I went to my desk and laid my head down for a couple minutes, deciding that I should surgically sew my mouth shut.
By the time lunch rolled around, I’d managed to keep a low profile and avoid any contact with Brogan. As soon as Jackson returned from his lunch break, I grabbed my PB and J and beelined it toward the staff room. Zelda was already there, along with a few other people that I recognized, but couldn’t remember their names.
“How’s it going, newbie?” With her, it came out as a term of endearment, unlike Jackson’s words laced with malice.
“Better today. Just trying to not put my foot in my mouth.”
“You get any more clients?” Zelda was the only other person at the company who seemed interested in my role with the firm. Apparently, it wasn’t common that a second assistant received clients (or so she’d told me), but with my thesis focusing on social media, and endorsement from HR, Brogan had decided to take a chance and give me an opportunity to prove myself.
I frowned. “No.” Not that I’d complain, because one client was a heck of a lot better than none, but my multi-task-loving self was itching to take on more.
“Don’t worry. Brogan will see you’re doing a good job and give you more in no time.”
That was the plan. Keep my head down. Stop making stupid comments. I could at least manage one of those things. “Do you know much about him?” If anyone did, it would be Zelda. She was friends with everyone in the office and knew all the gossip. Like how the previous second assistant was canned due to the fact that she slurped her tea too loud for Jackson’s liking (on the DL, of course).
“Like what? He’s here a lot and likes the Seahawks. He sometimes wears a jersey on Friday’s during this time of year.” Both were things I knew and completely unhelpful in my quest for achieving total Brogan stalker-dom.
“What does he like to do outside the office?”
She looked at me, studying my face. I made sure to keep my expression impassive. “Why? You looking to ask him out?” She quirked a brow.
“No,” I stuttered, and heat plumed across my cheeks. Was it bad that ever since I’d first seen him, I’d had a reoccurring dream of our clothes pooled on the floor and our bodies pressed together on the couch in his office? Yes, very bad. But this question was for research purposes only. Like any business associate, the more I knew about him, the more I’d be able to play to my strengths, win him over, and earn more clients.
“I was just kidding. You saw the tattoos, though, huh?”
I nodded. Those were just one of many reasons why I was drawn to him. But it was more than Brogan’s looks that interested me. His mere presence in the same room captivated my attention, a magnetic pull that I couldn’t ignore. Kind of like how I felt when I listened to John Legend hit those falsetto notes. Mind-numbing would be the only way to describe it. Brogan turned my mind into a bumbling mass of mush.
“Honestly, I’d climb him like a fucking mountaineer if given the chance, employee manual or not.”
“Zelda!” I tore off a piece of my sandwich, not willing to admit that, yes, I wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment.
“What? He’s totally hot.”
I nodded. “Okay, yeah.”
“To answer your question—other than he’s a Seahawks fan and likes cinnamon in his coffee, that’s about it. He always loves hearing about everyone else, but keeps his personal life to himself.”
“How many years have you worked here?”
“Three.”
Wow. If she didn’t know anything, I doubted anyone else did—besides Jackson, and I definitely wasn’t going to pump him for information. How could a man hide everything about himself from people he saw every day? Then again, my dad did the same thing. I shuddered at the thought. Brogan was nothing like my dad. Probably.
“If you’re into the tattooed men, I have a few friends I can hook you up with. You should come out for drinks with us this weekend.”
Inside I was doing the happy dance at the fact that Zelda extended the invitation to hang out. Someone besides Zoey—because, let’s face it, after years of being best friends, she was obligated to hang out—wanted to spend time with me outside work. The initial high quickly deflated, though. Drinks meant money and money wasn’t something I was exactly rolling in at the moment. Fifteen dollar martinis added up pretty quickly in terms of what I could use toward Mom’s bills. “I’ll think about it,” I said.
Zelda nodded and took a bite of her tuna melt. “Just keep me posted. I’ll make sure Brent is there. He owns a tattoo shop downtown.” She wiggled her brows suggestively.
The thing was, I’d never really been into tattoos. In college, I’d dated clean-cut guys that most people would consider all-American, none of them lasting more than a couple months. In fact, I was pretty sure I was only into Brogan’s, which was both stupid and a tad bit problematic. Because how could I focus on work when I was lusting after my boss? Not that I was lusting after him.