Page 45 of Not Safe for Work

“Don’t pretend you mind me using your shower, Malik. I saw the way you were ogling me last night. Now you get to see me without my shirt again.” He flicks the tip of my nose with his thumb and forefinger, and I drop my arms with a sound of indignation.

“How dare you?” Now that he’s broken the smile threshold, it seems he can’t get enough. This one is half-cocked, and why does that make my stomach flip? He brushes past me, and I spin around, momentarily stunned by the wide span of his back and the top curve of his ass, just barely covered by the towel.

“I was staring because I couldn’t believe you weren’t burning to a crisp in the sun! Isn’t that what your kind does in the light of day?”

I’m rewarded with a glance over his shoulder, his devilish smirk hooking into my sternum. He chuckles darkly before disappearing into the second bathroom and slamming the door.

An hour later, I make my way down to the conference rooms for today’s session. According to the app, we’re discovering our personality types through a series of tests to determine our best avenues for communication, individual motivation, and learning. Then, we’ll divide into groups of contrasting types to solve problems using everyone’s strengths and weaknesses.

The rain has picked up, and a boom of supposedly rare Hawaiian thunder sets me on edge, meaning I’m already irritable when I arrive. I really hate storms.

We sit at long tables with our chairs lined up on one side, Lan to my left and, inexplicably, Rafe to my right. My plan is to pretend this morning’s conversation about my sex toy never happened, even if I can’t stop thinking about it. I just hope he plays along.

I also can’t stop replaying his question through my head.

Is that a challenge, Trishara?

However, it’s also distracting me from a flash of lightning streaking across the sky, so maybe I should be thanking him.

Whistle Mouth is back, and that shrill, piercing echo is even worse when it’s delivered indoors. I suspect it’s because of me and Rafe that she’s hanging on to her whistle at all times. I grind my teeth, still angry at how we were so unjustly disqualified. Rafe must harbor similar thoughts because I catch him staring at her like he wants to peel off her skin. I’m just glad his Terminator stare is turned on someone else for a change.

“Aren’t there some beings who live under a bridge you could sit with?” I ask as some guys that Rafe appears friendly with filter in. One of them calls his name, and Rafe tips his chin. “Ah, there they are now. In all their troll-like glory.”

Rafe’s eyebrow arches. “And your friends are the pinnacle of anti-trollness?”

I lean back and peek at Lan talking to Gabrielle.

“Of course, look at them. They’re adorable. We all are.”

Rafe smirks and then gives me one of those head-to-toe looks that does things I don’t want. “Yes, you are,” he says so low I almost don’t hear it before he turns to talk to one of the troll beings sitting on his other side.

I don’t possess the wherewithal to dwell on that statement before Whistle Mouth blows, destroying everyone’s eardrums and sending a collective flinch across the room.

“When is someone going to melt that thing down and choke her with it?” Lan whispers as Whistle Mouth hands out test papers.

“As soon as I get my hands on it,” I reply, and Lan covers her mouth to hold in her laugh.

Whistle Mouth cuts a sharp glance my way. Wow, she hates me. “Eyes on your own paper. This isn’t a test you can pass or fail. It’s simply meant to determine your learning type and what teamwork methods suit you best.”

She can claim this isn’t really a test, but everyone in the room knows this isn’t true. They’re looking for specific answers. Specific personalities to fill their hallowed corner office halls. Two members of the executive team sit in the corner, thumbs tapping on their phones. Two white men nearing retirement, here searching for their replacements.

Whistle Mouth blows again, and how is this compliant with health and safety standards? “You have one hour,” she says before a flurry of pencils begin scratching against paper backdropped by the increasing sounds of wind and rain outside.

My nerves twist as I stare out the window, but I tune it out, focusing on the task at hand.

Throughout the day, I learn a few things about myself, though most of it isn’t a surprise. I’m driven by my sense of competitiveness, enjoy strategizing for the future, and am an introvert. I study my assessment as I pick at my bottom lip. That last one makes sense. I’m comfortable when I’m with a group of people I know, but generally, I’m happy with my own company.

Seeing my competition score strikes a chord deep within my repressed psyche. I was competitive, and I still am, but my years at WMC have dulled that edge. I came here intent on enjoying a free holiday, but I can’t deny the stirring in my chest that still wants to win.

“You’re an introvert?” Rafe asks, leaning over and peering at my page. There is a high degree of skepticism in his voice.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because you’re… you.” He waves a hand in my direction as if to encompass just how me I apparently am. I frown.

“What is that supposed to mean? What are you?”

“I’m an introvert,” he says, showing me his paper. “But a real one.”