Page 22 of Out of the Shadows
“You wanted to see me?”
“Come in and close the door. I didn’t invite you to sit,” I snap when he goes to pull out the chair at my desk. His hand stills on the back rest, before he lets it drop to his side.
“Never, ever turn up again for work looking like this.” I throw out my arm towards him. “I expect professional standards and behaviour from those who works for me, and that extends to looking professional. God alone knows what you were doing last night to end up in the state you’re in.”
What you were doing last night…My words ring in my head… Tight jeans and a white T-shirt… Wrapping his legs around the redhead’s waist…
I don’t want to think about what he did or didn’t do, not when I have to be angry with him.
His feline eyes narrow as he tilts up his chin, full of the same challenge and defiance he displayed in boardroom. It riles me but I’ve also got an unwilling and reluctant admiration that he refuses to roll over and give in to my criticism.
“I can only apologise. I was out all night and I grabbed what came to hand, which just happened to be the suit you drenched with beer.” His green eyes glitter and there’s a hint of smirk on the edges of his lips. I grind my teeth because this isn’t funny, this isn’t funny at all, andthatwas in no way an apology.
“You’re good at your job, you impressed my colleagues although how they didn’t notice the disgusting state you’re in, I’ve no idea. But take this on board. You’re not so good I wouldn’t be prepared to let you go in a heartbeat. What is it about you that you have to be so damn cocky?” I step forward, knowingly invading his space, but if I expect him to take a step back I’m disappointed. He holds his ground. It doesn’t matter that his eyes are veined and bloodshot, the green is bold and glittering.
So cocky. So fucking cocky.
We’re scant inches apart and I glare down at him, but my height doesn’t intimidate him.
“What have you got to say for yourself?” I take another step forward but he still doesn’t move back.
Cocky, so so cocky.
“You’re right, I’m a mess. You saw me last night, I was out with my friends. I got drunk, and got home by the time I should have been getting up for work, and probably did things it’s best I don’t remember. I look more dead than alive, and feel it too. I could have phoned in and thrown a sickie but I didn’t, which means I was here to answer all the questions the board threw at me. And like you said, I impressed them, even though I look like I’ve spent the night in the gutter. You’ve got every right to discipline me, or even sack me I suppose. It’s up to you. The ball’s in your court.”
He tilts his head some more; his gaze, so sure and steady, stays locked on mine.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You’re on notice, Cosmo. If you walk into the office again, looking anything other than one hundred per cent professional, you’ll be off the premises before you can catch your breath, carrying out what’s left of your career in a small cardboard box.”
His gaze doesn’t shift, but the light flush over his pasty skin has taken him straight back to that day, five years ago.
“Go home. You’re not fit to be in the office, but if this or anything like it happens again, you’re out.”
