Harley and Ry Are Just Coworkers

Chapter One

My grand entrance into the office had not turned out as planned.

The image I had in my mind was of a confident, chic, professional woman walking in like she owned the place; she would have all the corporate workers wrapped around her finger, turning heads as she walked, even as she refused to make eye contact with all the people that she deemed below her.

In reality, my navy-blue business blazer had a wrinkle that even an iron couldn't undo, and my nude four-inch heels tripped on the carpet. Luckily, I did not go flying face first walking in Monday morning. However, several executives definitely saw me trip on the ugly striped carpet in the lobby.

Graceful.

In reply to their knowing smirks, I gave them my best sneer. It may have looked like I was in pain instead, though, since several of them came over and asked if I was okay. At least I had tried.

I shook them off, attempting to regain control of the situation. Politely, I breathed out, "I'm fine." Although the looks on their smug faces didn't seem to think so.

I shrugged it off and began the ever-long trek to my corner office. The entire twelfth floor was Drummond News, my second home for the past three years. The design team for the office went with an open floor plan—surprise, surprise—in order to keep us all interconnected. More like so we could all eavesdrop on each other's conversations. It wasn't extraordinarily hip like some other offices in San Francisco, but it did have some charm. Big wall to wall windows with views of the towering buildings in downtown and even some slight glimpses of the San Francisco Bay. Exposed wood lined the room to create a homey feel as if we would want to stay here for longer than our working hours.

As I continued to walk through the bright office—the blaring lights to wake us all up—I tried to ignore the looks of pity from my coworkers. As if I was doing a walk of shame.

I made eye contact with one of my only tolerable coworkers and best friend, Melanie, and she nodded at me as if urging me to get through this day. I made a dramatic gesture pretending to have been shot in the chest by a bullet and Mel laughed. But only for a second. She immediately looked around at her cellmates in the other cubicles, self-conscious, and mimicked their stoic expressions.

I didn't trip again on my way to my desk, making it in one whole piece. Truly a miracle. I sat down in the drab office chair, swiveling around to look at the view outside. As if the weather gods knew it was Monday, they sent some dreadfully dull fog over the city of San Francisco, drizzle was lining the window. It matched my mood, I supposed.

I rotated back to my desk, which was clean and neat. The white desk was filled with only a silver desktop computer, some trendy green succulents, and a candle I could never burn but pretended that it provided ambiance. I had a small mirror that I looked into it to make sure I was looking decent. My brown eyes stared back at me; I lined them with eyeliner and added heavy mascara on. I wanted to look fierce. I patted down some of my stray brown hairs that had fallen out of line and placed them back to where they should have been. My hair tumbled down to my collar bones, but I had my hair in a half up-half down style, so it didn't feel too heavy.

Before I could even log in to my computer, I heard a quiet knock on my office door. Luckily, as the only local news journalist for this office, I managed to avoid the cubicle life and snagged a prime office. Or, at least, an office. It was pretty small, just big enough that it could probably fit two desks, two chairs, and one window for glimpses out to the City.

I looked up to the source of the knock. It was the Drummond News receptionist, Linda. Like a chic librarian, she had her hair in a bun, red lipstick, and black thick-rimmed glasses. Linda—who was a sweet enough coworker—looked hesitant of me. Poor thing.