Page 34 of The Relationship Clause

“We’re not flirting!” I insist at the exact same time that Shane says, “Way to call a guy out.”

I shoot ice daggers with my eyes at Shane then pick up Mr. Ferguson’s coffee and croissant. “Shane was leaving. Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.” With one last dirty look at Shane, I brush past both men and sit in a chair in Mr. Ferguson’s office. Shane leaves.

Today is Tuesday, and usually on Tuesday mornings, Mr. Ferguson and I have a little briefing about what I’ve found out around the office. That’s probably why he’s so upset. I know this issue with the mole has him on edge. Before I can get too comfortable though, Mr. Ferguson says, “The window of time for our meeting has been cut. Give me your little spiel for the day and get back to your desk.”

I won’t lie. The tone of his voice and his words kind of cut me.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m a great secretary, even if he won’t admit it. Mr. Ferguson isn’t the easiest guy to work with, but I think I’ve done a good job over the last couple of weeks. I’m never late (anymore), I always go the extra mile, I’m helpful and kind and a freaking secretary goddess! And now he’s upset because Shane was talking to me three minutes past eight?

No. The way he’s treating me isn’t right.

I stand and give him my iciest glare. Two can play at this game.

I slide the coffee and the croissant perfectly to the center of his desk.

“Since you’re so anxious to get to your work,” I say, keeping my voice smooth and even, “I’ll spare you my ‘little spiel.’ You obviously have important business to attend to.”

I walk closer to him. He’s standing sideways in the doorway and doesn’t move when I approach, forcing me to have to stand sideways as well to get past him. The result has us toe to toe. He’s taller than me by a few inches, but I draw myself up to my highest height, thankful I wore heels today.

I pause here, taking a good long look at him. Shoulders tight, jaw set, lips in a thin line, and then finally up to his brown eyes that are currently less bedroomy. I don’t know why, but I stare at him like that for a good long moment.

You know that whole saying about eyes being a window into the soul? Normally, I would agree, except Mr. Ferguson has the shutters closed tight. I can see nothing in his eyes except the hard anger he is obviously trying to convey.

And suddenly, I feel sad for him. Sad and sorry. I lower my voice to make sure no one else in the office will hear me.

“I didn’t think you were the type of person to prioritize business over the way you treat other human beings, but knowing who your mother is, I guess I should have expected that. You know, apple, tree. I’m just disappointed, that’s all.”

I brush past him, not caring that my shoulder accidentally grazes his chest, and get to work.

I’m icy with Mr. Ferguson the rest of the day. Like, I should be creating ice castles in a frozen wasteland and singing at the top of my lungs, icy.

I don’t think I even look at him for longer than three consecutive seconds unless it’s absolutely necessary. When he talks to me, my replies are curt, and I keep my smiles tucked away for anyone else but him. There are a couple of times when I think he’s going to try to talk to me, like talk talk, but I find ways to be suddenly busy and blow him off.

Toward the end of the day, I get a text from Kiera.

Kiera: Geez, what did you do to my brother?

Junie: I don’t know what you mean.

Kiera: Sure you don’t. Just like I have NO idea how much I disappoint my parents.

Kiera: GIF of Justin Timberlake staring judgingly.

Junie: It’s not what I did to him, it’s what he did to me. He was rude, so I gave him a taste of his own medicine.

Kiera: Dang girl. Could have fooled me. The way he’s been moping around the office all day, I would have thought his cat died.

Junie: I hardly think he’s been moping.

Junie: Wait, does he really have a cat?

Kiera: Yes, he’s been hard-core moping, and yes, he really has a cat.

I look up from where I’ve been sneakily typing away on my phone behind my desk and take a peek into Mr. Ferguson’s office. He’s currently staring at his computer, but his chin is resting in his hand, and now that I’m looking at him, I think his eyes are kind of glazed over, not staring at his screen. The crease between his eyes is extra deep, and he’s jiggling his leg beneath his desk like he’s trying to set off a 7.1 magnitude earthquake.

Hmm.

This is Mr. Ferguson moping? I guess Kiera would know since she’s his sister. If she hadn’t said anything, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Although, I have been making it a point to do the exact opposite of noticing him…

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