Page 63 of All's Well that Friends Well

“Sorry,” I mutter as my blinds rattle and rustle. I guess I could say something stupid likeDon’t know my own strength,but I can’t bring myself to. So I just give a nod to the ones looking at me. “Frank,” I say as I meet his eyes. “Prue.” They hesitantly nod back.

And I think…that was a greeting. An acknowledgment, not irritable or bad tempered but simply cautious.

Has that happened before?

I file the question away to look at later before hurrying past the blocks of cubicles and into the hallway, already turning in the direction Juliet and Quincey have gone. Myspeed is increasing, I realize, and my eyes widen when I realize what I’m feeling.

Protectiveness—that’s the strange emotion stirring behind my sternum. Not because I care especially for Juliet or because I’m falling for her. Of course not. It’s just…she makes herself so vulnerable, and she doesn’t seem to notice. She plays nothing close to the chest; she puts all her cards on the table.

And…well. I’ve felt kind of bad about the way I treated her. The way I’d been judging her without actually knowing anything about her, other than that she’s persistent, intrusive, and a phenomenal baker.

I’ve never seen someone so enthusiastic about being a janitor, never seen someone so cheerful and determined. The least I can do is ensure no one is making her job unnecessarily harder for the last few days.

And I think…

I can’t believe I’m admitting it. But I even think I’ll appreciate her help as the PR assistant Rodney promised me—or threatened me with, more like. Having her constantly under foot won’t be ideal. I don’t want to be any more involved with her than I already am, because Juliet Marigold is anexperience. She’s not someone that will enter your life quietly, be it as a friend or lover or even just an employee. She’s too alluring, and I’m too tired for her, too weary.

But will she be helpful?

Yes. I think so.

When I round the corner and reach the bathrooms, I find the yellow sign set up, indicating that she’s cleaning inside. Quincey, I’m grateful to see, has not followed her in; he’s leaning against the wall outside, probably waiting for her tocome out, like a weirdo. He straightens up when I appear, though, his body going from relaxed to rigid.

“You,” I bark at him, and I don’t bother to make my voice friendly. “Any reason you’re just standing around?” I nod at the bathroom. “Waiting to pounce on Miss Marigold again?”

His eyes dart to the bathrooms where I can hear the faint echoing clatters and bumps of cleaning, but when he looks back at me, he shakes his head, his limp hair plastered to his scalp.

“I was waiting for the bathroom,” he says, looking sketchier than ever. “I’ll use a different one. Sorry.”

What a liar. I scowl at him and then jerk my chin down the hallway that leads to the stairwell. There’s a bathroom in this same place one floor down; he can go there if he really needs to use it.

“Go, then,” I say, and he nods quickly before hurrying off.

I think he really is a creep like Juliet said.

The sounds of cleaning are coming from the men’s bathroom, so I round that corner, making my steps extra loud so Juliet will hear me coming. She stops humming just as I get close enough to hear it.

“Excuse me,” she says, her voice echoing slightly. “We’re—oh.” She breaks off and smiles when I come into view. “It’s you.” She pauses, her eyes darting to the corner I’ve just come around. Then she steps toward me and lowers her voice. “Is he still out there?”

She knew he was following her?

I raise my brow, trying to figure out if I’m feeling amusement or exasperation. “No,” I say. “I sent him away.”

“Oh, good,” she says, her shoulders falling, expression relaxing into something easier. “Thank you.”

I jerk my head in the direction of the entrance. “Does that happen a lot?”

“No,” she says. “Only when we’re in the same general area. He comes to check on my work.” Her face falls. “Probably more now, after what happened. He’s sort of been shuffling awkwardly around near me.”

“He really is a creep, isn’t he.” It’s not a question.

But to my surprise, Juliet hums, her eyes drifting to the exit of the bathroom. “I’m not sure. He’s been a bit strange the last few days.”

“Well,” I say skeptically. “Creepy or not, I don’t think it’s necessary for him to check on your work.”

“I agree,” she says. “I’m getting good at this.”

“You’d better be.” I fold my arms, strolling around the small bathroom. “You told Rodney he’d be able to see his reflection in any surface after you were done with it.”

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