to any of them for over a month. Even after so many years, it hurt to know it all went on without her. She’d be lying if she pretended anything else.
“Definitely time to go home.”
Before she became completely maudlin and pathetic.
She snagged the strap of her handbag and her briefcase then stood. The room spun crazily as the blood rushed from her head, and she slapped her hand onto the desk to steady herself.
Whoa. Someone has low blood sugar.
She held out her hand, and sure enough it was shaking. It was nearly ten, and she’d been at her desk since six-thirty in the morning. Lunch had been two bites of banana and a snack-size yogurt—hours ago.
So much for knowing how to look after herself. Barefoot, she made her way to the staff room in the hope that there were some bananas left. No such luck. The cookie jar was empty, too, only a few crumbs in the bottom to taunt the truly desperate. She opened the fridge and eyed the detritus left from other people’s lunches. Squishy-looking fruit and dry, curled sandwiches. Blurg.
If you get to the point where you’re ready to chew your arm off, there’s a stash of protein bars in the bottom left drawer of my desk.
She shut the fridge door. There was no way she was raiding Zach’s stash. There was something about the idea of accepting a favor from him that made her uncomfortable.
Her stomach growled, an audible counterargument to her thoughts. She looked around the kitchen a little desperately. She’d make herself another cup of coffee with lots of sugar. That should do the trick. She opened the fridge in search of milk, only to find none.
Damn it. She hated black coffee with a passion.
Stop being so bloody precious. Eat his protein bar and go home and get a good night’s sleep. Like a grown-up.
Gritting her teeth, she marched out of the staff room before she could think the matter to death. Zach’s office was on the opposite side of the department from hers. She paused in the doorway, then committed herself to his domain.
Like her, he had a company-issue desk made from blond wood veneer. The bookcase and filing cabinet were also standard-issue, but he’d hung a series of black-and-white framed photographs on the walls, arty shots of old buildings and other architectural features, as well as bringing in an old-fashioned wood-and-brass desk lamp. She’d been in his office for only brief moments before, and she paused in front of one the photographs. A moody photograph of a European street, it was stark and simple. She wondered if he’d taken it himself.
She gave herself a shake. She was here for sustenance, not snooping. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing his pristine desktop as she pushed his chair back to access the drawers, though. His blotter was unblemished, his in-and out-trays empty. By contrast, her own desk looked like a war zone: piles of papers, catalogs bristling with sticky notes, crumbs in her keyboard, a million reminders to herself scribbled across the blotter. She hadn’t sighted her in-tray for over a month, it was buried beneath so much paperwork. She prided herself on the fact that, if pushed, she could lay her hand on anything within thirty seconds, but the fact remained that Zach had her beat, hands down, in the anal tidiness stakes.
She slid the bottom drawer open. Sure enough, a box of protein bars was inside. There were two flavors, Dutch chocolate and French vanilla, and she chose vanilla. She was about to shut the drawer when her gaze fell on a bottle of aftershave. She reached for it and lifted it to her nose, inhaling a light citrus scent with surprising spicy base notes. Mmm. Nice. She sniffed again, closing her eyes as she tried to identify what it reminded her of. The beach in summer? No, it was more intimate than that. Perhaps—
Abruptly she registered what was she was doing—hovering over Zach’s desk, sniffing his aftershave. She whipped her hand away from her face so quickly she almost dropped the bottle. She returned it to the drawer, being careful to put it exactly where she had found it, then closed the drawer. There was a memo pad beside Zach’s computer and she reached for the nearest pen to write him an IOU. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of the thing that she realized she wasn’t holding an ordinary plastic ballpoint. Black and shiny with warm golden accents, the pen had real heft to it. When she pressed it against the paper, it rolled effortlessly, silkily across the page. Then she spotted the tiny telltale star logo on the end.
Montblanc.
Wow. No wonder his handwriting was always so crisp and elegantly formed.
Must be nice to be able to drop three figures on a fancy pen. She made a noise, unable to imagine a universe where she would have enough money to spare to allow herself that kind of indulgence.
She returned the pen to the caddy on Zach’s desk and escaped his office, taking with her the slightly guilty sense that she’d invaded his privacy. Checking out his photos and sniffing his aftershave and using his fancy-schmancy pen was hardly on a par with riffling through his underwear drawer, but if their positions were reversed, she knew she wouldn’t be thrilled to know he’d lingered over her personal effects. In fact, the thought of him examining her space in that way made her toes curl into the carpet.
