Page 20 of Not Safe for Work

He peers down at me from his impressive height. I hate that he can probably see the top of my head. I should have worn heels. Hannah is nearly six feet tall, and kissing someone close to your size is probably nice and mitigates the chance of neck cramps.

Not that I’m short—I’m average—but he’s Thor, and I really need to stop thinking about kissing.

“You want to talk about it?” I ask.

I understand that’s what I’m supposed to say as a caring member of humanity, though the last thing I want to discuss is Rafe and Hannah’s relationship problems.

His nostrils flare as he takes another sip of his drink.

“No, I don’t.”

Then he burns me with another scathing look before he walks away. He rolls his neck and shakes his shoulders like he’s the star quarterback giving himself a pep talk before the big game. A moment later, someone approaches, and he holds out a hand, giving it a firm shake. I watch as the storm clouds dissipate over his head to reveal his neon smile.

“Fine,” I mutter under my breath and order myself a mocktail so bright pink it’s bordering on obnoxious.

“Hi,” comes a voice next to me. An East Asian woman about my age with chin-length, wavy black hair and dark brown eyes gives me a friendly smile. She wears a simple red A-line dress and a pair of black ballet flats.

“I thought I’d come and introduce myself. I’m Lan.”

“Trishara,” I say, giving her a bright smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Which office are you from?”

“Chicago. You?”

“Seattle,” she says while scanning the room. “I’m glad there are at least a few other women in this sea of men.”

WMC has fifty-three offices across the country, making our numbers here a cozy one hundred and six. I’d estimate that at least ninety percent of them are men. Most of them white.

“Did they pick you to fill your branch’s diversity quota too?” I ask, and Lan snorts, covering her face with the back of her hand and nearly choking on her wine.

“I wouldn’t put it past them. Though we held a contest, and I won.”

“You did? What kind of contest?”

“We had to build a fully functioning remote control car and race it,” she says. “I won by two point six seconds.”

“Well done,” I say, honestly impressed. I wouldn’t have any idea where to start building a car, remote-controlled or otherwise.

“How did you get chosen?” she asks as the bartender delivers my drink, placing it on top of a coaster. I take a tentative sip from the bright green straw and press my lips together. It tastes as loud as it looks. Even for me, this is sweet.

“Well, for one, the boss chose his son,” I answer, and Lan wrinkles her nose. “And second, WMC has apparently realized they’re living in the past? So they sent me here to prove they aren’t.” I wave a hand around the room. “Not sure how well that’s working.”

Lan’s eyes grow wide, and she covers her mouth as she snorts again. “What a bunch of assholes.”

“It’s not all bad. I managed to extract a few perks.”

She breaks into a grin. “I think we’re going to get along quite well, Trishara.”

I laugh and take another sip of my mouth-puckering drink. Giving up, I place it back on the bar and ask for a glass of sparkling water with lime.

“Call me Tris,” I tell Lan. At least this trip won’t be a total bust if I make one new friend out of it.

The bartender brings me a fresh drink, and we clink glasses as we drift into the middle of the room, where everyone is chatting and introducing themselves. I recognize some faces from past events and meetings, but most are new to me.

As we mingle, I glimpse Rafe outside on the beach. I’m surprised to see him alone at a table, sipping his scotch and staring at the water as if it personally wronged him.

For the briefest of seconds, I consider walking over to check if he’s okay. But then I recall how he dismissed me earlier and decide to keep my distance.