I’m going back to the office, and I’m dreading it.
I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve always looked forward to seeing my friends and coworkers. Sure, I’ve been nervous and jittery about it in the past, but I wish I’d told Jim I couldn’t make it this month. Or ever again. At this point, I’d like to avoid the Naiad office at all costs, especially one particular employee there.
Nothing happened between Daniel and me on my last trip. After his brush-off, I finished my workday, then went back to my hotel and waited—waited for a Slack message, a knock on my door, a fucking carrier pigeon, literally anything to tell me that he hadn’t been serious. But, of course, I got nothing.
When I went into the office the next day, I did everything I could to avoid him, mortified by my behavior and my clearly unreasonable expectations. I moved tables any time he got close, took an extra-long lunch with the girls, even sat in a meeting that had nothing to do with me because it would keep him away.
An hour before the end of the day, a Slack notification dinged in my headphones, and my heart dropped to my knees when I saw it was a message from him. I spent five minutes debating whether to open it and finally clicked with far more force than necessary when my curiosity got the best of me.
All it said was that he had time now to talk about the Donna Pascoe deal. Nothing else.
I didn’t bother to reply. I just shut my laptop, called out to the girls that I was leaving for the day, and swept into the elevator before the last of them could say goodbye.
Daniel wasn’t in the office when I came in the next day. I hated myself for planning a longer stay in hopes of having more time with him. How stupid I’d been.
I didn’t even acknowledge him when he finally showed up around noon, keeping my music loud and my eyes firmly on my screen. But ten minutes into ignoring him, I had a message. Anger flared through me as I opened it, growing more pissed off as I saw what it contained: a link to another bar with a time to meet following it. All I could think was the fucking nerve of this man.
Again, I ignored him, and when Nikki suggested all the production girls meet for dinner after work, I enthusiastically agreed and made sure he heard. Yeah, I technically stood him up, but at least he got a little warning.
I didn’t bother going up to the office a second time last month, but when Jim inquired about my plans to come back, I grudgingly told him I’d be there the first week of March. And now here I am, sweating like a sinner in church and on the verge of puking in the elevator of Naiad’s building.
When it finally stops on our floor, I have to drag myself out. I head straight for one of the smaller conference rooms, mumbling good morning to the various people I see along the way. Unfortunately, before I can ensconce myself behind the glass walls, Jim steps into my path.
I force myself through the usual office pleasantries, wearing a fake smile as I tell him about my weekend. The upbeat persona slips a bit when he asks what my plans are for my time in the city. If Daniel and I were still hooking up, I would have plans—not that I would tell Jim that, but I almost hate that it’s not a lie when I admit to him that I have nothing going on.
He lights up at that and launches into a glowing review of a new restaurant a few blocks north of here that I absolutely have to visit. I try my best not to tune him out, but when the elevator doors open and Daniel emerges, everything around me fades.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but he somehow looks even better than I remember. His hair is a little shorter, like he’s gotten it cut recently, but it still curls and sweeps in that unruly way I’ve come to adore. There’s nothing special about the black T-shirt he’s wearing or the subtle gold chain around his neck, and yet I can’t keep myself from drinking in his sharp jaw, the lines of his throat, or the way his biceps fill out his sleeves.
His skin’s a little tanner, a gentle golden brown, like he’s gone somewhere warm in the past few weeks and let the sun worship him. I wouldn’t know, considering we haven’t talked and he never shares more than he has to about his life in our meetings. Like Nikki said, the man is a closed book—but I can’t get over how he showed me a few chapters before slamming it shut.
Over the last month, I’ve come to realize that he may not actually have a girlfriend, and he may not have been out on a date, but the mere idea of either scenario has put this whole situation into perspective for me. Our…entanglement was never meant to last for long. Those secret liaisons would have had to come to an end at some point. And if I’ve been complicit in cheating, then it’s good that it’s already met its conclusion.
I don’t think Daniel would do something that shitty, but I don’t actually know him. I really don’t. He could be like any one of the fuckboys I dated in college who claimed we were exclusive while they were screwing someone else behind my back. Or like my most recent ex, and the most serious partner I’ve had, who had a long-distance girlfriend the entire time we were together.
Daniel may be different, but I don’t want to press my luck. It hasn’t been very good in the past.
I force myself to tune back into Jim, refusing to watch Daniel walk by behind him. Daniel’s eyes are on me, though. I can feel them, dark and piercing and…questioning.
I’m relieved when he disappears from my line of sight and into the main office space. Another second, and I might have combusted.
“Anyway,” Jim says, finally ending this roundabout speech. “You should go while you’re here. It’s so worth it.”
I swallow and nod, trying to find my voice. “Yeah, absolutely. I will.”
“Do you have meetings today?” he asks, frowning a little as he looks between me and the conference room door I was heading toward before he stopped me. Usually, we only camp out in conference rooms when we have story planning meetings or calls with authors, things we wouldn’t want to bother our coworkers with. But if we’re just writing or doing edits, we sit in the main office space.
