Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(19)

Oh.

My.

Fuck.

No, she did not.

Where the hell does she get the nerve?

I lean back in my chair, nostrils flared. “I know you’re talking about me, Candace.”

“Good, because I was.” She folds her arms tighter and juts out her hip. What does she plan on doing with that stance? I could take her down with one swipe to the leg. One knife-hand to the throat. One sharpened pencil straight to the tit.

My hand itches for an attack, something she’s not expecting. Teach her a freaking lesson on who to mess with.

“Ehh, you know, maybe we should all get to work,” Ross says, clearly aware of the building tension. But guess who doesn’t want any part in calming down? The Post-it Note Prostitute.

She leans forward, coffee ripe on her breath, and says, “I don’t buy it for one second that you’re dating Silas Taters. You either know him or struck up some sort of deal.”

What sort of wizardry does this woman possess? Has she bugged my dorm room? Tapped into my text messages? Become a mind reader and can hear and see my every freaking thought? In all seriousness, I fear for Yonny because this woman has the potential to take down empires.

But of course, being the prideful woman that I am, I can’t possibly show her that she’s right. I will take this secret to my grave.

To the freaking grave! pounds finger into table There is no way in hell Candace Roundhouse will ever know that I struck a deal with Silas Taters. She will only think that he is the love of my freaking life.

“Wow, what a fantasy you’re living in,” I say. “Does it make you feel better, trying to come up with some sort of storyline like that?”

“I’m not coming up with a storyline. You know how I know you’re lying?” she says, taking a step closer, her burgundy wool skirt scraping across my knee. Hideous, Candace, just hideous. “Because you were panicking the moment you saw that I assigned you hockey. If you were really dating Silas Taters, there wouldn’t have been an ounce of panic in your eyes.”

If only she weren’t so clever—cunning—it would make fighting with her so much easier.

“There was no panic. There was shock because I assumed I would be assigned something in lifestyle, not sports. Also, the last thing I want to do is bother my boyfriend with hockey questions. He has better things to do like . . . win championships.”

“Your boyfriend is a hockey player?” a deep, recognizable voice says.

Oh no . . .

All our heads turn toward where Mr. Roberts is standing, cup of coffee in hand, a permanent crease in his brow. Known for wearing only dark gray suits, he combs his slightly thinning salt-and-pepper hair neatly to the side while his well-trimmed mustache twitches with his question. Some interns in the office have believed that his mustache is its own organism that just lives on Roberts’s face. I’m not a believer . . . at least that’s what I tell myself.

“Mr. Roberts,” I say, my body wavering between sitting, standing, and possibly curtseying. We never see him down here among the company peons. He’s a high and mighty kind of dude, not one with the people. “Uh, good morning.”

He sips his coffee, scanning all of us. “Good morning.” He glances at the name tag on my cubicle and says, “Ollie, is it?”

“Yes, that would be me.”

He nods. “You wrote that piece about romance books and how they apply to everyday life, didn’t you?”

Good God, he knows of my work. The curtsey is feeling more and more necessary.

“Guilty,” I reply while raising my hand.

“My wife liked it.” Oh, the wife you cheat on with the head of the journalism department? How lovely.

“Oh . . . well . . . thank you to your wife.” I dip my head in a slight bow, hating myself.

“What’s this about a hockey player?”

Smiling a devilish gleam, Candace says, “Our very own Ollie Owens is dating Silas Taters from the Agitators.”

Roberts’s eyes widen as he takes another sip of his coffee. “Are you, now?”

I swallow hard and nod, suddenly feeling the pressure of this lie. It was all fun and games when it was just to make Candace jealous, but I don’t particularly enjoy the look on Roberts’s face. He’s . . . beaming with excitement.

“Yes, Silas and I are dating,” I answer because what else can I say? Candace is watching my every move.

He nods again, and it’s the kind of nod that says he’s thinking, not just taking a general interest in my life. And that’s terrifying. You should never have your boss think about you . . . not in the conspiratorial way Roberts is.

Finally, he taps the top of my cubicle wall. “Make an appointment with my assistant. I’d like to speak to you today.”

And my nipples just shriveled up.

“Oh sure, I’ll, uh, get right on that,” I say, stumbling over my words.

He doesn’t offer me a reassuring response. Instead, he takes off down the hall, leaving me in a wake of “oh fuck.”

“Well, that should be a fun conversation,” Candace says while adjusting the waistband of her skirt.

“Why do you say that?” I try to hide the panic in my voice, but I do a poor job of it.

“Roberts has a vendetta against the owner of the Agitators. Despises the man. Did you not know that?” Candace smiles again. “Roberts is also a huge Agitators fan despite hating the owner. Looks like you should do some more research, then you wouldn’t be put in these situations. Have a great day.”