Page 28 of Try Me
A shadow crossed Mark’s face. “Not exactly.” He quickly tempered the morose expression, looking away as he yanked open one of his desk drawers and rummaged around in it. “So you reading case reports was worthy of that bullshit cloak-and-dagger text last night?”
His irritable grumbling was sweeter than the chocolate-glazed donut I’d snatched from the front desk this morning—this time along with a napkin. “Not really. It just amused me.”
I’d texted him that I’d found something for our project and had then gone to take a shower, only to come back and find a series of escalating return texts.
Mark:What is it?
Mark:Really? Just going to dangle like that?
Mark:JFC. C’mon.
Mark:Do you know how annoying that is?
I’d wanted to tell him it was about as annoying as his ties, but instead I made the extremely mature decision to reply with: “I’ll show you tomorrow. Busy rn.” When he didn’t reply, I envisioned him clutching his phone, face darkening with indignation the way it used to when we were younger and I’d steal the ball from him just as he went to make his shot, so fucking certain he had the points in the bag.
I dropped a sheet of paper on his desk, which he studied for a moment before giving me a blank look. “I’m sorry, is this—” He turned the paper one way, then another. “English? Cyrillic?”
“Quit pretending you’d recognize Cyrillic, jackass.” Okay, so my handwriting left a little to be desired, but it’d been late. “While I was reading those cases, I started picking up on some references to previous cases that PB&W tried. So then I started making a list. I figured we could go to the file room later and pull them, see if we find anything else. At the least, I’m betting they’d be good to have as part of our case research. It’ll show that we’ve been thorough and we’re paying attention.”
Mark stared down at the list, then shrugged. “Okay.”
“Okay?” That was it? I snatched the paper away from him. “How about a ‘thank you for sacrificing your precious time and sleep for the good of our team?’”
Mark lifted a brow. “Always comes back to that, doesn’t it, making sure everyone’s aware of how hard you work.”
My blood pressure flared, and the back of my neck heated, probably as he intended. But then Mark folded his arms over the desk, leaned in with a smirk, and the heat in my neck started trickling down south at the mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Thank you, Pynch. I truly appreciate your hard,hardwork.”
It should’ve made me even more furious. The faux pandering tone, the way his eyes widened slightly—which somehow accentuated the tiny dimple capping his smirk. How he dropped his voice to a confidential rumble that begged me to lean in, too. Instead, I got hard right there in the middle of the office with sunlight blazing against one side of my face and Houston and Liza laughing at some dumb YouTube video about penguins doing the luge.
And then he continued. “Which is why I’ll be sure to let the higher-ups know how helpful you were when they offer me that slot next summer.”
In an exemplary moment of scientific anomaly, my circulatory system underwent a massive and swift reversal, the heat draining from my balls and flowing like an upward Nile of fury back to my cheeks and ears. I pressed my lips together, refusing to fume and let him get to me. It was a basic jab, and I was no basic bitch. It wasn’t even particularly creative. But I’d been up until almost 3 a.m. after working at both the firm and taking on a last-minute shift at Fuego. So in that moment of weakness, I regressed a decade, opening my mouth and fucking parroting his last sentence back at him in a Pee-wee Herman-esque I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I tone.
Then I shoved my desk chair back and stalked off to find some coffee.
In the break room, Barrett glanced up from the coffee maker where he was pouring grounds. Because why shouldn’t he be there to add a little extra shit seasoning to my morning. I awaited his snark as I opened the cabinet in search of a mug, but he only looked me up and down before saying, “Respect.”
I stared at him. “What’s that mean?”
He shrugged one shoulder and pressed the button on the machine before swiveling around and resting his hip against the counter. “Fired up’s a pretty good look on you. Who pissed you off? Please say Harris.”
“I don’t even know Harris,” I grumbled.
“If you make it through the summer that way, consider yourself lucky.” He mock shuddered.
“What’s so bad about Harris?” I asked, and he was clearly delighted I’d been baited.
“Excessive use of Axe body spray for one.”
“That you know with any certainty it’s Axe body spray is a little damning, wouldn’t you say?”
“Circumstantially, perhaps.” Barrett raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.”
“I’ve used it. I’ll bet you have, too.” I had no idea why I was arguing with him, but it was leeching the steam from me, so there was that. Barrett was a pest, but I’d figured out he was mostly bark.
“Objection. Hearsay.”
I almost laughed. “Tell the truth. You’re on the witness stand now. Don’t perjure yourself.”