"Only behind his back," Dillon answered. My mom shot him her warning glance, the one that meant, ‘enough is enough'. Dillon and Adam were family too, so they knew the look. To save himself, Dillon added, "Marley started it."
I needed to just lie down and let the bus roll over me willingly, since Dillon was throwing me under it anyway.
"The frame was an eleven by fourteen, I think," I added, trying to rescue myself from my mom's reproachful glance.
Stevie smiled as if she knew a secret we didn't. "Marley, she gave it to him to put on his desk."
"Why would you say that?"
"No man in his right mind would purchase a gaudy frame like that. She gave it to him so it would act as a warning to other girls. It can't be that serious."
"I have a frame like that," Dillon interjected.
"Like I said, no man in his right mind, Dillon," Stevie joked. If you belonged to my family, you had to accept the mocking and good-natured banter along with the loads of love you'd receive.
"It doesn't matter anyway. I'm totally not interested in him, and he's my boss, so it would be immoral." I peered down at my fingernails. Stevie had a way of knowing when I was lying, so it was best to look away from her searching gaze.
"Umm, dating your boss isn't immoral. HR might have a policy, although with your company, I'd doubt it. Secondly, flirting with a guy who has a girlfriend isn't illegal, especially if he flirts with you first. If he wanted to cheat on her with you, then it would be wrong. Seriously, Marley, sometimes I think you're forty-five, not twenty-five," Stevie said dryly.
"I didn't flirt back. Geez, Stevie, sometimes, I think you're ten," I retorted.
"Sometimes, I don't even think you're a girl," Stevie said. She stood, placed her hands on the table and leaned in towards me in a pathetic attempt to be intimidating. She peered down at me so her face was hovering above me.
"Sometimes, I don't think you're a girl." I stood up, placed my hands on the table and met her gaze so we were inches apart. What I said made no sense though-Stevie was super girly.
I looked around completely aware of everyone's thoughts. My mom was about to break us up, Dillon was getting ready to egg us on, Billie was about to side with Stevie, and Adam was thinking of a sly come back. This was my crazy family, and I knew them like the back of my hand.
"She's definitely a girl. I can vouch for that," Adam beat everyone else with his sarcastic and somewhat disgusting remark. We all replied with a loud ‘eww'. I even think Van Morrison meowed in disgust.
Chapter Three
I approached the next day as a fresh start. I would only be working with Rick Randy for a few months, and I needed to act somewhat cordially. I could do this. Rick was already at his desk when I got to work. I gently knocked on his door and stepped in.
"Good morning, Marley," he said with a smile. "You look nice today."
I returned his smile. I wore one of Stevie's cast-off outfits-a houndstooth skirt and black blouse complete with adorable Mary Jane shoes.
"Thank you. I wanted to know how you take your coffee."
"You're bringing me coffee? That's very nice of you," he said, grinning boyishly.
"I did that for Mr Bellman," I replied nonchalantly.
His smile deepened. "I'll take it hot and sweet."
"What does that mean exactly?" I asked.
He looked at me for an instant then back down at his computer. He was wearing another suit-a black one with a red diamond-patterned tie. His hair was a little spiky on top, and I resisted the urge to smooth it down. "I'm sure you can figure it out."
I walked away wondering if I was reading too much sexual innuendo into everything he was saying. When I set the full cup of coffee on his desk, he glanced at it before looking up at me with those deep green eyes.
"I'm honoured."
I stared at him completely perplexed, and he gestured to the cup for my answer. I regarded the ceramic mug with horror. The small employee lounge area at the Henley office suite had a vending machine, a fridge, two coffee pots and a cabinet with a mismatch of mugs. I'd happened to pour Rick's coffee in the mug embellished with the words ‘World's Best Boss'.
"I just grabbed the first one I saw. It wasn't deliberate."
"Well, maybe it was subconscious, Garter Belt Girl. We all do things we're not aware of subconsciously."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "It wasn't. You're still calling me Garter Belt Girl after our conversation yesterday?"
