Conflict of Interest (Employee Relations Book 1) (9 page)

Four days of living together is all it took for me to figure out his routine. I don’t have to look to know exactly what’s going on, down to the position. Alright, so he told me his lineup, but I would have figured it out relatively quickly.

Monday’s and Wednesday’s are some girl named Molly – she’s a bartender at a pub near Faneuil Hall. Then there’s Shannon - Ms. Thursday. I’m sure he told me what she does or how they met but thankfully my brain is blocking out the details. On the weekends it’s whatever random girl he finds worthy of bringing back, puts on a cheesy movie and then makes out with them on the couch like they’re in junior high. I’m no saint but he’s definitely a pig. I can only imagine what a black light in the living room would reveal.

Why anyone would juggle more than one relationship when even that’s more trouble than it’s worth is beyond me. Guarantee it’s only a matter of time before they find out about each other and shit blows up in his face.

That’s another reason I cut my losses with Dara before moving. I don’t cheat. Never have, never will. And I avoid complications at all cost…which is damn near impossible when it comes to women. Despite my arrangement with Dara, which stemmed from convenience—or rather my drive to excel in my career instead of chasing tail and still satisfy my more primitive needs—I at least know that.

I head to my room, lugging my bag and guzzling my beer along the way. Annoying as it may be, this situation is only temporary and I plan to spend as little time here as possible. I can manage anything for a couple of months.

As if I need one more distraction, my phone buzzes with a call from an international number. Just what I need. Scowling at my phone is a waste of time. I wouldn’t know what to say even if I wanted to answer, which I don’t. It’s been eight years and nothing can undo the past.

Nothing.

I send the call to voicemail and set my phone on my dresser. I’ll have to remember to delete the message when I get out. The last thing I need is another reminder of how relationships of any kind are more trouble than they’re worth. Even the ones that are supposed to come naturally.

I hang up my clothes, grab an old T-shirt and some sweats and take a shower. By the time I’ve finished, the apartment is nearly silent, save for the faint squeaking of my roommate’s bed.
At least the living room is safe for another ten minutes.
I grab another beer from the fridge and turn on the TV, being sure to sit in the chair next to the couch, and crank up the volume. The Celtics game just started but he’s a basketball fan. I’ll be trapped with him for at least three hours once he’s done and bonding with him is worse than having to interact with Gabriella, so I settle on something else.

One and a half episodes of Mad Men later, Molly strolls out of the bedroom, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way out. She’s an attractive girl. What she sees in him is beyond me. Glancing at my watch, I note it’s way past her usual timeslot.

The door to the apartment closes behind her and the maggot comes out and drops onto the couch, sitting as close to me as possible.

“We keep you up?” he punches me in the shoulder and barks out an annoying laugh.

“You could say that.”

“Sorry, not sorry, man.” He leans toward me, belting out a deep, throaty chuckle, and punches my arm again.

Tomorrow’s priorities just changed. First on my list—find my own place to live.

I toss back the rest of my drink and shrug him off. “To each their own, mate.”

“I know, I know. You’re a proper English gentleman and I’m an asshole.” He says this with pride as he walks to the kitchen and grabs two beers from the fridge. “Not to worry though. Molly and Shannon know about each other. You’d be surprised by how much worse some of my friends are.” He laughs, handing me a bottle which I begrudgingly accept. “This one friend of mine, he’s had this gorgeous sidepiece for about a year. He’s getting married in like six months and he’s not gonna end it with the other chick till right before the wedding. Got it all planned out with a trip and everything. So you see…I’m not so bad.”

The last thing I want to do right now is listen to him drone on about the weekly blow-by-blow of his sexual conquests, or explain to him the difference between being English and Irish. Still, it’s his apartment not mine and conversation with him doesn’t require much participation or thought. Biding my time until the next commercial break when I can casually ditch him, I nod when I should and then excuse myself.

I fire up my laptop and get comfortable on my bed. By 2AM I’ve spent hours on self-paced product training and attempting to clean out my inbox. I’m exhausted. I haven’t had a major change in a few years and I’ve forgotten how draining it can be. Not that my thoughts have been solely focused on work.

A good deal of the emails are from Gabriella, which immediately conjure up images of her looking at me over her shoulder while leaning across her desk. Sitting across the hall from a beautiful woman is one thing. Having that woman be untouchable, who’s role is the bane of my existence and who will likely be analyzing every move I make, is a whole different story.

I should apologize or at the very least quit being an asshole to her. As much as I know that, I won’t. What value could she possibly add other than to be a meddling distraction? I’ve gotten to where I am on my own and I plan to keep it that way. I don’t need or want her help. At least not in a professional way, and it’s thoughts like this that will keep me from getting to Senior Vice President.

Distance from her is what I need.

I click on the first message but don’t get too far. At the top corner of the email is her picture. Great. She’s stunning in person and photogenic too. I click out of the email and delete it before moving on to the next one. I get through two emails before her names pops up again. Seeing her name repeatedly in my inbox inhibits my concentration. I sort my email by sender and highlight everything from her. I momentarily wondered if they contained important information and nearly laugh. Event reminders and an invitation to the fun committee are likely what I’d find.

I right-click over the group of emails and delete them all.