Not Safe for Work(104)

I turned and realized everyone was staring at me. “What?”

“That was kind of weird.” Teagan eyed me over her model. “I mean, if looks could kill, Mitchell would’ve been a dead man.”

I swallowed. “And that’s new?”

“Well, no.” She stood straighter. “But usually you glare at him like you want him to drop dead. This time it was more like you wanted him to go up in flames.”

“Yeah,” Cal said. “Even Dawson looked like she was going to be all ‘Dude, McNeill, settle down.’”

I waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I shifted my attention back to my work and picked up the drawing of the structure I was currently building. I looked it over and tried to focus on the lines, numbers and letters that must have made sense to me in some lifetime. None of it meant a thing to me now. Just a bunch of random symbols scattered on a page, all adding up to nothing.

All around me, everyone was still and silent. No doubt exchanging puzzled glances. Maybe mouthing what the hell? and I don’t know at each other.

But eventually, fingers started tapping on keys again. Mice started clicking. Gum started snapping. The banter started again—cautiously at first, and then with more enthusiasm.

And I just concentrated on the model.

Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue.

*

The day ground on, and if time had any inclination to heal this wound, it wasn’t in any great hurry. I’d have been more comfortable and less distracted with a cock cage on. Right then, I’d have sold my soul to have my cock and balls strapped into one of those diabolical devices if it meant I could stop feeling this particular burr under my skin. Having it pinch and tug every time I moved, pressing into sensitive skin until I could think of nothing except get it off, get it off, get it off, would’ve been a welcome alternative to this.

The distant, hurried rhythm of high-heeled footsteps approaching on laminate reverberated up and down my spine.

“Incoming,” Cal said.

Scott turned the music down, and I ground my teeth, half expecting the usual ominous overture to pour through the speakers. When I shot him a warning look, he wisely left the music alone.

The door opened, and my throat closed.

Rick said nothing. Nor did anyone else in the room. Mice clicked, fingers clattered on keyboards, but no one spoke. They were probably all trying to look busy, hoping the boss wasn’t there to speak to them.

My heart was ready to crash right through my rib cage. I tried to focus, but it was impossible with Rick in the room. Especially as he and Mitchell inched their way toward me.

And then, there they were. Standing opposite me, both staring right at me and not the model they’d allegedly come to check.

I met Rick’s gaze. He held it, but only for a second. Just long enough for me to see the palpable hurt in his eyes. We were on opposite sides of my modeling table, a scale replica of his next project between us, and it may as well have been the actual building for as far apart as we were.

What did I do? What did—

“Well.” Mitchell smiled broadly. “Looks like everything here is in order, yes?”

“Yeah. Everything’s perfect.” Rick plastered on a smile that wouldn’t have fooled a blind man. “Shall we head up and take a look at that revised schematic for the library?”

Mitchell eyed me but nodded. To Rick, he said, “All right. After you.”

Along with Marie, they turned to go, and the heavy, painful, devastated feeling I’d been carrying all day suddenly exploded into a heart-stopping panic.

“Wait!”

The word came out before I could stop it.

As one, Rick and my two bosses turned around.

The rest of the room fell silent. No one moved.

I set my X-ACTO knife down and straightened. Quietly, I repeated, “Wait.” It was a stupid thing to say just then, because they were waiting, but it was the only word that would come out. The rest were still catching up, fighting their way to the front of my brain.

Mitchell inclined his head. “Yes, Mr. McNeill?”

“I—” I looked at Rick. His eyes, his lips, his brow—nothing offered a single clue as to what was going through his mind.

“Jon?” Marie asked. “Is there something…?”

“Yeah, I—” I squared my shoulders. “Mr. Mitchell, I’m sorry.” I gestured at Rick. “We split up.”

A few feet away, Teagan’s breath hitched. Rick’s eyes widened. Marie grimaced. Mitchell looked like he was about to have heart failure. All around us, my crew was absolutely still and silent.

I swallowed. “If you want to fire me for that, go right ahead.”

Mitchell’s jaw dropped. He paled, glancing back and forth from me to Rick.

Someone’s chair creaked. Someone whispered something. Subtle movement, the quiet sounds of my peers reading between lines. All that may as well have been a world away, though. For all I knew, the universe didn’t extend beyond the two people on either side of my desk.

Mitchell took a breath like he was about to say something, but I spoke first.

“Rick, I’m sorry. The way I handled this was—”

“Mr. McNeill,” Mitchell broke in. “I think we should take this conversation to my office.”

I ignored him. “I made a huge mistake. No amount of pride is worth letting you go. My job here was already f*cked.”