Page 41 of Work with Me

“Great. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Wait!”

“What?” What else could he have to talk about? Still holding my phone, I pulled back the covers and climbed into bed.

“‘See you Monday’ seems harsh after I sent you a gift.” His voice was strangled.

I snorted. “You sent me expensive ibuprofen and hemorrhoid cream.”

“It’s the meaning behind the gift that counts.”

“Meaning that you gave me a headache and you sent me something I won’t use?”

His voice went playful. “Shit, should’ve sent the lube after all.”

I couldn’t think of a single appropriate reply to that.

“You could think of me while you used it,” he continued. “Wait, I didn’t mean it the way that came out.”

I snorted. “Mayday, mayday, pull up.”

“More like pull out. Shit! I meant my foot out of my mouth. Not…”

A few seconds of silence ticked by.

“I guess I’ll climb back in my hole,” he said. Then he groaned.

If I let him go on any longer, he might say something that actually offended me. “You should build yourself an app that censors your phone calls to coworkers.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

I snickered. “You did it again.”

“Oops.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“You’re right. I’m not. But I am about lunch. Thanks for saving my ass.”

My chest expanded. “That’s what I’m here for. To save your code, not your ass.” I winced. “Don’t respond to that one.”

He was silent for a few seconds. “I’m glad you took this job, Alicia Weber.”

Was I glad? Jackson Jones had been a giant pain in my ass. We both knew it. He’d admitted it and sent the hemorrhoid cream to prove it.

Good thing, too, or it’d have been too easy to fall for my brainy coworker who also happened to be hotter than Texas asphalt in July. But those two strikes against him—pain in my ass and coworker—meant I didn’t need a third.

“I’m glad, too,” I said. “Now, really, see you Monday.” I tapped the end button and opened my book on small-business tax accounting.

17

ALICIA

I tossedmy purse back in the drawer and heard my phone fall to the metal bottom. Screw it. I’d put it where it belonged next time I had to haul ass to the bathroom to change out my tampon. I tore open the paper packet of pain relievers I’d found in the first aid kit in the kitchen. This office full of guys might not stock feminine hygiene products in the ladies’ room, but at least they had medicine that’d dull my cramps. I swigged it back with my tepid tea.

“Everything okay?” Jackson asked, low.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” I slammed the drawer shut. He flinched.

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