Page 38 of Phishing for Love
At least when he says my name now, it no longer sounds as though he’s coughing up a hairball. Progress, of a sort.
For the sheer pleasure of annoying him, I mentally count to five before I look up at him. “Yes, Aaron?”
His lips tighten. He’s well aware of the game we’re playing here. “Just reminding you of the training workshop on Thursday.”
It’s funny. He saystraining workshop, but all I hear isbrussels sprouts. Both evoke the same feelings of dread and dismay.
To give myself time, I take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee while I rehearse excuses in my head. “I don’t think it’snecessary for me to attend the workshop,” I point out in my most reasonable tone. “Just give me a policy document to read.”
He folds his arms. “You wouldn’t read a policy document.”
“I would.” My voice lacks conviction. Even I don’t believe me.
He raises a skeptical eyebrow and I amend my words slightly. “Well, I’d skim through it. That has to count for something.”
He gives me a look that lets me know he’s on to me. Observant men are such a pain. They’re the undoing of scheming women everywhere.
I throw up my hands. “Fine! I’ll go to the workshop.”
“Be better prepared this time,” he advises. “Make a list.”
“Sure,” I get out through gritted teeth. Poison, hanging, drowning, duct taping all exits in his cabin. I’ve compiled quite the comprehensive list titledWays To Get Rid Of Aaron Sinclair.
“Anything else?”Supreme leaderhovers on the tip of my tongue, begging to be voiced. Only that wouldn’t be professional. And I’m trying very, very hard to be professional.
But it’s like he hears the sarcasm anyway, because he mumbles something that sounds a lot like “Give me strength.” Then he rubs his forearm as though I’m an uncomfortable splinter that’s dug itself deep into his skin, and no matter how much he prods and pokes, he can’t dislodge me.
When he makes no move to leave, I gesture to my laptop. “Lots of work to do here,” I say, hoping he’s smart enough to pick up on my message.
He leans a lazy shoulder on my cubicle wall, one corner of his mouth lifting, in no hurry to leave. Oh, he understood my message all right.
I let out an exasperated huff. What am I picturing right now? A guillotine. And Aaron’s head lined up perfectly.
“Don’t you have—” Children to torment, colleagues to terrify, nooses to tighten. “—work to do?”
“It can wait.”
“Well, my work can’t,” I say pointedly. Slightly waspishly.
His tone is light and conversational when he remarks, “It’s usually when people are overloaded with work that mistakes happen.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Mistakes?” Like, let’s see, spilling your coffee over the neatly pressed, pastel blue shirt of someone loitering in your cubicle.
“Mistakes like clicking on a link in a phishing email.”
I tamp down my frustration. “Look, I told you before, I learned my lesson. I think I’m now pretty on the ball with, you know, security stuff.”
“On the ball, huh?” Aaron stares down at me with a thoughtful expression. “What about the password on your laptop?”
“What about it?”
“Most passwords are weak and easy to guess.”
“Not mine.”
“Hmm.” He leaves a meaningful pause. “I bet I can guess the password to your laptop.”
I meet his gaze with interest. Finally, he’s said something to captivate my attention. “I’ll take you up on that bet.”
