Professional Boundaries (11 page)

I had to stop myself from shivering, but goose bumps erupted. Darn him.

On that note, he walked toward my door laughing. He turned before he walked out. “I’m in 211B, just in case you wanted to know. And by the way, I welcome women into my apartment.”

Chapter 8

Just like that, he left. I so badly wanted to chuck something at his head. What an egotistical pig. For several minutes I just stood there in a stupor, surrounded by groceries that really needed to be put away and Charlie who kept rubbing up against my leg, begging for attention. Surely this wasn’t happening. The man was infiltrating every space of my life, and his whole “this has nothing to do with you” comment bugged me. Of course it wasn’t about me, but still.

When I came to, I called Amanda. She was probably sick of all the calls this week, but I knew she would want to hear about this turn of events; at least I wasn’t crying this time.

“Whaaaat!” She exclaimed.

“You heard me right.”

“I knew it.”

“You knew what?”

“He still has feelings for you.”

I adamantly disagreed with her for the hundredth time on the subject and told her about his “nothing to do with me” comment.

She just laughed. “Yep, he’s got it bad for you.”

“Did you just hear what I said?”

“Loud and clear, my dear sister. Hold on, I want to tell Zane.”

I could hear Zane laughing in the background as she told him, and then I heard him ask if he should come over and talk to the guy.

“Tell Zane that’s not necessary.”

“Well I think I’m going to come over; I want to see this guy for myself.”

“Amanda, you will do no such thing. Plus, you can meet him at the retirement party. And I expect you to keep your incorrect conjectures to yourself.”

“Oh honey, I’m not the wrong one here. Even Zane agrees with me.”

“Well then,
that
makes it all true.”

“So snarky this morning, Kelli Jelly.”

“Yeah, after the week I’ve had, snarky is the nicest of my emotions right now.”

She just laughed at me. “You know, I think this is good for you.”

“Really? Because I was thinking more along the lines of so freaking
not
good.”

“You needed a shakeup,” she said through her continued laughter. “You’ve been working too hard, and when was the last time you even went on a date?”

I thought for a moment. “It’s been a while, but FYI, I’m not going to be dating my boss who just happens to be my ex-boyfriend, who just happens not to want to date me, and oh yeah, I can’t stand him.”

“Ooh, I don’t know, I think I’m sensing some serious tension between the two of you and dating the boss could have its perks.”

“Get your head out of a trashy romance novel.”

“I know you’re a good girl, but come on, some stolen kisses in the copy room—it could work.”

I just laughed at her. “Well on that note, I’m going to go take a shower.”

I stayed in the shower until the water began to run lukewarm, planning on how to avoid Mr. 211B. Maybe it was time to go house hunting. Or husband hunting. I hadn’t been very successful in finding anyone that I felt was husband material; sure nice boyfriends, but not anyone that I wanted to spend forever with, with one exception, but we’re not talking about him. Besides, Ian no longer existed; now there was just the evil Mr. Greyson. When I got out of the shower, I decided to write a list of qualities I wanted in a husband. Like that would help.

Top Ten Husband Qualities (in no particular order)

1.  Gainfully employed.

2.  Good kisser.

3.  Must want children.

4.  A non-yes man.

5.  Handsome and well groomed.

6.  Must adore me.

7.  Someone that challenges me to be better.

8.  Preferably never married.

9.  Minimal baggage. See number 8.

10. Above all faithful to me.

That’s a good starting place
, I thought. Now if I could just find the right guy. I didn’t want perfection, I just wanted someone perfect for me. I took a magnet and pinned the list to the refrigerator. Maybe if I looked at it enough, he would magically appear. Uh huh.

