Page 18 of Unlocking my Boss's Heart

I hadn’t made any glaring mistakes, but I felt a little isolated. Perhaps it was because I was new and young, and they didn’t get my humor. It was fine, though. I didn’t need to be friends with my colleagues, but it would make the workdays more bearable.

By the time I got back to the apartment, my feet were killing me. I sank onto the couch and groaned as I massaged them—a lesson learned the hard way on the first day. Rule number one: Avoid heels at work. How did the other women do it? The high-functioning ones wore at least two-inch heels, if not higher, all week long. My colleagues did just that.

If I were to match them in performance, I also wanted to match their look. But I couldn’t tolerate heels for even one day.

Today, I wore simple cotton flats. As I walked down the hallway, my footsteps barely audible, I patted myself on the back for choosing the most comfortable shoes I owned. Just for that, my second day was going well so far.

Still, in the back of my mind, my conversation with Maddison yesterday lingered. When I’d told her about my discussion with my boss in the elevator, she looked at me as if I was crazy.

“You said that to him?” she’d gasped, and she let me know just how bad it was to be so casual with him. “This isn’t your previous firm, and Anton Waltons isn’t just a senior partner. He’s a big deal in this city!”

She had a point. I was new here in the Big Apple, and now I worked at a big firm, much more lucrative than my previous job. The expectations were different from our small hometown, and I needed to preserve my position.

I hadn’t run into my boss today, which was good. It avoided further opportunities to run my mouth. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of him and others.

Rule number two of working at this firm: Avoid my boss like the plague.

What did Anton think of me, the newcomer who didn't know when to shut up? Who didn’t understand hierarchy? What if he thought I was being disrespectful because we had flirted back at the bookshop?

I stopped mid-stride, shocked by my thoughts.

What? We hadn’t flirted! I mean, not really, right?

“Celia, just because you shared a smile with someone doesn’t mean it’s flirting,” I muttered as I pushed the bathroom door open.

The bathroom light greeted me with a glare, and I squinted to adjust to it. Two women stood in front of the sinks, touching up their makeup. They glanced at me briefly through the mirror and continued applying their makeup.

“Good morning,” I said, walking toward a bathroom stall.

It was a simple greeting, one I expected them to respond to politely before going about our day.

But that wasn’t what happened.

“You’re Celia Adams,” one of them said.

There was a hint of contempt in her tone.

I turned to the woman who had spoken. She was taller, with blonde hair fanning around her face. Her lips were small, but she had lined them with bright burgundy lipstick.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously.

The other woman, shorter, eyed me, this time face to face. “Hmm,” she hummed and unabashedly sized me up from head to toe.

I suddenly felt self-conscious about my basic blouse, plain pants, and flats.

“How are you liking working here?” the tall blonde asked, her tone high-pitched, almost too friendly. She continued applying her makeup from the open pallet in her hands.

“Everything’s great so far. Thanks for asking,” I replied, smoothing down my drapey blouse.

“Hmmm,” the other lady repeated flatly.

The blonde rolled her eyes at her friend before returning her attention to me. She stretched out her slender fingers. “I’m Rachael Curb, Human Resources.”

I shook her hand.

“Celia Adams,” I said, even though they already knew that.

“So, tell us, how do you know Anton Waltons? Family friend? Or perhaps a childhood friend?” Rachael asked.

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