Mixed Signals

Girl Meets Boy

Ian and I went to work together, again. I felt something a tiny bit off with him, but ignored it in the spirit of making new friends. We chatted the way to work, and in once we got to the office, we went our not so separate ways. In passing, I noticed quite a few people ogling me, trying to figure out just what mine and Ian's standing was.

Once I was settled into my desk and Ian was gone to a meeting, I pored over my work, attempting to block all thoughts of my boss. But once he came back, the heat of his eyes made that quite difficult. Eventually, I felt his gaze fade away and I was solely focused on working.

After more than a few hours, my brain started to fry, constituting more coffee. I got up and slowly walked to the area I'd watched people come out of with coffee. Tension has built into my shoulders, back and legs, so as I was making coffee, I stretched and popped my back.

A throat cleared from behind me, and I jumped, not expecting anyone to creep up on me like that. A guy, mid-20s, buff and in the upper five feet range, stood with a mug in hand and a half smile on his incredibly attractive face. His jaw was squared off, lined with purposeful stubble, and his cropped, sandy brown hair brought up in the front. He wore a plain black T-shirt under a beige cardigan, dark jeans, and tan boots.

From the way he looked at me, it seemed he was checking me out the same way I was doing to him. So, naturally, I turned around and started putting my coffee together. He sauntered over to the counter next to me, waiting for me to finish with the coffee.

"You're new," he spoke with a Welsh accent. His voice was youthful but deep. "What's your name?"

His directness threw me off a little. Were all British guys this straightforward? "You first," I challenged, setting the coffee pot down.

"You've got fire," he chucked. "I like that. I'm Conor McNabb." He held out a hand.

I took it. "Gemma LeBlanc."

"American, eh? What brings you to this side of the pond?" He raised an eyebrow, pouring coffee into his mug. He looked over the rim of his cup as he took a sip, waiting for my answer. Seriously, why was he so interested?

"I don't know. Independence, probably," I shrugged. "The thought of the UK has always been very intriguing, so I guess here is just automatically where I set my sights. Not here, specifically, just the UK in general."

He nodded. "It's a bit dreary here to me. Probably just because I'm used to it though. Lived here my whole life."

"Your accent, though," I noted aloud. "You're Welsh."

That playful smirk found its way to his lips again. "Got a good ear on you. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He looked at me with green-blue eyes filled with fascination. "I meant that I've lived here in the UK my whole life, obviously. It gets boring. Also, it's not nearly as big as the States. You could've gone anywhere but here. You running from something?"

I laughed and shook my head. "No, I just wanted to live here so I am. Does there have to be some dramatic ulterior motive?"

Conor bobbed his head as if he were pondering what I'd said. "Well, it makes for a better story." He grinned, winked, and walked away.

Left with myself, I smiled stupidly at Conor's cheeky attitude. I walked out of the room, coffee in hand, and headed back to my desk. As I sat down, I noticed a sticky note on the divider in front of me.

Hello, neighbour;)

I leaned to the left, peeking around the divider. Conor grinned at me and I felt the unrepressed urge to giggle. I smiled back at him and sat back into my seat, doing my work. I worked for about an hour before Ian interrupted me for lunch.

"You ready?" Ian looked at me questioningly, his gorgeous eyes boring into me. I stood from my seat, and nodded. As we walked past Conor's desk, I accidentally made eye contact, making me nervous. His face was puzzled, inquisitive. I looked away, and Ian set his hand on my back.

Once we were alone in the elevator, I spoke. "No fancy restaurant today."

Ian turned to me, puzzled expression on his face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I looked up at him. "That we can't go to the restaurant we went to yesterday. I can't afford it, and I don't want you to have to buy my food."

"I'm just trying to be courteous," he gave me his sexy half smile.

"I know, and I appreciate it," I said slowly, treading cautiously. "I just want you to know that I can take care of myself."

"All right then," he nodded.

I smiled triumphantly and we exited the elevator. We found a quaint little cafe a block or so from the office and got something to eat. We talked mindlessly about work and weather. I avoided asking him what was wrong (the inkling that something was off continued to plague me)- I felt it inappropriate to ask my boss about his personal problems.

Granted, Ian would have probably waved it off as me being a decent friend, but it was within work hours. I couldn't think of him as Ian. He had to be Mr. Everett.

Unfortunately.

I wanted to get to know him as a person and not my boss. He was hard to read, cool and confident in his mannerisms, but warm in his interactions. I toyed the idea of asking him to drinks, but it was time to go back to work by the time I had worked up enough courage to.

The day passed quickly, Conor peeking his head around the separator on occasion to say something witty or ask me how I was doing. At the end of the day, as I was leaving, he stopped me.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" He grinned. I glanced at Ian's office. The blinds were shut, and had been since right after we'd returned from lunch.

"Nope, why?" I slid my bag onto my shoulder.

"You want to go get drinks?" Conor had an expression of faint hopefulness across his eyes.

"Sure, why not?" I smiled. His face lit up. "Just a second."

I walked over to Ian's office and tapped on the glass door. A muffled welcome came through the barrier, so I slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. He sat up when he saw me, seemingly surprised.

"Hey," I said softly, smiling a little. "I'm heading out for the night. Getting drinks. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah," he nodded, looking sort of frustrated and entirely exhausted. "I'll see you then."

"Don't stay too late," I winked at him and he grinned cutely. I wasn't sure a man that sexy had it in him to be cute, but he did it.

"Good night, Gemma," he chuckled.

"Night, Ian," I shut the door and left with Conor. I texted Elle and Conor urged me to invite her, so she met us at the bar.

When the night ended, I laid in bed, thinking about Ian. How the hell was it possible that he got himself stuck in my head?