I spent the rest of the weekend hiding out in my apartment, except I snuck out to go to church on Sunday. I probably looked like a fool as I tried to covertly exit and enter my apartment complex without being seen. Not like he was looking for me, but I just didn’t want to run into him. It was bad enough I had to see him every day at work, now we were practically neighbors too. He just lived across the courtyard in the higher priced buildings. From the apartment number, it sounded like he had one of the two-story apartments that came with large lofts. I just don’t know why he would choose to live in an apartment when he clearly had plenty of money. I guess I had plenty of money not to live here either, though.

Thankfully, I didn’t see him again for the rest of the weekend, but I woke up on Monday knowing that was all going to change. At least the sun was back out and it was going to be warm. The sound of birds chirping was like music to my ears as I got ready. I threw on some fabulously fitting jeans, a white dress shirt, and tan jacket. I accessorized my ensemble with turquoise jewelry and some sexy heels. It was a very springy outfit, and I even curled my hair and added some volume.

I walked into the office feeling pretty good. At least I looked good. Per usual, Delfia and Mr. Greyson were already there. I walked in to find Mr. Greyson giving directions to Ms. King on how he liked his appointments scheduled. He was very particular about spacing. I couldn’t help but smile a little. I had never met anyone who had given more thought to every aspect of his life than he had.

Delfia looked happy to see me. “Good morning,” she said with a hint of exasperation.

“Good morning, Delfia … Mr. Greyson.”

He looked at me and then he did a double take and looked at me from bottom to top. He didn’t return the greeting; in fact, he grimaced. “Jeans?” he practically snarled.

I didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a reply, but I could see Delfia’s eyes widen as I stalked off. Now he was the fashion police? I bet he was going to send out a memo about the dress code. He had already sent out several dealing with tardiness, proper break room etiquette, expense accounts, etc. As my laptop was coming up, I stewed again. This was not the way I wanted to start Monday morning, and I was tired of taking my licks from him. As soon as I heard him walk away and back into his own office, I marched myself right over to the adjoining door and threw it open.

He seemed surprised to see me.

I just started right in. “Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing today, Mr. Greyson?”

He set down the file he had in his hand. He took a few seconds to respond as he looked me over. “Ms. Bryant, as an executive in this organization you need to set the proper example.”

“We’re not in the nineteen fifties.”

“Jeans convey a lackadaisical approach to one’s job no matter what time period,” he said without apology.

“Is that the impression I’ve given you about how I approach my job?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I would appreciate if you would keep your opinions about how I dress to yourself. And just for the record, I never wear jeans when I meet with clients. Oh, and next time you want to let me know you’re unpleased with me, don’t do it front of Delfia or anyone else for that matter.” In a huff, I turned toward my office.

“Ms. Bryant, note the way that door swings. I expect you to use my main door, and I expect you to knock,” he sternly called out.

I didn’t even bother looking at him. “Duly noted, sir!”

I slammed the door. Welcome to Monday morning! I threw myself in my chair and stared coldly at the adjoining door and mocked his words in my head. “Note which way that door swings.” Well, if he thought he could use that door just to walk into my office, he had another thing coming to him. I decided it was time to do some rearranging of furniture in my office. I eyed the credenza to the right of the door and thought,
perfect
. I took off all of my awards that graced the top and emptied the contents so it would be easier to move. I began pushing it over, but that wasn’t working so well. I way underestimated how heavy it was.

After several minutes of pushing and only moving it an inch, I walked over to my door and peeked out; thankfully, I found Delfia by herself at her desk. I quietly motioned for her to come into my office. She looked at me strangely, but she complied.

I quietly closed my door. “I need you to help me move my credenza over,” I whispered.

I’m pretty sure she thought I had lost my mind, but she agreed. It took all of our combined strength, but we finally did it. Now it sat centered right in front of the door.

 I stepped back and admired our handiwork. “Thank you.”

She started laughing and shaking her head. “You know it’s the kids that suffer when the parents fight.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “We’re not fighting.”

“Oh, you just raise your voice now when you talk to the boss and slam doors? And you just decided on a whim to move your credenza?”

“Thank you, Delfia,” I said as I showed her out my door.

