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“Was there anything else?” I asked.
He took a moment to reply, and my eyes briefly swept over his body, remembering how firm and strong he felt under my hands.
“You look stressed,” he said finally.
“Thank you. That’s exactly what a lady wants to hear.”
“No, I—” he cut himself off, shaking his head. For a second he looked…almost uncertain. “You seem more stressed than usual. Rochelle asked me if you were mad at her.”
“Who the fuck is Rochelle?”
“An intern,” Cameron explained. “She said youslammed the door, and I think she’s afraid she did something to upset you. She wondered if she was about to be fired.”
Right, Rochelle Fitzgerald, the college student majoring in advertising. Today wasn’t my day, because I usually remembered the names of all my interns.
“I didn’t slam the door, it was just an accident. I’m not going to fire Rochelle. Where would she even get that idea?”
He shrugged. “All the interns are a little bit afraid of you.”
“Afraid of me?” I repeated, incredulously. Yes, I could tell they were nervous during interviews, but I always tried to be as friendly as possible to everyone.
Well, except for that day last week when I’d lost my temper a bit.
“You’re their boss,” Cameron said. “They look up to you. They don’t want to disappoint you.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“What about me?”
“Are you afraid of me?”
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “No.”
That didn’t surprise me. While other workers would sugar coat things, Cameron was always brutally honest with me.
“Do you look up to me?” I asked, half-joking.
“Of course,I do,” he replied.
I stared.
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Why do you look so surprised? You’re successful, smart, and hardworking. Of course I admire you.”
My cheeks warmed. I was used to praise from coworkers and clients, but from Cameron it felt different. Maybe it’s because he was always so relaxed and laid-back around me.
“Thank you,” I said, a little brusquely. I cleared my throat and forced my attention on my computer. “I should get back to work. I need to look at those mock-ups.”
Cameron didn’t go. “You didn’t give me a real answer, when I said you looked stressed.”
I met his gaze. “Of course I’m stressed. I’m stressed all the time, it’s a fact of life. Don’t worry about it.” My voice was sharp, but I was frustrated. He had walked into my office, acted like nothing had ever happened, then blurted out that he admired me. I felt confused, on edge, and yes, stressed, because I had a pile of work to get through and he was wasting my time, standing here talking to me.
“You should relax,” he said.
I barked a laugh. Telling someone tojust relaxwas like telling a sick person tojust get better.
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
To prove my point, I returned to my work, my fingers flying across the keyboard. He was still in the office but I ignored him, and eventually, I saw him start to walk awayin the corner of my eye. But when he arrived at my door, instead of leaving, he locked it, and the sound of it echoed in the silent room.