I can’t lie to him. He already knows my schedule—he’s the one who makes it, after all—and he’s well aware that I’m just editing today. “No, I don’t,” I tell him. “I just needed some quiet time to concentrate on my edits. I’ve got a lot of them this week.”
“Oh, come on in here and work with us,” he goads, extending an arm to usher me toward the long tables. “We hardly ever get to see you. I promise everyone will keep it down.”
It’s difficult to bring a smile to my face. “Great.”
Jim walks behind me, practically herding me to one of the empty office chairs. And since I have the best luck, it’s the same table Daniel has settled at. The only saving grace is that he’s sitting at the far end, though it’s not far enough that we can’t lock eyes.
Which is exactly what happens as soon as I drop into the chair.
I look away as quickly as I can manage, but the damage is done. My heart is racing, my stomach is on the floor, and I’m hot all over—whether it’s from embarrassment or regretful desire or a combination of them both, I’m not sure.
Ducking my head, I busy myself by pulling out my laptop and my headphones. A few people pop by to greet me as I get situated, wrapping loose arms around my shoulders and inquiring about how I’ve been, but I can barely reply or return their embraces.
Finally, once I’ve said hello to the last of them, I put on my headphones and turn my music up as loud as I can bear, determined to get into the zone and ignore Daniel’s presence.
It works at first. But I’ve just started the second of the chapters when a Slack notification dings in my ears. I reluctantly swipe out of my document and pull up my messages, expecting to see a company-wide news blast or a silly joke from one of the other production girls. But instead, I’m staring at the little red number next to Daniel Santiago’s name.
I hesitate to open it, but then I hear his voice in the back of my head. Don’t be a coward, Selene. The everlasting challenge. Even if there’s nothing left between us, his influence lingers.
Drawing in a deep breath, I hover my cursor over his name. On an exhale, I click. At the bottom of the screen is another link to a restaurant and the question: 7 p.m.?
This time, it’s a question. In the past, he’s given me a time and expected me to show up. But this is an actual request, probably because he knows there’s a chance I’ll ignore him again. He wants confirmation that I’ll be there.
I click out of our messages.
He won’t be getting shit from me.
Somehow, I manage to find my groove. Sitting low in my seat, headphones on, music blaring, I tune out everything around me—including Daniel’s general presence—and get my work done.
He hasn’t sent more messages or tried to get my attention again, but every so often, I can feel him staring. Whatever. Let him stare. Let him think about how he fucked up and dwell on why I want nothing to do with him.
I eventually have to break my concentration for a trip to the bathroom. I’m careful not to look Daniel’s way as I get up. I avoid my own reflection in the mirror as I’m washing my hands too. There’s a chance I could see my fragile heart reflected back at me, which won’t help me keep my resolve. I can’t let anyone, not even myself, see how weak I am inside.
On the way back to my workspace, I’m stopped by Jim once again.
“Selene, would you mind doing the Starbucks run?” he asks with a glance at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting I forgot all about, but I promised everyone a caffeine fix.”
Pulling out my phone, I smile. “No problem.” I scan the room as I tap on the Starbucks app. “Who wants what?”
Immediately, I’m hit with a succession of rapid-fire orders, and it takes all my brain power to get them inputted correctly.
“Take Daniel with you,” Jim calls out as he hustles toward one of the conference rooms. “He has the company credit card in case we forgot something and can help you carry everything.”
Fuck. That is not what I need. “No, it’s all right. I’ve got—”
But Daniel is already brushing past me as he moves toward the elevators. I can’t even protest to Jim again because he’s already shut the door, and his glass-wall-muted-but-still-booming voice is brightly greeting the person on the other end of his call.
I have two options. I can get on that elevator with Daniel, ignore him, and bring back the drinks as promised. Or I can sit my ass back down and let him do the run alone. The order is already submitted and paid for, so all he has to do is listen for my name to be called and then cart back twenty-ish drinks on his own.
As much as I want to go with the second option, it’ll raise questions I’m not interested in answering. They’ll come the moment I sit down after being specifically asked to do the run. But what’s worse is if Daniel returns with only half the drinks because he couldn’t carry them all on his own, or if he comes back with coffee spilled all over him and a tray full of ruined drinks. Either way, everyone will be mad at me for interfering with their afternoon treat.
Shit. I guess I care more about my coworkers than my own mental health, because I’m already walking to the elevator.
Daniel has an arm extended to keep the doors from closing on me, leaving me to slide along the opposite side to avoid touching him as I step in. Once I’ve pushed myself into a corner, he drops his arm and hits the button for the lobby, then slowly turns toward me as the doors shut.
And just like that, I have his full attention.
“Are you coming to dinner with me?”
I give a noncommittal murmur. I have nothing to say.
My breath hitches as he shifts so close that I can feel the heat rolling off his body. It has my head spinning, but I refuse to let him get to me again.
“That’s not an answer,” he says with what I swear is a note of disappointment in his voice, like he can’t believe he has to interrogate me.
