Page 24 of The Relationship Clause

“There’s my Juniper Tree.” Dad’s voice fills my phone, sounding far away and crackly.

“Hey, Dad. How’s it going? Where are you these days?”

“Getting ready to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. It’s a good thing you caught me when you did. I’ll be off grid for the next two weeks or so. What’s up, jitterbug?”

“Oh, nothing. I wanted to tell you about my new job.”

“That’s right, I heard your messages! Congratulations, honey. That seems like a big step up.”

“Oh, you got my messages? Good. I wasn’t sure you had since you never called me back. Um, when do you think you’ll be back in the States? I was hoping we could do lunch sometime.”

“As soon as we finish this climb, I plan on visiting for at least a few days. I’d love to get together.”

“Great! We could go to that little—”

“What’s that, honey? You’re breaking up. Hello?”

I move around the coffee shop, trying to find better reception, but the call drops. When I try calling him back, it goes straight to voicemail. I’m about to try again, but Pete appears along with the big order of pastries I called in earlier that morning.

“Junie!” He sets the boxes down and smiles, leaning against the counter.

I force my own smile, trying to shake off the failed attempt at a conversation I just had. It’s okay, I tell myself. This is how our relationship is, and it’s fine. Dad’s happy. I’m happy. Everything is okay. I will not let this tiny setback ruin my whole day.

“Corporate life looks good on you,” Pete says.

I blush and run a hand down my gray, fitted trousers. I paired it with my favorite pink blouse. One thing is for sure: it’s definitely more fun dressing up for the office than it is for a coffee shop.

“Thanks. Mr. Ferguson hasn’t been here this morning yet, has he?”

Yes, that’s right, I called him Mr. Ferguson and will be calling him that from now on. Yesterday, before leaving the office, he took me aside to speak with me privately. That was when he informed me that he would be calling me by my last name going forward, and he suggested I do the same for him in order to “keep things professional.”

I won’t deny the feeling of disappointment I got, which is stupid, because, hello, we’re in a professional environment!

But if the need to be professional is so dire, why does he seem to call every other person at the office by their first name? Why is it me he needs to create this distinction with?

It’s because of the contract. Or, more specifically, the No Romance Clause part of the contract.

I didn’t mind signing it. Honestly, I think it’s a good idea. (Good, not great.) But why did he feel the need to include that part at all? Is it maybe because he feels if he doesn’t, I’d try to hit on him? That I’d be so totally unprofessional as to think I could date my boss?

Well, I mean, I guess the thought did cross my mind…

Of course there is the other miniscule possibility that he actually included it because somewhere inside him, he’s worried that’s exactly what he’ll want to do. It’s a dangerously attractive thought and one I shouldn’t dwell on. (Spoiler alert: I am dwelling on it. I’m dwelling on it hard.)

Pete shakes his head. “No, Mr. Ferguson hasn’t stopped by. You mean this isn’t an order from the company?”

I shake my head. “Nope, I just wanted to do something nice for everyone for my first official day on the job.”

It’s actually part of my beautiful, evil, ingenious master plan titled: Become the Best Dang Secretary Em3rge Technologies and Mr. Ferguson Has Ever Seen.

Er, fake secretary. Fake-ish.

Okay, the title needs some work, but regardless, it’s part of my plan! I didn’t have this intention initially, but ever since that stupid question Mr. Ferguson asked about whether or not I can actually do the job, I decided it needed to be done. It’s the principle of the matter.

Since I know my tendency to run, I usually don’t go out of my way to try to win Employee of the Month at any of my jobs. I make it a point to skate by at barely above average, being the solid type who will almost always be there on time, who doesn’t complain (much) and who isn’t overly peppy or overly sluggish. I’m the gal you know will stock the shelf but also the one who never volunteers for overtime.

But this job is going to be different. It has to be different.

I don’t know why, but for some reason, knowing I’m only supposed to be here for three months has unlocked something in my brain. Not only can I be the best secretary ever, but I also want to be, if for no other reason than to prove to Owen—er, Mr. Ferguson—that I can.

---