The Gentleman by Dianna Roman

Author:Dianna Roman [Roman, Dianna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-04T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Cameron

Picking at the remains of my muffin, I brush a crumb off my slacks as I sit at my desk. I’m never eating in the cafeteria again. It’s one of the self-decreed rules on my new list of work habits. If I go to the cafeteria, I could run into Pete. Desk muffins for me, it is.

On the plus side, I assured Heather that I could man the phones during my break to let her run some errands or take a longer lunch without anyone being any the wiser. What Randy and my dad want to take away from people, I can at least try to counteract in my own secret way. It’s a small victory, but it’s a boost I need today in my self-pity.

I think I need to leave Fairway Foods. There’s got to be some way I can accept a different job offer without Dad or Mom guilting me into staying here. Even if Pete didn’t work here, I don’t think I could stand this being my life’s profession. Honestly, he’s been the only thing making me want to come to work these past few weeks. Now that I’ve determined to strike him from my thoughts, life here is much more depressing.

I don’t want to witness Randy and Dad’s treachery. I don’t want to watch their workers getting slighted. I don’t want to see people’s suspicious gazes on me or be ignored in elevators anymore. If I can’t even try to go for the guy I want, I should at least try to have a job that I’m remotely comfortable with. That’s not asking too much. Is it?

“I’m so glad I caught you,” Heather’s voice addresses someone out in the hallway.

I stuff my half-eaten muffin back in its sandwich bag and toss my napkin into the trash can underneath my desk. It’s a minor effort to look professional in case she brings someone into our office.

“I’m so sorry about your leave raffle being denied. I don’t understand why Randy didn’t approve it. I know you did it last year, and I thought it was a really sweet gesture,” she says, her baby belly preceding her when she enters the doorway.

Oh, God. It’s Pete. She’s talking to Pete. I don’t even have to see more than his hand as it comes into view from where he’s following behind her. I know that hand intimately.

Directing my gaze to my keyboard, I pretend to type, ghosting the keys with my fingertips to make just enough noise that it sounds like I’m doing something. My throat thickens when he enters the room. I don’t have to see him to know he’s inside. I sense his presence the way I always sense it. I can feel his heat. I can smell his Pete scent. My sphincter clenches around nothing, like it’s mourning the loss of the plug I swore not to tempt myself with this morning. My heart squeezes knowing that the comforting sensation of him being near has to be denied.

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