Page 54 of It's Always Been You
“What were you doing, then?” he presses.
“Writing . . .”
“Writing what?”
“My . . .” I rock back and forth on my feet and twist my lips. “Thoughts . . . and feelings . . .”
His eyes narrow. “About?”
“Yo—” I clear my throatand shrug. “Yuletide.”
“Yuletide,” he repeats.
“Yuletide.”
“Christmas?”
“Yeah,” I squeak. “I’m always thinking about Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday, you know.”
He looks like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it and nods at the paper in my hand. “Right. Well, get back to work, please.” Then he stalks off.
Ugh.
I salute his retreating form. “Aye aye, captain.”
Facing the fax machine, I poke a couple of buttons, not sure what I’m doing. Brandon never showed me how to use it, and I’m reluctant to ask for his help right now. He’s obviously in amood, and he’s been acting all moody and aloof since our altercation on Monday morning.
The machine spits an angry rejection noise at me, and I sigh. Brandon said he wanted this order faxed ASAP, so I keep pressing random buttons, hoping it’ll prompt me to enter the pharmacy’s fax number. It never does. Feeling stupid, I play around with it for a few more minutes, but it won’t cooperate. Ugh! I’m most likely the only person on planet Earth who doesn’t know how to use a simple fax machine.
Squaring my shoulders, I steel my nerves and march toward Brandon’s office. He’s my boss, for crying out loud. I should be able to ask for his help. This is no big deal. I knock softly on the door, even though he’s left it ajar.
Warily, I poke my head into the room. “Brandon?”
He’s writing something on a notepad. He doesn’t look up. “Come in.”
I tiptoe into his space, feeling small and stupid around him—per usual. I don’t know how to say it, so I end up just standing there, wringing my hands in front of me while I try to think of the least annoying way to ask for help. Several seconds tick by.
“Yes, Evie?” he drawls without looking up. I hear the implication in his voice.I haven’t got all day.
“Um, I think I need help.”
His hand pauses on the notepad. Only his eyes lift to me. “With what?”
My heart hammers in my chest. The way he’s looking at me, with no emotion whatsoever, is triggering . . . memories. I shift on my feet and try to ignore the dull ache in my back that, oddly enough, seems to be getting worse the longer I work at this desk job. “I need help faxing that prescription order.”
He glances at his watch and rises. “You haven’t sent that yet? I told you I needed that faxed urgently.” He waves me forward as he rounds his desk.
I skitter backwards out of his office.
“Why didn’t you ask for help sooner?” he demands as we head down the hall.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” I defend, fighting to keep my tone light. “You’re the one who hired me without looking at my resume. If you had, you would have noticed that nowhere in there does it say, ‘tech savvy.’ I used to wipe butts for a living.”
He sighs. “Really, Evie? Why must you always argue with me?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. My filter snaps like it was hanging on by a thread. “Um, really? Because the way I see it, I’ve been nothing but a hardworking, dutiful assistant to you for the last week,thank you very much. I make sure to look busy at all hours of the day—even when I’m not. Because if I don’t, you’re breathing down my neck, being the overbearing taskmaster that I knew you would be.”
When we reach the fax machine, I face him—and immediately regret my outburst when I see the look on his face. He’s annoyed. My stomach drops. Brandon hardly ever rises to negative emotions; it’s like he’s above anything but happiness. I can only think of one other time I’ve ever made him mad, and I refuse to entertain the painful memory.
