Gaige sips from his cup. "I expected more from you, Delaney."
"Next time I'll try not to disappoint." When he brings his cup away from his mouth, I reach out and take it from his hand.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm swapping with you." I hand him my cup, and take a sip of his while he laughs.
"There is nothing in that," he says. "Cross my heart."
"Then you can go ahead and drink that one. But I'm glad you've turned over a new leaf," I say. "No more pranks."
"No more pranks," Gaige says. "Of course not. We've both grown up. And I've vowed to behave appropriately."
"I'm glad to hear it," I say. I don't believe a damn word that comes out of that boy's mouth. Behave appropriately, my ass. I'm just glad he hasn't seen fit to strip naked right here in the office just for shits and grins. Okay, whatever, maybe I'm a little disappointed he hasn't seen fit to strip naked.
"And as a token of goodwill, I brought you a gift." Gaige hands me the package.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and my bitchy boss storms in, her jet-black hair pulled tight into a ponytail that makes her high cheekbones look even sharper. She's the kind of long-legged porcelain skinned girl you'd see on a runway, not in an office, but her attitude makes her appearance even more severe. "Delaney, HR is just a complete clusterfuck with your file, and they're up my ass instead of yours like they should be. Just because your father is who he is doesn't mean you -- oh."
"Chelsea, this is Gaige – " I start, but she interrupts me with a look of scorn, immediately greeting Gaige with a kiss on the cheek, before thrusting the file into my hands.
"Obviously I know Gaige," she says, her hand tracing along his bicep, her fingers lingering just a little too long to be appropriate.
Irritation surges through me as I watch Chelsea touch him. "Of course," I say. "I didn't realize."
"Gaige is a dear friend," Chelsea says, and the way Gaige glances at me, I wonder if he's slept with her.
I struggle to maintain my composure, steeling my jaw. Of course Gaige is Chelsea's dear friend. I'm sure Gaige has a million other dear friends.
It's totally irrelevant who he's slept with. I have zero claim on him. We fooled around years ago. And he's my stepbrother. I had a stupid teenage crush, and that's it. I'm not jealous, I tell myself. I just don't like Chelsea. To be more accurate, I didn't like her before. But now I'm starting to really hate her.
The bitch's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Fix your PR paperwork, Delaney. If you can manage to fit that into your busy schedule," she says. "Gaige, we need to talk about this weekend."
This weekend? Gaige addresses Chelsea, irritation in his voice. "Chelsea, there's something I need to talk to De - "
"Vegas, Gaige," Chelsea says curtly. She turns to me for a brief moment before returning her attention to Gaige. "Your stepbrother and I are on a flight out to Vegas tonight, Delaney. Gaige, we need to go through the schedule."
"Chelsea, I was in the middle of a conversation with Delaney, one I plan to finish," Gaige starts.
"Oh, I'm sure it can wait," I interrupt. "Chelsea has a more immediate claim on your time, I think."
His eyes meet mine, and I look away, ignoring him as Chelsea steers him out of the office.
I set the package down on the desk, intending to leave it there, unopened, for the rest of the day. In fact, I should toss it in the trash. Leave it to Gaige to have slept with my perfect-looking boss, the one who hates me enough as it is. And, what's worse, be going to Vegas with her.
I make it through the HR paperwork -- which takes all of thirty minutes -- and then sit there, staring at the gift box for another five minutes before I finally cave.
I lift the lid off the box gingerly, half-afraid of what's inside. Knowing Gaige, it could be anything. When nothing jumps out at me and the box doesn't explode, I pull the lid off and set it aside.
It's a cock. Gaige sent me a box with a freaking cock inside.
As a first day at the office gift.
I'm shaking my head and opening the note at the same time. I can't believe Gaige had the balls -- pun intended -- to send me a fucking dick, of all things.
Delamey,
Since you couldn't admit what you really wanted last night, I thought I'd remind you.
P.S. It's a dildo made from a mold of my cock. I know, it's awesome, right? If you're lucky, someday you might get to see the real thing.
P.P.S. The box is a TOOLbox. Get it?
I stare at it in disbelief. That fucker actually sent me a dildo made from a mold of his cock? I shove the lid back on the box like the entire thing is radioactive, and stare at it for a few minutes, before pulling it back off and looking at it again.