Page 30 of Kiss and Tell
I’d been filled with a combination of guilt, shame and dread ever since.
It wasn’t just that I was appalled at my own lack of self control, although that was bad enough to make me want to hide my face from the rest of the world in shame.
It was how hurt Connor had looked that caused the guilt to sting my chest.
Had he been serious with all his flirting? I’d thought that was just how he was with all women, but perhaps I’d been wrong. Maybe Connor had been sincerely upset at my rejection.
Or maybe his ego had simply been dealt a blow. That was more likely. With his good looks and smooth moves, he no doubt had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was insulted I wasn’t going to do the same.
I had to hope that, whatever the reason for that wounded look in his eyes, he’d be able to get over it by next week.
Luckily, our little field trip had helped me solidify some design ideas. I’d been sketching furiously ever since that night. I thought I had something worthwhile to show Connor, for the interior design at least.
I’d told him there was still the menu, and employees, and marketing to think of, not to mention a hundred other smaller things that came with running a business, including planning the grand opening event. Courtice and Cooke wasn’t just an interior design company, but a full service consultancy. Things between me and Connor weren’t going to be over until the bar was officially open.
I stirred my tea as I contemplated how the next few months were going to go. Could I really work with Connor this closely, knowing the effect he had on me? Knowing the growing attraction between the two of us?
It didn’t matter. I needed this job. I wasn’t going to screw things up. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I told Connor I couldn’t lose my first solo client.
Although impressing my bosses was important, my long term goal was to work for myself, to open my own consulting company. That meant I needed to build up a good reputation in the industry.
I stopped stirring and removed the tea bag, tossing it in the small compost bucket under the sink. I took the mug back to the living room and curled up with my sketchbook again.
I’d just picked up my pencil when my phone pinged. Heart leaping, I grabbed for it.
Disappointment was soon followed by resentment, and then, as I read the email I’d just received, rage.
Apparently I hadn’t filed Peter’s paperwork fast enough for him. His own boss had pulled him aside and asked him where the Johnson file was. He hadn’t been able to answer, which had displeased his boss, and, in turn, displeased him.
Which was why I was now the recipient of a snarky, threat-filled email. Of course, the threats were vague and veiled, as always. Peter would never put anything incriminating in writing. For all his faults, he was at least smart enough to avoid that. But I could read between the lines.
My hand shook with fury as I gripped my phone, knuckles turning white.
I needed to come clean. I needed to tell everyone what was happening, that Peter was blackmailing me to do his work.
I eased my tight grip on the phone, relaxing my fingers as my chest turned cold.
But in the end, it would all come down tohe said/she said, wouldn’t it? That was always how it went.
Peter’s threat to start rumors that I’d offered to sleep with my boss if he put in a good word for me was a good one.
Because, of course, he had. While Peter had been buttering me up with compliments and subtle flirtations, he’d also been talking me up to our own supervisors. Anyone who had worked with the two of us knew Peter had put in more than a good word for me. It had been on his recommendation that I’d been promoted to my current department.
I’d never asked him to do any of that, but the timing was too coincidental. And he’d planned it that way, the asshole.
With gritted teeth, I threw my phone onto the sofa cushions, watching it bounce a few times and almost slide to the floor. It settled in the crack of the arm instead, saving me from a shattered screen.
I thought about quitting on the spot. Walking into HR and telling them exactly what kind of rat bastard Peter was and storming off.
But Courtice and Cooke was a small boutique agency. We didn’t even have a proper HR department. We had an employee who did payroll, and one of the firm’s partner’s acted as a “people manager” but that was it.
Besides, I knew exactly what happened when a woman walked in and exploded like that. Even if they believed me, it would only earn me a reputation for being melodramatic, for being too emotional.
No, I had to play this cool. I had to keep calm. If I could get through these next few months, everything would pay off.
I’d worked so hard to get into this company. The whole reason I’d worked unpaid as an intern for so long was because they were leaders in the industry, well known and well respected. A few years at this company and clients would clamor to work with me on that basis alone.
But I was still new. Still young. I needed a few more clients under my belt before I could think about moving on.
