Page 42 of Work with Me

“No reason.” He stared at the drawer.

Screw him and his assumptions. I wanted to snarl at him and everyone on my team. And not only because they were all men. We had one week to finish the code for Cooper’s next review, where we had to wow him. Or else. “Shouldn’t you be coding?”

“Actually—”

Great, here we go. He’s got some brilliant new idea that’s going to disrupt the entire project.

“I was thinking maybe we could try pairing up again.” He nodded at the other programmers working side-by-side at their desks. “It seems to be working well for the rest of the team. Maybe we’d be more efficient working together?” His voice rose, uncharacteristically, into a question at the end.

Exactly. He wanted to change the process mid-stream. Even if it was what I’d wanted to do from the beginning, it was too late now. “I don’t think so, Jackson. Our process seems to be working. I’ll check your code when you’re done.” Maybe he could code the whole damn thing while I went and lay down somewhere. I rubbed a hand over my abdomen like I could iron out the stabbing pain.

His gaze followed my hand. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Stop asking me that,” I hissed. “I need to focus on work, and so do you.” I thought we’d worked out all the post-phone-call weirdness that morning. And byworked out,I meantcompletely ignored.It was fine. He’d probably been drinking or playing a video game, half his attention on the screen while we talked. He hadn’t really meant what he’d said about respecting me. Rather, respectingmy talent. He’d only been saying what he thought I wanted to hear. I’d probably made up the softness in his voice, the kindness in his eyes this morning, the way he seemed to care about me. No, notcare.I meantconcern.He was only concerned that I was about to tear into him and the rest of the team with hormonal fury.

I dragged my attention to my screen and logged back into my computer. I scanned through the lines to see what I’d been working on before my trip to the restroom. Ah. I curved my fingers over the keyboard, thinking about what went next. The back of my neck prickled, stealing my focus.

Rubbing it, I glanced over at Jackson. He snapped his gaze back to his own screen. Unfortunately for him, it’d timed out and gone black.

“What?” I snarled. If he said one word about PMS, I was going to whack him with my keyboard.

“Nothing. I… Can I get you anything? More tea?” His cheeks pinked.

I could only stare at him and his annoyingly pretty eyes, his dark eyebrows tilted into something that looked suspiciously like sympathy. Jackson Jones was being nice to me? At work? He had to have an ulterior motive.

And I was so tired of it all: the constant checks that I was doing the right thing, saying the right thing, acting like a man in a man’s world. I’d been naïve to think being the boss of my own company would spare me all that.

“Can we just…not?” I curled my hands into fists and then flattened them over my keyboard. “Can we just act like coworkers and do the work? Without all the exhausting sparring? At least for today?”

His shoulders slumped. “I only meant—sorry.”

Guilt speared through me, but before I could say anything, a rumble erupted from the desk drawer. I’d left my phone on vibrate as usual, and it made a sound like an oncoming train against the metal bottom of the drawer. I jerked it open and pulled out my phone.

Noah’s school,the display read.

I grabbed it and answered, my voice low, as I speed-walked to the nearest empty conference room.

“Hi, Ms. Weber, it’s Janet, the school secretary. I’m calling about Noah. He was in a fight this afternoon. We need you to come to the school.”

“A fight?” My sweet Noah, in a fight? I imagined him lying on the blacktop, being kicked by bigger, meaner kids, and my heart shredded. Then it reformed into jagged shards of steel. He was in a cast, for God’s sake! I was going to see that those kids got expelled. Or worse. Could you press charges against a ten-year-old? “Is he okay?”

“Just some scrapes and bruises. But we need you to come. Now.”

“Right. Of course.” Scrapes and bruises didn’t sound so bad, but I might need to take him to urgent care again if she was downplaying his injuries. “Tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Returning to our work area, I announced that I had a personal issue and needed to go home. Then I went to my desk and started packing up.

Jackson stood, nervous energy vibrating off him and colliding with my own anxiety. My teeth itched.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, low.

I set down my phone next to my keyboard. “Just—can you check in with the guys? Make sure they’re on track? We can’t fall behind.”

“Sure, but I meant…for you.”

For me?My heart, that traitor, thumped hard enough to twitch my blouse. “No. I’m fine.” I slipped my laptop bag over my shoulder and grabbed my phone.

He nodded toward my side of the desk. “Don’t forget your laptop.”

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