Well, fine. I’ll give him a direct answer if he really wants one.
My eyes snap up to his, boldly meeting his gaze. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Somehow, Daniel is undeterred. “You’ve already done it once,” he counters.
“One time too many,” I shoot back, and thankfully, the elevator doors slide open before he can respond.
I push around him and step into the lobby, then I’m shoving through the doors and out onto the busy street. I’m only a handful of steps down the sidewalk, but Daniel catches up to me easily.
“Okay, what is up with you?” he demands, his brows drawn together as if he truly can’t understand what’s going on. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you,” I say coolly, not bothering to move until he gets out of my way. Disinterest is better than giving him the anger he loves to elicit from me. “I’ve just been busy.”
Daniel, however, doesn’t hold back. No, he shows me exactly how close he is to the edge. “Bullshit. I’ve given you space since you clearly don’t want to be around me, but I’m tired of being in the dark. What’s wrong?”
The emotion in his expression and his words knock me back. He’s so good at maintaining that calm façade, but right now, it’s like he’s dropped it completely and stomped on it.
“There’s nothing wrong,” I say, folding my arms over my chest and lifting my chin.
“Is it something I did?”
I stay silent, not trusting myself to speak.
Daniel blows out a breath and dips his head so I’m forced to meet his eye. “Is this about how I said I didn’t have time to talk the other week?” he asks, a little quieter this time. “Are you upset about it?”
I bristle, and I can’t stop my tongue this time. “I’m not upset about any—”
“Because I shouldn’t have brushed you off like that,” he continues on, ignoring my interruption. “It’s been a stressful few weeks, and I took it out on you. It was shitty of me, and you didn’t deserve it. But it was just work. Nothing personal—nothing you did.”
That’s how it always is. Just work. Just the shit we do for a living getting in the way of behaving like normal human beings to each other. As long as we’re employed by the same company, that won’t change. It’s another reason this could never turn out well. Maybe if we weren’t coworkers—
Well, what? What would be the difference? Would I actually try to pursue a relationship with him? Would we be dating? Or would we still be stuck in this strange hookup limbo with no attachment and even less communication?
“Come on, Selene.” He moves half a step closer, forcing other pedestrians to funnel around us, but he doesn’t seem to care. “What is it really? Talk to me. Please.”
Damn it. He’s not going to leave me alone until I explain, and my resolve is slipping a little more with each passing second. Besides, lack of communication got us into this mess in the first place; nothing will improve unless I help break this cycle.
“It’s not just about that,” I grudgingly admit after a few more long beats of silence. “Look, Ella saw you out on a date, and then you brushed me off. So I took the hint. I’m not trying to interfere with your love life, okay?”
Daniel freezes and his jaw goes slack. He stares at me so hard I can practically see the synapses firing in his brain. “That’s why you’re avoiding me?”
I cross my arms tighter. I don’t appreciate his tone, the disbelief that lives behind his words. “It was my mistake. I should have asked if you had a girlfriend or were seeing anyone or—”
His surprise fades as I speak, that careful neutral falling back into place. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Clearly, you do hate me if you think I’d cheat on someone I was committed to.”
His voice is sharp now, like instead of rolling off his back like all the rest, this insult has hit him dead-on.
The urge to backtrack, to explain myself, bubbles up, but I choke it down and hitch my chin higher instead. “Like I’ve told you before, I don’t know anything about you or your life.”
But his response brings me a sick rush of relief. Things must not be serious with the woman he was out with. At least I haven’t played a role in breaking up a relationship.
Still, is that what he’s looking for? A serious relationship? And am I just the one he’s fucking until he settles down with someone else?
What does it matter, though? I shouldn’t care. If it ends because he wants to pursue someone seriously, then so be it. I won’t stop him. That’s not my place, and I never expected this to last long. Hell, I never expected more than a one-and-done thing in the first place, but it’s lingered out of sheer convenience. And maybe because the sex is mind-blowing.
Okay, and yeah, I’m kind of into him. But I can toss those feelings out in a heartbeat if I need to.
Maybe.
I hope.
I fucking better.
His jaw is tense as the sounds of the city screech in the background. “Then come to dinner with me tonight,” he finally says. “Come get to know me better.”
Part of me isn’t surprised by his insistence. This is no doubt a tactic to keep getting me into bed, especially if he’s not dating anyone. I’m an easy choice. But another part, the tiny part that’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, wonders if this is him trying to change our arrangement. What if he wants to turn it into something with a little more depth?
And if so, can I handle that?
Licking my lips, all I can do is study him silently. Because I honestly don’t know.
“I’m trying, Selene,” he presses, low and urging. It’s not quite desperate, but it’s close. “Give me a chance.”
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. I should say no, let this end for real. Mend my heart in private while it can still be fixed. That’s what I need to do. That’s the safest road to take.
But instead, I swallow hard and murmur, “Dinner. That’s it. Don’t make me regret it.”