In her office, she tore the wrapper off the protein bar and ate it with stolid determination, chewing and swallowing until the thing was gone and the edgy, shaky feeling had passed.
She let out a sigh of relief, then grabbed her bag, briefcase and shoes and headed for the garage.
Whether she liked it or not, Zach had saved her bacon tonight. She would make a point of thanking him for his generosity tomorrow—as well as replacing the bar, of course. Under no circumstances would she try to get close enough to find out if he was wearing any of that delicious aftershave, though. And she definitely wouldn’t ask him to confirm her guess about the photos on his office wall.
He was still the enemy, after all. Or, at best, her fiercest rival. It would never pay to forget that.
* * *
“HOW DID IT GO?” Megan asked.
Audrey sank onto the bar stool next to her best friend and let her bag slide to the floor. “I’m alive. That’s about all I’m willing to commit to right now.”
Twenty minutes ago she’d left the conference room after delivering her range review and enduring nearly an hour and a half of brutal, probing questions courtesy of Henry Whitman. He’d asked about her range initiative, grilling her on every possible detail, then branched out into asking about her strategy for the department, her thoughts on the retail hardware sector in Australia, her experience in the industry...
Even though it was only five o’clock when she emerged, she’d been so exhausted and wrung out she hadn’t hesitated to bail when she found Megan’s note indicating that she’d be waiting at Al’s Place. She’d said goodbye to her assistant, Lucy, and made for the exit as though the hounds of hell were on her tail.
Megan slid a glass of red wine along the bar toward her. “Here. You look like you could use this.”
“Does it come in IV form?” Audrey slumped forward, propping her elbows on the bar.
Megan pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Wow. He really gave you a going-over, huh? I pretty much said my piece, answered a few questions from the retailers and then buggered off.”
Audrey stared at her. “Really? He didn’t grill you on everything from your favorite color to whether you believe in the Easter Bunny or not?”
“It was an Easter Bunny–free conversation.” Megan’s brow puckered. “Do you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I have no idea.”
“I think it’s a bad thing. He was obviously interested in you. Me, not so much.” Megan shrugged philosophically, her expression clearing. “Oh, well. As soon as I’m knocked up I’m out of here anyway, so it probably doesn’t really matter what the Executioner thinks of me.”
“I think we need a different nickname. The Interrogator is much more accurate,” Audrey said.
“The Interrogator. Nice. Has a good, intimidating ring to it.”
Audrey sucked down a mouthful of wine. “We should probably eat something with this.”
They both had to get behind the wheel to drive home, after all.
“Already on it. Cameron is bringing curly fries.”
“I knew there was a reason we love it here.”
They’d discovered Al’s Place a couple of years ago. A dark and dingy little bar in the strip of shops across from Makers, the rest of their colleagues gave it a wide berth, making it the perfect place for post-work bitch sessions and two-woman mutual sympathy parties. The floor was sticky and the decor firmly stuck in the eighties, but Cameron always gave them lots of pretzels and was never stingy with his pouring.
“Okay, the big question for you,” Megan said, twisting so she faced Audrey more squarely. “If Whitman came over all Robert Redford in Indecent Proposal with you, would you or wouldn’t you?”
Audrey let out a crack of laughter. Trust Megan to find such a unique, irreverent way to put the afternoon’s ordeal into perspective.
“Come on.” Megan nudged her. “Would you sleep with him to keep your job or not?”
Audrey considered that. Whitman had to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, but he was in good shape, no spare tire or jowly chops. If she squinted and the lighting was right, he might be considered a silver fox. But there was no amount of squinting that could erase those steely, all-seeing eyes.
“Not in a million years,” she said.
“What was it that did it for you? The sausage fingers or the seagull eyes?”
“The eyes. I didn’t even notice his fingers.”
“Oh, you will, trust me. They’re hard to miss.” Megan shuddered, then took a sip.
Audrey huffed out a laugh. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“I’m thinking he’s a socks-with-sandals kind of guy, too. I bet he breaks them out at the conference, along with bad floral shirts with short sleeves.”
Audrey nearly choked on her wine. “God, I’d forgotten all about the conference.”
She’d been so consumed with researching her new boss it had slipped her mind that she and her colleagues would soon be flying to sunny Queensland for three days of intense business powwows with more than six hundred member retailers.
“Only ten days to go.” Megan raised her glass in mock toast.
Audrey didn’t lift her glass in return. This would be her second conference in the capacity of buyer, and she wasn’t looking forward to being cornered by random retailers and taken to task over some imagined slight or oversight or deficiency. Throw Henry Whitman and his X-ray vision and hard questions into the mix, and the conference began to look like an endurance test of epic proportions.
