Page 6 of Not Safe for Work

“Let’s get a picture,” Charles says, gesturing to his executive assistant, Belinda. She’s on the floor, perched in a squat, her phone aimed at us like a medieval crossbow.

“Stand together,” she orders, waving her hands. I don’t move, I can’t move, but Rafe shifts an infinitesimal inch.

“Closer!” Her high-pitched screech is so unnerving that I finally do as she asks and move a fraction closer to Rafe.

Belinda sighs and stands up with her hands on her hips.

“What is wrong with you?” She walks towards the platform, lays her hand on my calf, and shoves. Surely, this is some kind of HR violation. I stumble, and Rafe’s hand catches my waist, steadying me. That simple touch burns through the fabric of my dress as a sharp inhale scrapes the back of my throat. What the hell was that?

Tossing a dark look over my shoulder, I find Rafe looking down at me with a devious smirk. I don’t think I’ve ever stood this close to him—has he always been so tall?

“Careful, Malik,” he says.

It’s so low it’s a whisper, but his voice stamps itself between my shoulder blades, sending the worst kind of shiver down my spine. I narrow my eyes before turning back to Belinda.

“Slide in just behind her,” Belinda orders, and Rafe must also feel the pinch of her screech because he concedes.

Now he’s standing so close I can feel the warmth of his body. He smells like soap and fresh laundry. No cologne. It’s casual day, and this is Rafe’s natural smell. Why am I even noticing this? I can’t stand Rafe Gallagher. He’s a jerk, and I’ve never met anyone more full of himself. He’s eye candy. Nothing more.

To prove my point (solely to myself), I flip a thick lock of my black hair over my shoulder, lashing it against his chest with the ferocity of a lion tamer’s whip. I hear him emit a small grunt, but he says nothing in response.

My own smirk is triumphant. Score 1 Trishara.

Belinda returns to her crouch, pointing her camera at us. I feel the curiosity of every eye in the room and applaud my rigid stance on casual Fridays. I look amazing in this dress. It makes my waist look tiny and my butt look high and round. It was worth the hours spent hunting through the racks of my favorite discounted designer shop.

Belinda takes approximately three thousand photos as I breathe through my mouth, trying not to ingest a single stray particle of Rafe’s aroma. She stands, nods at her phone, and taps on the screen. “This will be perfect for the company newsletter.”

Finally released from her web, Rafe and I break apart. I shake off the lingering effects of my body’s traitorous physical reactions. Even if he wasn’t the world’s biggest asshole, Rafe has a girlfriend, Hannah. I think. Molly and I actually have a theory they’ve broken up because I overheard him on the phone in his office ages ago discussing rings with what I assumed was a jeweler, but an announcement never came.

I fully expected her to show it off at the office summer barbecue last month, but Rafe attended alone. Maybe she was just busy.

Regardless, she’s thin and tanned, with long blond hair and blue eyes. The kind of woman practically every straight man lusts over. Gorgeous and sexy and supermodelish. I’ve only met her a few times at various company functions, and she sort of treated me like I was beneath her notice. But I also only briefly interacted with her, so who knows? She might have simply been expressing herself because she finds work parties boring. I know I do.

“How about a round of applause for our lucky pair?” Charles says into the microphone, and the room erupts into clapping amid demands to get to the cake. “Please enjoy some refreshments and have a great rest of your day.”

At that, the room erupts into chatter as the herd lumbers towards a long table where an army of tidy frosted white cake squares have been set out on tiny paper plates. Giant coolers sit at the end, where lemonade is poured into clear plastic cups.

Molly runs over and hops up on the stage. “This is going to be amazing!” Her eyes shine with zero sums of jealousy. I’m so lucky to have her.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Why me?”

“That’s a good question.” Rory stands on the other side of me now, his shoulders stooped, glowering at me with a pair of dull green eyes. He steps forward, lips twisted into an ugly sneer. “How did you—”

“Don’t,” Rafe practically snarls, a large hand clamping onto his cousin’s shoulder and jerking him back. “Shut up before you say something stupid. As usual.”

Rory pins Rafe with a glare. “How did she swing this?” He points an accusing finger as though I’m the one responsible. Molly bristles, her chest puffing up like an angry peacock.

“Just shut up, Rory,” Rafe says again, his jaw hard and his eyes flashing. “Go have some cake.” His command oozes with authority, and my stomach tightens just a little bit. But why is he defending me?

“Fine. Have fun in Hawaii,” Rory spits with a stream of venom before turning and heading for the front of the cake line, shoving his way in like the asshole he is.

“Sorry about that,” Rafe says, assessing me up and down as though he’s also searching for an explanation written on my skin.

“I don’t need you speaking for me,” I bite out.

Rafe’s mouth flattens into a line as Molly tugs on my hand. “C’mon. Let’s get some cake too.”

I scan the room, looking for David or Charles Gallagher, but they’ve already escaped.