Page 27 of Cakes for the Grump

A flutter starts in my chest. He hasn’t been completely absorbed in his own work as I thought he was. He watches me and learns, even when I don’t notice it. How perceptive and shark-like this man must be.

Flutters flutter harder. It’s an early warning system. While I was lulled into false security during these morning interludes, he was plotting ways to launch a tea offensive. I take another sip. Aperfecttea offensive. Why does it taste better than when I make it myself? Maddening.

With nothing else to say, I thank him stiffly for the tea. He barely nods before going back to his reports, though I swear there is a slight curve to his mouth as he does.

I won’t let him win,I decide.Even if he makes me tea every morning.

Those are fighting words I have to repeat back to myself because he does keep having tea ready for me when I get in. Thankfully though, the blessed weekend arrives, and I’m able to momentarily escape the manipulations I must endure at work.

Over the weekend, I brainstorm more ideas for the CUM competition and get bullied again by Janice. It’s also Mrs. Milla’s birthday. For her gift, I gave her the spa certificate Luke gave me.

Then come Monday, I will myself to not be affected by the tea. It works. We go on as normal for the brief time we share together.

Tuesday arrives and it’s more the same—except Ifeelhim looking at me, though when I try to catch him mid-stare, he is thumbing through his reports, his mouth a flat line.

Perhaps work is being difficult, or maybe he is frustrated that I have acclimatized to our morning ritual and no further inroads on his end are being made.

Wednesday, I sit down, and we are both silently having our tea, when he puts down his pen and pushes something over without looking up.

Moisturizer.

“So you don’t get your skin cells all over my furniture,” he says before I can ask.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hands. You scratch them.”

My fingers. They remain dull and dry due to the cleaningpoison Janice makes me use. The juncture between my finger and thumb is the most reddish, as that’s where I itch from time to time. My skin is always on the verge of a reaction these days.

The moisturizer is a formulation of aloe vera but not one I’ve seen in the drugstores before. Even this basic product looks expensive. I stare at it, wondering if it’s another bribe. If I’m not careful, I’ll be tricked into thinking my boss is considerate. Not knowing what else to say, I settle for this very appetizing statement: “You don’t like extra protein falling into your food? I bet it would add a taste of much neededumamito your otherwise lacking diet.”

He spares me a disturbed look. “Your palette is crass.”

“Yours is unrefined.”

“Just get rid of your ghastly skin condition. For the sake of my sanity.”

“Does imperfection disturb you that much?”

“No,” says Luke. “That itching noise does.”

We both return to our tea, but after a few moments have passed, I subtly draw my nails back and forth across the table. A new mannerism I’m testing out. One might call it Luke Repellent.

I see the moment he hears it. His shoulders stiffen and he grips his pen more tightly than normal. Eventually, there is some muttering of what might be a comment on immaturity.

Then, after another prolonged minute, Luke stands up. He gathers his belongings and leaves without saying another word.

Leaning back, I enjoy the alone time. Then after I finish my tea, I unscrew the moisturizer and put a thin film of the solution over my hands.

I groan. The coolness is incredible. I put on another coat and my senses puddle into relief.

Damn him.

I’ve got no long-termvested interest in getting close to my employer outside of us having a standard professional relationship where he continues to sponsor my work visa and deposit my pay on a biweekly schedule, however I have been raised with good manners.

“Thank you,” I tell him the next day.

“Okay.”