“You’re sorry I’m mad but not sorry for what you did?” I ask, not taking my eyes off my screen.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
I glare at her.
She’s pretty much saying ‘sorry, not sorry’ but I’m having trouble holding onto my grudge because of the sound of her voice, her face in the reflection of my screen, plus the fact it’s Carly meddling because she thinks she’s doing the right thing.
Bill the Boob Looker picks this moment to come into my cubicle. I managed to avoid him yesterday morning.
“Hey, Carly, Ally, how’s it hangin’?” he asks, missing the vibe.
“Stop saying that. You’re a walking HR violation, Bill,” Carly snaps.
Bill rears back.
And then he looks at my throat. Yeah. Big hickey - still present.
“Not a good time, Bill,” I say. “Unless there’s something urgent? I can come find you.”
“No, no. Nothin’ urgent, just a pop-in. See you guys later.” Bill backs away slowly. Wisely.
A pop-in? No. I do not want morning pop-ins from Bill to become a thing.
“Wanna chat?” Carly asks. “We can go down to the atrium or into my office.”
“Not really,” I say.
“So, um… is everything okay?”
“No,” I say.
Her chin trembles.
“Okay, well, I’ll just… uh… see you at lunch?”
“No thanks,” I reply. “Really busy.”
Her expression drops extra low and right then, the last of my grudge slips away into nothingness.
Carly backs away and goes to her office and my forehead hits my desk as I sigh.
I’m terrible at grudge-holding. I always have been. Like last night, for example, giving my alphahole nemesis the cold shoulder and silent treatment until he got his lips to my skin and then I melted.
Two minutes later, I’ve still got my forehead on my desk, but I hear an email alert, so I look up at my monitor and see it’s a new email alert from Aiden. I alt+tab to my email window.
Subject line only, no text in the body of the email.
The subject line?
My office. Now.
I take a big breath, roll my neck, then grab my notepad, pen, phone, and the coffee Carly bought me. I head into his office, which is kitty-cornered to my cubicle.
He’s by himself, thankfully. And he looks like he’s in President-of-the-company mode instead of bestie’s husband mode. Great. Not.
I shut the door.
“What’s up?” I ask and open my notepad as if to write down whatever he’s about to bring up because that’s my way of saying I’m here for work-related reasons. I can’t choose to ignore him since he’s my boss’s boss, but I certainly don’t have to have any conversations that aren’t a hundred per cent professional.
Aiden sits there in a crisp suit, looking his usual gorgeous, but his expression has an edge.
I set my coffee on the edge of his desk, get my pen ready by poignantly clicking it, then putting it to paper and jerking my chin up to signal for him to go.
“Pinky,” he starts.
I raise my free hand. “Aiden, I’m not talking about my personal life with you. If you want to talk to me about something to do with my job, do it, otherwise this conversation is over.”
Aiden’s expression sharpens.
“You don’t have a degree in graphic design. That school listed on your HR file doesn’t exist.”
Fuck.
Fuck!
“You lied about your name.”
Here we go…
“You also might have helped save my father’s life last Friday.”
I blow out a breath.
“And you’re my wife’s best friend; you were there when we said our vows, and I consider you my friend too, Pinky.”
I pull in a breath.
“I was concerned,” he continues. “I’m very concerned and I know who Jude Novak is, known him for years, know he’s a solid guy, and he’s really fucking good at what he does. I want you to realize that whatever happens from here on out, you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay primarily ‘cause Jude will make sure you are, but I’m also gonna help wherever I can.”
“Aiden.”
He keeps talking. “I’ve hired armed private security, a guy who’s in this office with instructions to be no more than fifty feet from you at any given time until you’re in your cab, in my car, or otherwise handed off to Jude. He’s in the cubicle on the other side of you; his cover is that his name is Fred Young and he’s a consultant. No need to engage with him. No lunch breaks, no smoke breaks. You need to vape, I’ll overlook you doing it in the supply closet.”
“I will not be setting foot in that supply closet ever again. Triggers.”
He smirks. “Fair enough. Vape in the bathroom.”
“I don’t even need to vape. I faked it.”
He frowns.
“I faked a lot to appear to be the exact opposite to what I really am.”
“Your cover. Okay. How’ve you been pulling off your job?”
I drag in a big breath. “I crammed, I’ve done some online classes, sometimes it takes me twice as long, but I work nights and weekends to get things done on time and I had a ‘phone a friend’ contact for things that were complicated but I kind of lost that resource. But ninety to ninety-five per cent of the time, I can do it and I rock my job all by myself. ”