Page 9 of Never Going to Care

It feels like I’ve been putting out fire after fire and all I was armed with was a damn joke extinguisher, one filled with those exploding snake things instead of actual fire retardant. It’s been a damn mess and I’ve about had it. The dread of going back to SP to pick up Piper so we can go and talk to the florist some of the guys she works with live near is twisting me all up inside.

Why? Fucking Hale. Will I see him? Will he be the same grump he was before? Will he be worse?

I could worry myself into a fucking ulcer at this point. Hell, it might be a damn improvement. Okay, maybe not, but it does make me consider it for a moment longer than it should. Pain which requires a doctor shouldn’t even be on my radar juxtaposed to seeing a giant sexy man who could be a fitness model.

When Joe pops his head around the door of my office, I almost let a groan slip past my lips. I struggle with keeping it safe inside my body. Letting the annoyance out would probably be the opposite of creating a positive work environment. Let’s just forget how this guy can’t understand that I’m not interested.

I really should have snuggled back into bed this morning and tried to get back into my dream about Hale instead of letting the day take over and invade. It would have been better in the long run. Even if I had to kick myself later.

He oozes into my office and his eyes slide down my body. I almost shudder. On the return trip of his eyes, I want to gag. Why couldn’t I have packed up just a few minutes early?

“Celeste,” he schmoozes, “you’re looking ravishing.”

I arch an eyebrow and cock my head to the side, done with the bullshit today. Just done. My voice is cold and flat, “Do you need to do the sexual harassment workshop again?”

Joe holds his hands up in surrender, but I’m not buying it. I know a show when I see one. This guy could land a gig on Broadway with the way he’s giving me puppy dog eyes and trying to act all innocent. I should know, I love going to a show.

“I remember the unit on compliments and mine was all above board,” his tone is snide as fuck.

The thing he doesn’t seem to understand is that it’s not a good thing that he’s had to have the sexual harassment refresher course. The barb I threw at him didn’t even land because he doesn’t see anything wrong with his behavior. He’s so damn close to being fired. I just need a little bit more time and for him to have one more major slipup and he’s gone.

I will celebrate with champagne on that day.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Being a harpy isn’t going to help me in this situation. I wish it fucking would.

“You forget that one little part of the training which says the compliment needs to be a welcome one.” I deadpan, “It isn’t.”

“Aw,” he pouts, “come on, Celeste. Don’t be like that.”

I swear he likes to say my name at least fifty times every single time we talk. It’s annoying as fuck. Does he think I don’t know my own name? Does he need to remind himself which female he’s speaking to so he can keep them straight?

What woman would be in his life willingly? He’s the worst.

It’s a shame that he’s as attractive as he is. It’s all surface spit shine though. Underneath is a real weasel of a man.

The fantasy of Hale coming in and saving me while snarling at Joe flashes through my mind. I like it. It makes my nipples pebble and I thank the god of uncomfortable undergarments that this push-up bra is padded from here to there or else Joe would think I’m attracted to him.

I’m not. All the parts are where they should be and pleasing to the eye. Maybe it’s that golden ratio bullshit. But it’s all a veneer; one I can see right through.

“I’m not being like anything, Joe.” How am I keeping my voice level right now? It’s a damn miracle because in my mind I’m imagining clawing him. Or maybe Hale punching him. I bet it would only take one punch too. “I do not welcome this attention.”

His shoulders slump and there’s a split second of regret which thrums through me, but I push it away because it’s all misogynistic conditioning. I don’t suddenly like the guy because he seems disappointed that I’m not interested in him. I’m sure he could get a lot of women to follow him around like he’s the Piped Piper of Penis. I’m not that girl.

“I just want to take you out, Celeste.” See what I mean about the name thing? My own damn name shouldn’t produce a Pavlovian response of disgust. “You’re gorgeous and I’d be a lucky man to have you on my arm.” I arch an eyebrow at him. He thinks my silence is consent, as if my words haven’t been clear as fucking day. “Just one drink? There’s that bar down the street. You know a lot of people head over there after work.”

“I have plans,” I clip out.

He sneers, “A date?”

I scoff, “That is none of your business.” My spine straightens. “I’m not going to get a drink with you.”

Ever.

Never ever.

Nope.

“I bet you don’t even have plans,” he mumbles.

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