Nemesis(4)

“Morning, Jacinta.”Stopping in front of my desk, he gives me no alternative but to raise my head and wish him a good morning in return.

“You look beautiful today,” he whispers, so low only I can hear it.

My eyes narrow at his inappropriate comment. “Thank you, Mr. Lake,” I reply, trying to put him in his place.

His green eyes flash with amusement. “Call me Cohen, please.”

I don’t know what to reply to that. Sure, in my head I call him Cohen, but I’ve never said it out loud, especially not to him. Why is he telling me to call him by his first name now, as opposed to when we were first introduced?

“Why now?” I blurt out, deciding to be honest with my thoughts.

“Everyone except you in this office calls me Cohen, Jacinta,” he explains, looking down at his watch. “I need you to cancel my ten a.m. appointment, please. I have somewhere I need to be. I’ll be back to have lunch with you though, and I think you should get more than a piece of cake today.”

“And I think you should have more than a cup of coffee for lunch,” I fire back, fed up with his high-and-mighty act.

He lifts his head and smirks at me in response. “I only had coffee because I had a brunch meeting.”

“Oh.”

“Which you should know, because you scheduled it.”

Right.

“I brought lunch from home today,” I tell him, shrugging nonchalantly. “Rain check?”

“You never bring lunch,” he remarks, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. “Is sitting with me so bad?” He straightens, looking contemplative. I wonder if a woman has ever told him no before. Somehow, I doubt it.

“No, it’s not so bad,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s just that… I work for you. We’re not friends, so I don’t see the need to pretend that we are.”

Oh, f*ck.

He’s so going to fire me.

“Well, why don’t we become friends then?” he asks, grinning down at me. “You don’t work for me, Jacinta, you work for the firm. And we see each other every day, so I don’t see why we can’t be friends.”

I don’t know why, but every time the word ‘friends’ leaves his mouth, I grit my teeth. He wants to be friends. Will that make our working relationship awkward? I don’t know. I guess I just have to make sure no lines are crossed, because I do want to keep this job.

“Uhh, okay,” I mumble, not sure what to say to him. Why is he singling me out like this? “Can this newfound friendship start tomorrow? Because I really did bring lunch from home.”

“What did you bring?”

Is he always so nosey?

“Fairy bread,” I say, shrugging sheepishly. “I like it.”

I mean, I don’t know any other adults who eat it for their lunch. It’s bread with butter and sprinkles on top, mainly found at children’s birthday parties. Sadie is always giving me shit over it, but what can I do? I think it’s delicious.

He chuckles, probably because he now knows I’m a little weird. Then he surprises me by saying, “Save me a piece,” before heading inside his office.

I watch the door close and shake my head, curious as to how this is going to play out.

*****

The next day, he’s sitting at a table by the window of the café, waiting for me. I take the seat opposite him as gracefully as I can. “Well, I’m here.”

“I can see that. Hungry?”

He slides me a menu and, even though I know it by heart, I glance down and browse the selections anyway. I don’t know why, because I usually order the same thing every time: the hamburger and fries, followed by a slice of chocolate cake. If I’m not very hungry, like the other day, I just get the cake.

“Starving,” I say, putting the menu down and glancing up at him. “How was court this morning?”

He exhales forcefully. “Well, I won.”

“Of course you did,” I reply in a dry tone.

His lips kick up at the corners, green eyes dancing. “Why don’t you tell me something about you, Jacinta?”

“What would you like to know?”

I look at the crisp white shirt he’s wearing today, sleeves folded up his forearms, and paired with black slacks. He dresses impeccably, and it can be a little intimidating. I’m wearing a high-waisted pencil skirt and blouse, both in black. I look good, both professional and sexy, but there’s something about the way he dresses that just screams ‘I am someone.’

“Are you single?” he asks, glancing up from the menu. “Or seeing anyone?”

I arch my brow. “A little personal, don’t you think?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Isn’t that something a friend would know?”

I purse my lips, but answer him anyway. “Yes, I’m single. How about you?”

He nods slowly. “I’m single, yes.”

We just stare at each other for a few moments in silence, both trying to read one another, until the waitress appears, saving me. We both order, and then are once again left alone.

“Views on marriage and love?” he asks next, leaning back in his seat, patiently waiting for my reply.

“That’s a broad question,” I say, brows furrowing. “Do I want to get married one day? Sure. Will I be extremely upset if I don’t, and lower my standards just to be married? Fuck no.”