“Look at it this way—it’s three days’ worth of sucking-up opportunities. We can all sing for our supper and make the big man feel suitably powerful, then come home again and get back to business as usual,” Megan said matter-of-factly.
“You really think it will be business as usual?”
Megan’s blue eyes became serious. “No. I think Whitman is going to go through us like a combine harvester. But there’s nothing I can do to stop that from happening, so I am going to do my best and live my life and take the worst as it comes, if it comes.”
They were both silent as they contemplated the truth of Megan’s words. Cameron broke the moment by sliding a bowl of golden fries in front of them.
“Enjoy, ladies.”
“Bless you. Animal fats to the rescue,” Audrey said.
They both reached for a handful of potato curls.
“Who do you think will go first?” Audrey asked.
Megan sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe Barry? And possibly Gordon. In my experience, guys like Whitman always have their own team they want to bring on board.”
Since Barry and Gordon both worked in the financial area, Megan’s assessment made sense.
“Out of us, I wouldn’t want to be Tom.” Megan referred to the buyer in charge of building materials.
Audrey nodded in agreement. Tom was a lovely man, but he was close to retirement age and definitely old school in his approach.
“I tell you who won’t be going, though—Zach. Fifty bucks he gets a promotion out of all of this.”
Audrey reached for the fries. “He’s not that good.”
“Sorry, sweetie, but he is. He’s smart, he’s good at what he does and he could charm a snake out of its skin.”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you have a soft spot for him.”
“Yeah, it’s called a vagina.”
Audrey shook her head at her friend’s outrageousness. “You are so lucky no one from work comes here.”
Megan stuffed a fry into her mouth before cocking her head. “You honestly don’t think he’s hot?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Audrey did know. She shrugged. “He’s okay. A bit too perfect, pretty-boy for my taste.”
“He’s not a pretty boy. He’s got that little bump on the bridge of his nose like he’s been in a fight. And he’s got that cowboy-to-the-rescue walk.” Megan mimed Zach’s confident swagger from her seated position.
“Does your husband know about your little obsession?” Audrey asked.
“What he doesn’t know he can’t use in the divorce proceedings. You know, if you were a true friend, you’d go there for me and give me a full report.”
“You’re a pervert, you know that?”
“Okay, don’t give me a full report. But for God’s sake don’t let an opportunity like Zach Black pass you by.”
“He’s just a man, Megsy. He takes his pants off one leg at a time. He probably has trouble finding the clitoris like every other male on the planet.”
“Honey, Zach knows exactly where the clitoris is. All you have to do is look into his eyes to know that.”
An odd little shiver ran down Audrey’s spine. She knew what Megan was talking about—the knowing, dirty glint in Zach’s eyes that spoke of tangled sheets and roaming hands and healthy, earthy curiosity.
“Stop it. I don’t want to think about Zach in relation to my clitoris or any other body part.”
“Ahem.”
The sound came from behind her, and had a distinctly masculine tone. Belatedly she noticed the cool brush of air on the nape of her neck—as though someone had recently entered—and the tide of color rising up Megan’s chest and into her face.
Everything in her went very still. She closed her eyes. “Please tell me Zach isn’t standing behind me.”
“I could tell you that, but it wouldn’t be true,” her friend replied.
Audrey mouthed a four-letter word as embarrassed heat flooded her face. She told herself to turn around and face the music, but her body was rigid with mortification.
“It’s not going to get any easier, Mathews,” Zach said. “Might as well get it over and done with.”
She knew exactly what expression he’d be wearing—smug, slightly self-satisfied. How...appalling.
Slowly she turned. Contrary to her expectation, his expression was carefully neutral. For the life of her she couldn’t tell if he was pissed or amused or something else entirely.
“I tried your phone, but it went straight to voice mail, and Lucy said to try over here. A courier dropped off a delivery in the parking garage and backed into your car.”
“What?” Audrey slid off the stool and onto her feet, concern for her car momentarily trumping her humiliation.
“It’s not major, but I figured you’d want to know about it. Lucy’s got the guy’s insurance details.”
Her thoughts rushing ahead to insurance claims and the inconvenience of repairs, Audrey collected her bag and turned to go. At the last minute she remembered the bar tab and turned back.
“Don’t worry about it. Your treat next time,” Megan said, waving her off.
It wasn’t until she was exiting Al’s Place and blinking in the bright late-afternoon sunlight that Audrey realized she’d have to make the walk back to the office with Zach at her side.
