Page 25 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
She’s too busy ogling the box to be put off by my sarcasm.
Denny parks the dolly upright and removes a folding work knife from a pocket of his trousers. He slices open the tape on the top of the box. “It’s a new chair for you, kiddo. Mr. Maddox put in a requisition over the weekend.”
The breath leaves my lungs in a wheeze. Shasta and I gape at each other.
Denny makes a great show of unpacking the box, cutting at the cardboard so the chair is revealed all at once when the sides fall away.
“That’s the new ergonomic model,” whispers Shasta, agog.
I don’t know about ergonomic, but it makes my current chair look derelict.
“Oh, fantastic, you brought it up!” says a male voice to my left, and my heart stops.
It’s Michael, watching approvingly as Denny dusts off the chair with a rag tak
en from his back pocket, even though there’s not a speck of dust on the thing.
“Yes, sir! You said first thing Monday, so I made sure to do it before my regular rounds.”
Shasta and I share a stunned glance, and I know we’re both suffering the same brain meltdown. Michael ordered Denny to bring me a new chair “first thing.” Like it was a priority. And then he showed up to make sure it was done!
Don’t get ahead of yourself—he’s probably just about to tell you you’re not getting the raise you requested!
He looks perfect today, so perfect he’s almost blindingly beautiful. Smooth hair, gorgeous navy-blue suit, freshly shaven jaw. He obviously didn’t spend another night on his office sofa. He turns his gaze to me and dazzles me with a killer smile.
“Good morning, Joellen.”
I love you and want to have all your babies. “Uh . . . morning.”
He sends a friendly nod to Shasta, who giggles. “Hi, Mr. Maddox!”
“Good morning, Shasta. What a lovely sweater you’re wearing. That color suits you.”
I can tell Shasta wants to run over to him, throw her arms around his neck, and lay a big wet one on him, but she manages to control herself.
“Thank you. Blue’s my favorite color.”
“Mine, too,” says Michael, causing Shasta to furiously blush.
I’m not surprised. Making females swoon is his superpower.
Then Michael notices the bouquet of roses on my desk. He does a comical double take, blinking in surprise. “That’s quite the enormous bouquet. Is it your birthday, Joellen?”
It stings a little that he’d assume the only reason I’d ever get flowers is for a birthday, but who am I kidding? I don’t even get them then. “Oh, no, those are just from—”
I bite my tongue just in time. Then, frantically trying to think of how Mrs. Dinwiddle would handle this situation and remembering Cam’s suggestion that I should act “coy as shit,” I gaze fondly at the roses as if remembering a night of passion.
On a dreamy sigh, I say, “A friend.” Then I bat my lashes and look demurely at my feet.
When Michael is silent in the wake of my theatrical performance, I’m convinced I’ve made a colossal fool of myself. But when I glance up at him, he’s staring at the roses with a new expression.
An expression, if I’m not mistaken, like he wants to pick up the bouquet and smash it against the wall.
Michael looks at the roses. I look at Shasta. Shasta retreats into the safety of her cubicle, sinking slowly into her chair, eyeballing me like What the actual fuck? until her head disappears beneath the wall.
“I guess it didn’t turn out to be such a bad weekend for you after all.”
In response to Michael’s terse statement, I simply smile. Mona Lisa. Mona Lisa. Mona-effing-Lisa!