"You never told me to stop. Tell me to stop and I will."
"Stop."
"Done."
I walked out, but his deep laughter followed me. I slammed the door and got started on the tasks he'd asked me to do.
The work kept me busy and took my mind off the subconscious cup calamity, scandalous nicknames and stunning gem-like eyes, until mid-morning. I absently chewed on my pencil, looking over the draft of my spreadsheet, when I started thinking about him again. He was so cute. No, cute was definitely not the right word. I was cute. He was more … handsome, striking, Adonic, attractive, fine, dapper, good-looking and sexy. The right word eluded me … he was just … more.
His lips were thick and they curved in the most magnificent way. His hair looked soft and I loved the way his bangs forked over his forehead effortlessly. I liked his eyes best of all because they were so deep and different. The piercingly sharp colour made me not want to look at them straight on, but also made it difficult to turn away.
Hmmm. Even though I wouldn't demean myself by flirting with him, I had to admit that Dillon was right. Rick Randy was perfect eye-candy. There was no chance he could be anything more than that for a billion other reasons. First, he had a girlfriend and although I didn't have monogamous relationships, I respected other people's. He was my boss, so that was another top reason. Even though he was very flirty, I didn't think he was the kind of guy that would do casual-consensual, which was all I did-he actually seemed old-fashioned in a way. Despite all that, I had to admit I found him extremely attractive and that was dangerous.
Maybe I could somehow alleviate the danger by inviting him into my fantasies-the ones I had at night when I was alone with my vibrator. I would have to drop one of my other regulars though to fit him in. Should I drop Kid Rock? He was my only rocker so I needed to keep him. Should I drop Zac Efron? He was the charming boy next door and I liked his smile. Should I drop Tom Brady? I thought I needed at least one athlete. I didn't watch football, but I sure as hell knew who Tom Brady was. This was hard to do. My mom was eclectic about music and I had inherited that trait, but it applied to more than music. Maybe I'd just add him as a fourth round hail Mary. Would the Chris Pine lookalike in the office behind me work well with the others? Would he play nice? Would it all make pleasurable sense in the menacing, menagerie of my masturbating mind? A clearing of the throat brought me out of my dream-like haze with startling clarity. Oh crap! How long had Rick been standing behind me?
"Excuse me."
I glanced up at him guiltily. His cynical grin didn't help. It was as if he knew what I'd been thinking.
I took the pencil out of my mouth and winced at it. It resembled a freaking dental mould with all my teeth marks. "Sorry, can I help you?"
He placed a large box on my desk. "Facilities is bringing up two filing cabinets. I'll need you to file these for me in alphabetical order, please."
"Sure, my pleasure," I replied eagerly, as if filing was the answer to my lifelong woes.
"Marley, were you day dreaming just now?"
I flushed, not sure how to answer. His grin widened as he waited patiently. He was obviously taking some sadistic pleasure in my unease. "I prefer to think of it as resting my mind. Sorry."
"Don't be, we all need to dream, be it at day or night."
It was funny how his words hit home for me
* * * *
I joined Dillon for lunch, and despite his excessive probing, I kept my mouth shut about Rick. Rick had left for lunch before me and he was already in his office, working studiously when I returned. There was a Zesty bar on my desk. It made me smile. I went into his office to thank him, but restrained myself from taking more than a few steps. Although he was wearing the same suit, his hair was damp, which made it look even sexier. He smelt of fresh aftershave and looked flushed. An uneaten sandwich sat on his desk. I stared at him quizzically. "You didn't eat your lunch yet?"
He looked up from his computer. "No, I went to the gym. I like to go at lunch."
It didn't surprise me that he worked out. It was evident every time I looked at him. He had a broad chest and muscular build, but not overly so. I imagined him to be a swimmer more than a weight lifter. However, the fact that he worked out at lunch seemed strange, as did the idea that he was such a work-out fiend he'd found a gym on his second day in Chicago.