𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✓

THREE

-

The next day, I arrive at work with my coffee in hand, iced as always, and the second I step off the elevator, I almost bump into a certain guy.

"Holy shit, Emmons, watch where you're going, for God's sake," he curses, realizing that I almost spilled my drink on his shirt, and I tighten my grip around the plastic cup. Of course, this is the first thing I'm greeted with today. After yesterday, a movie night with a very chatty Kelly and an even chattier Chester on my lap, I hoped for some peace here. How delusional.

"Good morning to you, too," I counter harshly and squeeze myself past Sebastian to get to our office. Today, he's wearing a cream shirt and some brown pants, and an orangy-brown leather jacket is draped over the briefcase he carries. The same shoes as every day make the same annoying clicking noise on the floor while he follows me to the office.

"In such a good mood today, huh," I comment as I step into the room, and I put my backpack next to my desk and set my coffee down on the coaster I once brought here to avoid stains on the light wood. I straighten my blouse, a black one with golden buttons, and turn around to see Sebastian practically throw his bag on the floor before he sprawls in his desk chair.

"I was," he counters, "but then someone almost showered me with some iced coffee."

"Emphasis on almost," I retort, "Don't be so sensitive."

He doesn't reply, and I sit down on my desk chair and start my computer. Today's goal is to finish that stupid article on tourism in New York City - or at least the first draft. I take another sip of my coffee, sighing at the refreshing feeling, and start my work by opening Word and looking at the few things I've jotted down yesterday. 

We both sit and work in silence, a rare occasion if I recall how much we're usually bickering and teasing each other until a knock rips me out of my workflow. I look to the milky glass door and see a small, thin silhouette behind it.

"Come in, Janine," I say loudly and my gaze goes back to my screen. The door opens and Janine clears her throat. She's one of the boss's secretaries and probably the one being here the longest. She's quite reserved but extremely nice and kind-hearted.

"Hi, Charlotte," she quietly says, and side-eyes Sebastian, who is typing something like he only had five more minutes to complete it. I roll my eyes. 

"No need to whisper," Sebastian simply says and Janine approaches my desk with quick steps on her black pumps. Today, her bright red hair is put up into a bun held together by a claw clip, a few strands hanging loose. Her brown eyes study me while I look at her expectantly.

"What is it?" I ask and click save on my document, just to make sure. 

"Boss says I have to remind you of the deadline for the article," she says and is clearly uncomfortable with having to talk to me about this. She's not the one to make haste.

"It's almost done," I sigh, pointing at the two pages I have by now, "Only needs a few changes. It's gonna be done by tomorrow for sure."

Sebastian scoffs, but I decide to ignore him. Janine nods and takes a look at my screen, skipping over the few paragraphs that are visible.

"Why does he think you have to remind me?" I ask, slightly offended, and Janine straightens back up and looks at me with soft eyes. She's so different than our boss. Nicer.

"I'm only the messenger," she quietly reminds me, and Sebastian, hidden from my sight, laughs loudly. I surrender.

"Funny to you, Stan?"

"God, yes," he chuckles, "Boss thinks you can't do it."

"I don't think that's it," I counter, "At last, I'm up for the promotion."

"For show," he teases me, and I begin to inhale, preparing to answer when Janine opens her mouth.

"The boss thinks she is very talented," she reveals, "Said she was better than you, Mr. Stan."

I huff, not believing what I heard.

"He said that?" I ask in shock, and Janine nods with a grin on her thin lips.

"Now he thinks you're on the same level, which is why he couldn't decide just like that. Trust me, I have my sources," she winks at me, and then leaves the room while I smile confidently.

"For show," I mock Sebastian's comment, and I hear him scoff. 

"What makes you think she didn't make this up to make you feel better?" he then asks, and I get up to be able to see him over the edge of my monitor. 

"It's Janine," I explain, "she doesn't lie to me. She's like my spy in the boss's office."

"So you're cheating," Sebastian retorts, and I shake my head. His gaze drifts up and meets mine. Ocean meets honey. I shiver, and he arches a brow.

"No cheating," I counter, "Just me making sure that I'm actually wanted."

He maintains eye contact for a few more seconds, probably trying to stare into my soul, and then goes back to typing frantically. 

"Don't break your keyboard," I mumble and sit back down, my back covered in goosebumps from the intense staring contest. That I won.

"Don't forget the deadline," he replies in a husky whisper, and I barely hear it. I roll my eyes, crack the knuckles in my hands, and empty out the iced coffee. Now, there are only a few half-melted ice cubes in there that faintly clink when I set the plastic cup back on its coaster.

"Ugh, shut it," I mumble inaudibly, and the silence between us comes back. It's only typing, paired with the buzzing of the AC and the occasional mumbling to ourselves while we're focused on our screens. 

A reminder comes up on my phone, and the ping distracts me. I pick it up from the desk and unlock it. The notification tells me that the annual team-building day is coming up. I groan and put the phone back where I got it from.

"What now?" the brunet asks from behind the two monitors that I cannot see over, and I shake my head.

"Team-building day is next week," I inform him, "I don't even want to know what we're going to do this year."

"I think the choices are either Dark Dining or Lasertag," he says casually while the typing from his desk continues. I pout. Both options sound lame.

"Dark Dining," I repeat, and he mumbles something in an agreeing tone. I sigh.

"Both options are better than last year's," he comments, this time a bit louder. Last year, our team went on a hike in New Jersey. It was a complete disaster.

"I guess," I mumble, not wanting to admit that he is right. It would just feed his ego more.

"You know, 'cause this year's options are both set in darkness. I won't have to see you all the time."

I scoff, feeling insulted. Do I really look that bad? I know the glasses aren't the most pretty thing to wear, but... I nervously wrap one strand of my dark, curly hair around my finger. It's what mom does, too. I guess it's in the genes.

"You don't even have to see me now, you're hidden behind two monitors," I retort.

"Lucky me."

"Shithead," I say, "I'm not that unpresentable. Or ugly."

"Never said you were," he simply replies, and I feel like I hear a smirk in his voice. Confused about this comment, I try to go back over my article, changing words and structure a bit until my lunch break is finally here and I can have almost an hour without having to speak to him.

Lucky me.