Page 26 of Charming Crosschecks

No, the conversation had gone on, twisting the knife deeper. She had learned that Gerry didn’t just think she was a joke—he had asked her out because he thought it would make things easier for the whole team. He was doing it for them, not because he wanted to get to know her, not because he had any romantic interest, but because he thought she was “so awful” that it was better to pretend everything was fine, to fake a relationship, just to make things easier on everyone else.

The betrayal she felt at that moment was a heavy weight, a crushing feeling in her chest that wouldn’t go away. She had thought there was something there. She had thought he saw her, not just as some joke, not just as ‘Beetlejuice,’ but as Molly. She had dared to step out of her comfort zone—flirting, for goodness sake, something she never did. She had kissed him—more than once. And now? Now she found out it had all been a sick joke to him, a way to make his life easier.

All day long, the thought pounded in her head:He really must hate me.

Working with everyone except Gerry was an almost tangible relief. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stand the thought of being near him without that searing rage inside her making her want to scream. She was sure she would lose her mind if she had to interact with him one-on-one again.

The humiliation felt like it would never end.

Every time she thought of their kisses—so sweet, so tender, so full of possibility—it made her stomach turn. What was it, exactly, that he had enjoyed about that? The thrill of the game? The fact that he could get a laugh out of it? It hurt. It hurt in a way she didn’t know how to fix.

Molly muttered to herself, bitter and raw, as she kicked the drawer of her desk shut with a thud.

“Well, thank heavens I didn’t full-on‘let my inner hoe flow’and have sex with the big guy because that would have been mortifying…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on the door.

She froze.

Gerry was standing there, leaning against the doorframe, looking like someone had almost knocked him out. His hand rested over his heart, the other gripping the doorframe as he stared at her, eyes wide in shock and something else she couldn’t quite place. He looked… ashamed. But she didn’t care. Not right now.

“What?” she snapped, her voice low and full of anger. She wasn’t about to pretend she wasn’t furious with him.

“We could have slept together?” he whispered, his voice hushed, as if the very words might make the earth swallow him whole. “And it would have beenmortifyingto you?”

Molly shot up from her seat, shaking with emotion. “How does it feel to walk in on a conversation you shouldn’t have heard?” she retorted sharply. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Gerry flinched, but he didn’t back down. He stepped inside her office and closed the door behind him, locking it with a deliberate click. The finality of it made her heart race, but she held her ground.

“We need to talk—and I deserved that,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, filled with remorse.

Molly’s heart twisted.

"You probably deserved a lot more," she spat. Her gaze landed on the package on her desk, the cookies she didn’t remember ordering. Who would send her cookies at a time like this? She couldn't handle it—couldn’t deal with anything sweet when all she could taste was the bitterness of betrayal. She gripped the edge of her desk, trying to steady herself. “Look, I don’t want to talk to you. I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”

And with that, she walked over and yanked open the door to her office again - a silent invitationthat he could leave now. To her surprise, Gerry didn’t hesitate. He shut the door behind him, locking it once more. His presence loomed over her, intimidating and undeniable.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t decipher. “Alone.”

Molly blinked in confusion, her anger bubbling up once more. “I’m not backing off because I’m jumping ship. I’ll find another job if I have to. Get away from all of this.” Her voice broke, the pain creeping in, but she tried to sound resolute. She couldn’t stay where she felt humiliated, where everything she’d thought was real had turned to dust.

Gerry moved forward, nearly towering over her. “What?” His voice was a low growl, and his eyes narrowed as he took in her words. “You’re not leaving.”

“I am,” she shot back fiercely, her heart pounding. But she couldn’t quite meet his eyes, could barely bear the intensity of his gaze. “I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

But Gerry wasn’t listening. He was closer now, standing just inches from her, his posture radiating frustration—and something more vulnerable that she hadn’t expected to see. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, but there was something in his eyes, something raw and exposed, that made her heart twist.

“You’re not leaving,” he repeated, his tone now softer, more insistent, yet still heavy with emotion. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the words landing like a heavy weight in the air. This wasn’t how she imagined this conversation would go. This wasn’t what she’d planned, what she thought she’d prepared for. She had envisioned anger, maybe some shouting, a few harsh words—definitely not this sudden, unrelenting need in his voice.

It threw her off balance.

The angerstill burned in her chest, but now it was accompanied by something much deeper, something far more complicated than she had expected. She felt exposed, vulnerable, caught between wanting to yell at him and wanting to step closer to him, to hear him out despite herself.

“I can’t do this,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. She didn’t hold back, the words coming out bitterly, laced with all the hurt she’d been carrying. “You hate me, mock me, fight with me every time I turn around, and I’m sick of it. I thought for a moment that maybe we could be friends, and… and maybe that could be enough. But it’s not. It’s not enough. I deserve more than this.”

The words stung, and even as she said them, she could feel the tears threatening to spill. She hated that they were there, hated that he could make her feel so exposed. But she couldn’t stop them. Not now. Not after everything.

“I want to be more than friends,” he said, his voice quieter now, edged with sincerity, the frustration in his posture shifting to something else—something softer. His gaze never wavered from hers, a desperate kind of pleading in his eyes that unsettled her more than she was willing to admit.

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