Why didn’t you call me?
Why are you treating me like it didn’t matter?
Why the hell are you so damn cold and acting like everything’s my fault?
I don’t have answers. I don’t like the effect she has on me, so I nip those questions in the bud and focus on the task at hand. I regret my words earlier as the office is now silent as a tomb, with Olivia barely making any sound.
It’s like a ghost has taken over and I hate that, too. I’m angry at her and I’m angry at myself.
An hour later, I frown as I get to the middle of a case study.
“This case study is supposed to have the patient files attached to it already. It’s incomplete. I need the files.”
I look up in time to see her frazzled expression, a far cry from the cool, composed Olivia I’ve been trying to get used to. Finally, I realize her computer is already turned off and she’s packing her stuff up.
“If I work overtime tonight and organize the files, would you please leave me alone with the overtime?”
I blink, comprehension dawning at what she’s getting at. “I’m not using this as a weapon to pick on you. These are Garrett Irving’s files. You know who he is.”
Her eyes widen. “The CEO’s son. Right.” She stands up and hovers over my shoulder to peer at the papers in my hand. I grip the papers tighter as her scent hits me: fresh spring, light but intoxicating. Then I catch the realization spreading on her face. “You’re right. The files should have been attached. I’ll do it now.”
I glance at her bag again, then shake my head. I might be nitpicky and irritable, but I’m not a complete asshole.
“Never mind that. I didn’t mean you had to do overtime?—”
“I’ll do it now, Dr. Jennings.”
Shock hits me at her firm tone. Her expression dares me to challenge her, revved for a fight, and a part of me wants to rise and give her that fight. I want to see her eyes blaze with fire and that mouth spit words until she loses her cool and shows me the real her without the mask.
The want hits me so badly that I’m seconds away from standing up and damning it all to hell.
But all my wants have to take a backseat because I wasn’t kidding about the importance of this. And she’s not backing down, either, so…
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
We work together, but not really together. I’m at my desk while she’s at hers, though we pushed them together so we don’t have to keep standing while we trade and check each other’s files. I’m focused on the task at hand and trying to do this faster, but I can’t help looking at her from time to time, either.
She’s focused, too—so focused that she doesn’t notice strands of her hair falling out of her braids, her shoes are tossed to the side, and the upper part of her scrubs are wrinkled from how much she keeps touching the nape of her neck. Later, I notice the constant fluttering of her lashes and her blinking, as if she’s getting weary of all the reading.
“You haven’t had dinner yet.”
She shrugs at my statement. “It can wait.”
Without a word, I head to the cafeteria and get the fresh spring rolls, then place them on her table along with a bottle of water. She looks up in surprise. “Thanks. I’ll pay you?—”
“It’s my treat.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but this time, it’s me daring her with my look. The disappointment is immense when she doesn’t engage, but I swallow that feeling and get right back to work.
Two hours later, she stretches again, a big smile on her face and her eyes twinkling. “Finally.”
“Yeah.”
“We did it.”
“You did it.” I gesture at the files. “I only helped out. You did most of the organizing.”
“We both did the reading.”