If she’d stopped to think for even a second, she would have made some excuse to send him ahead of her—anything to avoid the awkward, loaded silence that descended as they made their way to the traffic lights. She pressed the button and stared across the four lanes of road separating her from her place of work. Never had a few meters of asphalt seemed to stretch so far.
She sneaked a look at Zach out of the corner of her eye. He was staring straight ahead, his expression still unreadable. She wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard. Obviously, the bit where she’d referenced her very private body parts and his name in the same sentence. But had he heard the bit where Megan had admired his prowess? Or the bit where Audrey had dismissed him as a pretty boy?
She was still hot from the first wave of embarrassment, but she could feel a second, deeper heat stealing into her cheeks. So much for Al’s being a safe place of refuge. She would never sit with her back to the door again for the rest of her life.
The light changed and they strode onto the road. Audrey kept sneaking glances at Zach, but he had the best poker face she’d ever come across.
Finally she broke. “Look, I know it must have sounded pretty bad, but what you heard was totally out of context.”
They’d reached the center island and Zach stopped, forcing her to stop, too.
“Maybe I’m a bit thick, but I can’t come up with too many contexts that feature your clitoris and me in the same conversation that aren’t exactly what I’m thinking.”
Dear God. She couldn’t believe she was standing in the middle of a freeway listening to Zach refer to her lady parts as casually as if he was discussing the weather.
“We were actually discussing the likelihood of you being promoted,” she said a little desperately.
He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and considered her for a moment. “Okay, I’ll bite. What on earth has that got to do with your clitoris?”
She gritted her teeth. “Could you stop saying that, please?”
“What? Clitoris?”
“Yes.”
A truck blew past, making his jacket flap.
“Would you prefer me to call it something else? Little man in the boat? Love button?”
He was enjoying himself, she could tell by the creases around his eyes. And maybe she deserved to suffer a little. If she’d caught him having the same conversation about her with one of their male colleagues, she would be justifiably outraged.
“I would really, really like you to erase the last five minutes from your memory.”
He turned and hit the button to trigger the pedestrian lights. When he faced her he shrugged.
“Okay.”
She stared at him, but there wasn’t much else she could do or say. He’d caught her having an inappropriate conversation with a friend, and she was going to have to live with the knowledge that Zach now believed she and Megan habitually talked about him in intimate terms in their spare time.
The light changed and they walked in silence the rest of the way. Zach led the way to the garage before standing back while she inspected the large dent in the side of her little hatchback. She was very aware of him as she ran her hand over the damage.
“Ugly but drivable,” she said.
“Yeah. His insurance should cover the repair.”
She looked at him. Humiliation aside, he’d gone out of his way to find her so she wouldn’t return and find her car all banged up. A pretty nice thing to do.
And he’d fed her last night.
“Thanks for coming to get me. I appreciate it.”
“It was no big deal.” He buttoned his suit jacket. “See you tomorrow.”
He headed for the stairs, no doubt going back up to his office to put in more overtime. She watched him walk away, begrudgingly agreeing with Megan—he was too manly and masculine to be a true pretty boy, even if his face was very pretty.
But it seemed he wasn’t just an attractive face. He could be nice, too, as well as considerate.
She frowned. She didn’t want to start seeing the human side of Zach. He got under her skin enough already. If they were in a meeting together, it was always his comments she remembered the most clearly afterward. At large work functions, she always knew where he was and who he was talking to. And when he took leave or traveled interstate, the office felt too quiet and slow in his absence, as though some vital element was missing.
She didn’t want to be so aware of him. In fact, it was the very last thing she wanted. Half the women in the building had a crush on him, and she steadfastly refused to join their ranks.
Besides, even if he was a nice person under his well-cut suits and perfect hair, it didn’t change the fact that he would throw her under a bus if he thought it would further his career.
Admit it, you’d give him a shove, too.
Maybe. Part of her liked to think she would. She worked in a male-dominated industry, and it was important to be as tough, as emotionless as many of the men she had around her. The other part of her questioned if any role or pay raise was worth all the stress and exhaustion and worry.
She squared her shoulders. It was worth it. The alternatives—sitting in the corner waiting to be rewarded for being a good little girl, or giving up entirely and finding something less demanding—were not really alternatives. She could no more walk away from this job and her ambition than she could change the color of her eyes or her skin. She needed to prove herself. She needed it like she needed oxygen.
Turning her back on her scratched and dented car, she headed back to her office. If Zach was putting in the long hours tonight, she needed to be, too.
That was just the way it was.
