Into You Series: The Complete Collection

5. Grace

CHAPTER 5

GRACE

M y first week on the job flies by in a whirlwind of meetings, lunches, and learning the names of people I know I won’t remember for at least a few months. But I love every second of it—the PowerPoint presentations showing projects they’ve produced, the binders upon binders of sketches and design briefs, and even the catered lunches are to die for. I ask too many questions, I’m sure, but my desk neighbor, Gary, is happy to answer any inquiries I have. Plus, sometimes he rewards me with candy from the jar of gummy bears at his desk.

It wasn’t until Friday that I finally touched my computer and tablet, but even that didn’t last very long because five o’clock rolled around.

And then it was the sacred Beer Friday.

My team members closed their laptops right on the dot, exiting the design team’s bullpen, and congregating toward the back of the office warehouse. The young, beautiful receptionist who I now know as Saria walked in and rolled a finger at me to follow her.

If Treasuries Inc. could have a chapel, it would be this warehouse. The back of the building holds no production or storage but is simply dedicated to the glorious celebration of alcohol. Ten beer pong tables are spread out. Bars to both the left and right of the entrance feature handles for craft beer on tap, shelves of wine, and rows of displayed shots with unique names like “Speed of Light” and “Down the Hatch.”

Who even comes up with this stuff?

Saria leads me around and introduces me to more people I won’t remember: Sales guys who eyeball me a bit too close for comfort, the accounting team that’s shy yet seemingly genuine, and customer service, which mostly consists of outgoing individuals who chatter too loudly for my tastes. Eventually, Saria eyes the bar, takes my order, and goes to file in line. Thanks to that, I’m left to fend for myself.

Great.

Over the course of this week, I’ve gotten very good at pep talking myself into anything I need to do. Que sera, sera! I’m not just some awkward new girl sitting in the back corner desk. I’m a bold, fiery redhead with important things to say. Things that will get me remembered. And now is the best time to prove that.

My phone buzzes and I look at it. My chest sinks. It’s a text from Joe. I’d gotten accustomed to his constant barrage of emails, and I was getting comfortable with the routine of no longer receiving texts. But like most things in his life, that must not have been good enough for him.

Joe: Let’s meet up.

I almost respond, but no.

He will not ruin tonight.

I will not wallow over how much I miss him, and how much I hate myself for missing him.

My frustration takes over and I pocket my phone so roughly it almost brings my pants down past my hips.

This is my night.

I look around and spot the tallest man in the room. I’m kind of tall myself, and even taller with my combat boots on. I settled back into my default attire once I realized that Treasuries Inc.’s business casual policy is heavy on the ‘casual.’

But, regardless of my height with said boots, this man is still intimidating. And that’s exactly what I need. If I approach the most intimidating person here, then I have conquered Beer Friday.

Beer Friday will be mine.

I make my way over to him and almost start talking, but behind this guy’s tall, muscular frame, I see the one man I have attempted to avoid all week: my boss, Cameron Kaufman.

It was bad enough I insulted him before I even knew who he was, but every time I see his beautiful, sharp jawline move as he produces wonderful words during meetings, I slink my way back to my corner desk and pretend to be reading whatever documents I’ve been given that day.

I’ve noticed a couple things about Mr. Cameron Kaufman during my week-long observations. I’ve noticed that his hair is always perfectly tousled. I’ve noticed that he keeps his face shaved with the perfect amount of brown stubble. And although every other employee dresses in casual wear—including myself with my no-nonsense combat boots—I’ve realized he veers more on the business side of things with his charming denim tops and clean-cut chinos.

Even now, as he stands here with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a beer, a small smile plays on his face and just beneath the stubble, I spot a hint of dimples. Good lord almighty above, I swear by the Beer Friday gods, this man is beyond the appropriate levels of attractiveness.

I have a plan, though.

Confidence, Grace.

I will step in and say super fun, interesting things to make me immediately likable. They’ll be laughing in no time.

But when I nudge into the circle, an odd silence falls over the two of them because I am just too stunned by Cameron’s Cameron-ness. Thankfully, the tall man turns, and I recognize him.

“Ian!” I say, relief washing over me. Ramona’s brother is a breath of fresh air.

“Grace!” he says, his long arm swallowing me in a side hug while he balances a small plate of food in the other hand. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say, glancing around. My eyes stop on Cameron. He’s smiling at me, sly but debonair. I didn’t even know it was possible to be charming without saying a single word.

“No drink?” Ian asks, nodding to my empty hands.

“Saria is in line.” I point my thumb toward the bar.

We all turn to look, but it’s one of those unnecessary head turns that just gives us something to do.

Awkward.

“I should get a refill too,” Cameron says, speaking for the first time. “I have to start my shift soon anyway.”

“Shift?” I ask. If I’m going to be awkward, I’ll just go the whole nine yards. That’s me: pushy human extraordinaire.

“He’s been late to work too many times,” Ian says. “He got in trouble with HR and now he’s a volunteer.”

“It’s not really volunteering if you’re being forced to do it, right?” I ask, and Cameron smirks. “So, are you normally late to work?”

His eyebrows scrunch together.

Crap.

There I go again. Putting my foot in my mouth. But, hey, he was smiling and I panicked! What do you expect me to do?

Ian laughs, but Cameron doesn’t show the same appreciation of my humor.

“I mean …” I laugh. Yeah, I screwed up this time. “I just?—”

“No, I’m only late on the days new hires get here at nine a.m.” he says, sarcasm dripping down his lips. “It’s like I wake up and think, ‘Nah, I don’t need that responsibility in my life right now,’ and then I toss right on over.”

He’s trying to joke. Good. I can do this.

“And do you normally trick new hires into thinking you’re someone else as well?” I retort, cheeks flushing at his biting remark.

“Excuse me?” Ian asks, raising his eyebrows to his hairline and chuckling. “Is there a story here?”

“Call it a test of character,” Cameron says, ignoring Ian and holding his drink up to me in a toast. “And I have a question: Do you normally insult your bosses on your first day?”

“I’ve generally had bosses that arrive on time,” I shoot back, crossing my arms with a smirk. “In fact, isn’t it called ‘leading by example?’”

I think we’re joking, but honestly, I’m not sure anymore.

“Maybe I prefer a different approach to management,” he says, crossing his arms in a mocking motion to mirror me, his beer bottle hanging from between his fingers.

“And what would that be?”

“Shaming employees into submission,” he says, and I wonder if there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

I also feel a pull between my legs at the idea of submission. I like that word coming out of his mouth.

“And how is that working out for you?” I ask.

Cameron’s eyes narrow.

Ian’s eyes dart between the two of us, amused. He holds out his free hand for a high five. “I almost forgot why Ramona likes you.”

I’m not sure if joking with my direct supervisor in such a way was exactly a good thing to do, but the in-house lawyer is congratulating me, so I guess I’m not fired.

Yet.

I land the high five and keep looking at Cameron, who’s shaking his head back and forth. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble one day,” he says.

“So I’ve been told.”

Maybe I’m just imagining it, but I swear for a second, I see his eyes dart down to my lips and then back up. It’s subtle, but I can feel the heat rising up my body beneath his gaze. It’s intoxicating; I wonder if he knows just how much tension he can put on a person. Or if he even cares.

“I’ll see you later,” he says to Ian, patting him on the shoulder before turning back to me. “And you, Holmes”—he points at me—“might want to spend the weekend getting that attitude under control.”

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if this is a request from a boss or a warning, but all I can think to say is, “I’ll get right on that.”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk and stalks off.

Oh yeah.

Beer Friday is totally mine.