How to Fail at Flirting(74)

Davis smiled—it was a rueful gesture. His hand returned and his thumb stroked the side of my neck. A cold flash ran through me. Over his shoulder, I saw Jill eyeing us, her normally cheerful expression turned into a frown. Does she know? She looked away quickly, and my face heated. Behind her, I saw another cold stare. Jake’s expression was impassive, but he was staring at Davis and me. When he looked at me, he always seemed to see so much, so I hoped he’d read my expression for what it was, even from that distance, but he didn’t.

I jerked back, but the damage was done, and Jake had turned away.

“Don’t be like that. You know I get what I want in the end.” Without another word, Davis pushed off from the car and strode toward the assembled group; he was still holding my bag, leaving me to follow along behind him like a lost, scared child.

I ducked into the back row of the van, hoping others would seek spaces with more leg room and I’d be left alone for the drive, but I’d miscalculated. Davis crawled into the back next to me, claiming the rest of the bench seat, his legs and arms spread wide. He leaned close to my face as he fumbled with his seat belt, and his hand brushed the outside of my thigh. “Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” He said it under his breath, the consonants hard and cold, even in a whisper.

My mind screamed say something, move to a different seat, or slap him, and I tried to remember Wes’s voice from my self-defense class, but my body retreated to old reactions. I flinched, goose bumps rising on my arms. From the front seat, Jill shot cutting glances in my direction, and a familiar sense of helplessness filled me as this cycle seemed to be starting again.

We turned out of the parking lot, and Davis said in a voice loud enough for most passengers in the van to hear, “So, Naya, feel free to ask me about anything you don’t understand when we get there—I’m happy to help.” The two people in the seat in front of us smiled at Davis over their shoulders—two of his former cronies—and they all exchanged pleasantries.

His voice lowered, and I was sure the others couldn’t hear it over the sounds of the road and their own conversations. “You can beg, too. I liked it when you begged.”

I recoiled, curling into the smallest possible amount of space I could take up on the seat. “Leave me alone, Davis,” I muttered. I wanted to strike him or punch him, to hiss at him. Everyone would hear, though. Above all, I wanted to fly under the radar, as I had done for years, and sink into the seat.

“You’re blushing. You remember.” To anyone observing, his expression would have looked professional, collegial, maybe even engaging, like we were discussing my research or his recent golf outing. A flash of heat glinted in his eyes when he referenced my humiliation, though; a glee that jumped from his dark irises. “Good,” he said in a hushed, cold voice filled with malice.

I shook my head, shifting away from his touch while a chorus of react and you’re stronger than this rang in my head.

To do: . . .

I had nothing. I didn’t know what to do.





Forty





We arrived at the site and crowded into a meeting room. All around us were large windows that looked out over a path leading through the forest to the lake beyond. With fifteen of us squished around a table designed for twelve, elbow room was at a premium, and the smell of coffee and a variety of colognes and perfumes filled the small space.

My breath caught when I spotted Jake at the head of the table with Carlton. All my thoughts scattered, and my body responded to him on instinct. He looks good. Does he miss me? He needs a haircut. My fingers itched to stroke the curls at the nape of his neck. What did he think when he saw Davis touching me? Did he sleep with Gretchen? Be professional! He looks good. His eyes met mine for a millisecond and then darted away. Does he hate me?

I sought Jill in the crowd, to explain what she might have thought she’d seen between Davis and me, but she stood near him, eyes down, and didn’t meet my gaze.

Two things about the weekend became clear as we introduced ourselves around the table: It would be difficult being around Jake and insufferable being around Davis. I struggled to remember what I’d ever seen in him, and the fear and disgust I’d felt in the van extended, for a bit, into sheer annoyance.

Davis’s chest puffed out, and he somehow took up more room at the table than anyone else during his rambling introduction. When I spoke, Carlton nodded and smiled, as he had with everyone else. Jake gave a curt nod without glancing up from the sheet of paper in front of him, where critical notes required his full attention. Well, what did I expect?

Jake and Carlton and their two staff members were there to listen to our opinions and experiences and ask questions, to help them interpret all the data they’d collected. After an hour, the dull ache in my stomach was joined by a low throb in my temple. The headache wasn’t about Jake.

For the fourth time, Davis had repeated something I’d just said and claimed it as his own idea. For years, I’d let him convince me he was smarter and more capable, but it was evident here that he wasn’t.

My gaze shifted to Jake every time he did it. I hoped to see a reaction, amusement at Davis’s ridiculous behavior or outrage on my behalf, an eye roll or a sympathetic glance. He didn’t react at all, short of a few shared looks with Carlton.

Stop expecting anything.

When I disagreed with two colleagues, saying that promotion policies disproportionately favored people in science and business, Davis chuckled.