“Yep, it’s going to get interesting around here,” she said as she walked out.

That was an understatement
, I thought as I placed everything back in and on the credenza. By the time I got to answering email, I was exhausted. Stupid man. I was so tempted to pull up my resume and begin polishing it, but I hated to see all the hard work I had put into the marketing software get turned over to him. And I had a feeling if I left, others would leave too, and I didn’t want Boss to worry about his company. It was only 8:30, and I had a headache. I popped a couple of Tylenol and rubbed my temples. My sister was so wrong; this wasn’t good for me at all.

I didn’t have to see him until that afternoon when we had a meeting with all of our account managers. About an hour before the meeting, I heard a knock on the adjoining door. I looked up and just grinned as I saw the door knob twist, and it kept twisting. It made my day at least for a minute or two. It didn’t take too long and there was a knock on my other door. I sighed. I knew who it was, but I had no choice but to say, “Come on in.”

He stepped in. “Ms. Bryant, there seems to be something wrong with the door. It wouldn’t …” He looked over.

“Looks good to me,” I quipped.

He turned back toward me, and before he could say a word, I cut him off at the pass. “I did some rearranging today, do you like it?”

“Not particularly.” He frowned.

I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled innocently at him. “I guess you can add it to the ever-growing list of things you don’t like about me or how I do things. Anyway, what can I help you with, Mr. Greyson?”

“Kell— Ms. Bryant, I don’t have time to address that comment at this moment, but believe me I will. Right now we need to go over the agenda for the managers meeting, and I need to get some sales numbers from you.”

I motioned for him to have a seat, and we discussed the agenda; we only disagreed on a few points. He kept pinching the bridge of his nose. Apparently I gave him a headache like he gave me one. I almost offered him some Tylenol, but then I thought he deserved to suffer. Then we went over sales numbers and goals. It got a little contentious as we haggled about where those numbers should be and the proper sales goals, but we eventually ended up on the same page as we each gave in a little.

“It’s important we show a united front and convey we’re a team, Ms. Bryant,” he said as we got ready to leave for our meeting. 

“I guess you want to be team captain.”

He laughed slightly. “That’s what I’ve been hired to do.”

“I suppose so.”

On that note, we walked down together to face the troops.

He stopped me on the landing. “I couldn’t have asked for a better co-captain, Ms. Bryant.”

“I don’t know whether to believe you or not, but thank you.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” he said sincerely.

“Hmm …”

“What?”

I sighed. “Nothing, let’s just get this meeting over with.”

He just looked at me for a moment, and I looked into those brown eyes of his. I sighed again and then continued walking down the stairs. Maybe he hadn’t ever really lied to me, but when you tell someone daily how much you’re crazy for them and then all of a sudden just stop for no real reason, it kind of seems like a lie. But that was ancient history, right?

The meeting went better than I expected. I tried my best to soften Mr. Greyson’s rigid, no-nonsense way of putting things. I was proud that I did it without once contradicting him. Instead I used humor and charm to get our point across. Honestly, I agreed with a lot of his ideas and plans, I just hated his delivery. His brilliance was being masked by his seriousness.
If he would just lighten up
, I thought. But then the thought made me sad because I used to make it my job to get him to do just that.

I was exhausted by the time I got home. I had a hunch I would be feeling that way a lot now. Working with Mr. Greyson was emotionally taxing, and if I had to keep moving furniture, it was going to be physically taxing as well. I laughed to myself thinking about him trying to open that door. Even though I was exhausted, I was going to belly dancing class. I needed some happy endorphins.

It worked marvelously too. I loved our little instructor, Roslyn, from Panama. Her favorite phrases were, “Sexy ladies, show your body who’s boss,” “Pop that booty ladies,” and my favorite, “Check those inhibitions at the door ladies.” I knew I would never look as good as her, but for an hour I could pretend that I was some exotic, graceful dancer, all while burning calories. It was a win-win situation.