Page 61 of Kiss and Tell

My heart sped up. People in the office knew about Connor?

“Yes,” I said carefully. “I’ve been working with his brother.”

“It seems like Walter Moore is planning for something bigger than just what he can take care of on his own,” the executive said.

“Bigger?” I asked. “Like what?”

“There’s no concrete details yet,” my boss Charlotte replied. “But if you do a good job on this one, you might end up bringing a lot of new work to the company.”

This was the first I’d heard of it. Neither Connor or Jessie had said anything about further work.

Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe it was only Walt who had been talking to my bosses. He certainly hadn’t been talking to me. I still hadn’t spoken a word with the man, which was worrying. Did he want to renovate the sketchy dive bar after all? Was that the new work they were talking about?

How long would I be working with Connor?

How long until we were no longer colleagues? How long until we were just two normal people, a guy and a girl who had met at a bar?

“If you’re finding the Walter Moore project too daunting, I’m more than willing to take over that extra work for you,” Peter said.

I bit down on my tongue to keep from bursting out with an expletive.

“I’m handling the Moore project just fine,” I said.

The thought of Peter taking on any new work from Walt, of meeting with him, or Jessie, or heaven forbid, Connor himself, made my stomach churn. I didn’t want him anywhere near them.

The meeting moved on while I sat there fuming, but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t in the mood to try and contribute. It was better if I stayed silent and didn’t betray how out of sorts I was.

When we were dismissed I gathered my pen and notebook and went back to my office. I was one of the few people at my career level with my own office. Technically it was supposed to be shared, but my office mate had moved to a different department and they’d never replaced her.

I enjoyed the privacy. It was easier to think when I didn’t have to hear the clacking of someone else typing on a keyboard or talking loudly into their phone on a personal call.

I’d just entered my office when I heard someone close the door behind me. I turned to find Peter standing there, in between me and the closed door, trapping us in together.

“What do you want?” I asked, dread rising in my chest. “Coming here to offer to take more work off my hands? Work that I’m sure you’ll just foist off on me anyway and take credit for?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” A sly look crossed his face. “But I am presenting a proposal to a client next week. I’d like your input.”

The implication was clear.

I gritted my teeth. I was getting sick of his shit. How far did I want to push him?

“No,” I said. “I told you, I’ve got my own work.”

“The Moore project, hm?” Peter asked. “You’ve been working on it for a while. Are you sure you’re not having any trouble?”

“It’s going fine,” I bit out.

“If it’s going fine, then I’m sure you’ll have some time to look over my proposal,” he said. “I’ll email you the details. It’s due on Friday.”

Before I could spit out a reply, Peter opened the door and strode out, leaving me alone and fuming.

Connor had been right when he’d called the man a fucking rat bastard.

My phone pinged with the email notification chime. Had Peter sent the details already? I knew he would have been circumspect about it. His subject lines were always some variation of,here’s the info you asked for, orjust to keep you in the loop. He never outright confessed to anything in writing.

With angry, jerking movements I yanked out my office chair, sat down heavily and jabbed my fingers on the keyboard to enter my password and open my email account. I almost felt bad for my poor abused laptop.

But it wasn’t an email from Peter. It was an email from Connor.