Professional Boundaries (20 page)

I just shook my head. “I can’t do that.”
Especially under the circumstances.

She looked at me like I should be pitied, and she even touched my cheek like she was my mother or something, except my mother was never so gentle and kind.

“Kelli, it’s about time for you and Mr. Greyson to come out of the closet,” she snickered.

I just shook my head at that ridiculous statement. I was beginning to think everyone had gone crazy. The notion that Mr. Greyson had feelings for me was, not to use an “Alexa” word, but it was silly. Right?

She smiled kindly. “Come on now,” she said. “Neither of you are fooling anyone.”

I opened the bathroom door and marched out. I didn’t need this today. It only added to my befuddlement, and now I was beyond furious. I knew that Ms. Manselle was bad news, I just couldn’t believe Mr. Greyson was taken in by the bimbo. And who was Alexa conspiring with, and what plan was she talking about?

I sat down at my desk and rubbed my head. Delfia just grinned at me as she walked out.

My head began to pound, so I took two Tylenol as my laptop came up. Of course, well enough couldn’t be left alone.

Mr. Greyson popped in. “Your presentation looks good. I just tweaked it a little.” He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. It wasn’t like him to act in such a way. “So … would you like to drive together?”

I bit my lip and mulled it over. Maybe I should. What Delfia told me was getting to me. Alexa really did need to be fired, and the ride over would allow me to talk to him. “Sure,” was all I said, but it was enough to make him grin from ear to ear.

“I think we should leave at 9:45,” he said through his smile.

I just shook my head in agreement. Then I shook my head in disgust with myself. What was I thinking?

The next couple of hours were practically pointless. The only thing productive I accomplished was saying goodbye to my family as they waited for their plane to leave Nashville International. My nieces were so excited, I wondered how they would do on the plane. I reminded them, though, that they promised to bring me back something pretty, like Prince Charming. They giggled and promised they wouldn’t forget. I wanted to talk to Amanda and Zane about what Delfia told me, but I was afraid I would be overheard, and I didn’t need anyone else telling me I should be with Mr. Greyson this morning. Instead, I just said my goodbyes and told them I loved them.

I already missed them.

At 9:30 I freshened up and tried to do some relaxation techniques before Mr. Greyson came retrieve me. I was more nervous about driving with him than presenting before a billion dollar institution, an institution that could put my software on the map if we played our cards right.

But 9:45 came and went. It was very unlike Mr. Greyson to be late, he was often early, so at 9:50 I thought maybe there was a miscommunication and he was waiting on me. I retrieved just my purse, because he was driving and we were using his laptop this go around. I walked out of my office to find no Delfia. I looked over to see that Mr. Greyson’s door was closed, and I figured she was in there receiving orders. I smiled to myself thinking about how much she loved that. In my happy thoughts, I didn’t even think, I just walked over and opened Mr. Greyson’s door to tell him we were going to be late and he could bark orders later, but opening that door unannounced was a horrible reminder of why knocking is so very, very important.

I just stood there stunned at the scene before me. Ms. Manselle had nothing to worry about from the looks of it. I think her plan was falling right into place. Their lips were locked as she sat upon his desk holding onto his red tie.

“We’re late!”

Mr. Greyson pushed Ms. Manselle away quickly, almost knocking her off his desk. “Kelli,” he said.

I just slammed the door and ran toward the stairs. I would drive myself if I could manage it. The nauseous, rolling feeling was back, and I felt a little light headed.

How dare he!
I thought. How dare he act so pompous and self-righteous and then come in here and make out with his floozy on company time. He was the biggest idiot, and she was playing him like a fool.

I barely remember making it outside to my car. As I rifled through my purse, I realized I should have remembered something else, my car keys. How could this be happening? We were going to be late for the most important meeting of my career, and it was entirely his fault. I marched myself back toward the office, all while trying not to cry.

In my haste, I ran into him, and he grabbed my arm.

“Ms. Bryant, where are you going?”

I yanked my arm away. “I’m going to get my keys.” I stormed off again, only to be pulled back.

I stared directly into his wide eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

He dropped his hand. “Please, we’re going to be late.”

“And whose fault is that?” I yelled unprofessionally.

“Please,” he just pled with his tone and eyes.

“Ugh!” I turned and walked toward his car.

He ran after me, and he was smart enough not to open my door; he just hit the unlock button on his key fob. I got in and immediately turned to look out my window. I hated him.

It was silent for several minutes.

“Can we please talk about what happened?”

I turned toward him, and just to look at him made me snap. “Yes, let’s talk.”

He glanced at me warily.

“How does this work for you? I quit!”

“Why?” he spluttered while trying to stay focused on the road.

“Are you kidding me? You’ve done nothing but belittle me, and then you bring your girlfriend on board so you can have little rendezvous at your convenience in your office.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that woman is not my girlfriend?” he yelled back.

I had this desire to just smack him, but instead I shook my head. “Whatever, Mr. Greyson, but by the way, she’s playing you like the fool you are. You deserve each other.”

“For the last time, I don’t want her!”

I laughed with derision. “Wow! I better get my vision checked then, because from my point of view, it looked like you already had her.”

He glanced over. “What you witnessed in my office was misunderstanding.”

I laughed maniacally. “What? You tripped and your lips just fell on hers I suppose?”

He took a second to glance my way. He almost had a smile on his perfectly handsome face that I wanted to slap. “Why does this bother you so much?”

“It’s completely unprofessional!”
Wasn’t that obvious to him?

“I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you. I’m sure that wasn’t the first kiss you’ve ever witnessed in that office.”

So maybe it wasn’t. I had seen Holly and Boss kiss lots of times in there, but that’s beside the point. They were married, and you know, he’s the owner and not hypocritical, and oh man, did that sound lame in my head.

“Just please quit talking to me,” I responded instead.

He had the gall to laugh at me as I turned back toward the window and folded my arms in a huff.

“Can’t you just admit what this is really about?”

I just ignored him. I had no idea what he meant.
Or did I?

Like always, though, he just couldn’t leave it alone as he sped toward our destination. “By the way, congratulations.”

I turned toward him. “What does that mean?”

“You’re the new director.”

I didn’t even know how to respond to his sick joke.

“I promised Gary if you ever decided to resign during my tenure, I would leave Chandler.”

I sat stunned for a moment more. “Why would you do that?”

He took one hand off the wheel and threw it up in the air.

“Why do you think?” he asked. “Maybe you should get your vision checked.”

“Well maybe …” I started to say, but suddenly I felt myself being pushed back by Mr. Greyson, and the last sound I heard was him screaming my name and the sound of tires screeching.

Chapter 15

“Kelli … Kelli … Please Kelli … Please God.”

I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or awake, but all I knew was I could hear someone calling my name and pleading for me to be ok, and I was having a hard time opening my eyes and responding. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t. The voice sounded so upset that I desperately wanted to make them feel better. If only I could open my eyes and make my mouth work.

I’m not sure how long I tried, but finally the smell of jet fuel overcame me and I was able to slowly open my eyes. What I found, when I did, was Mr. Greyson calling my name and smiling at me in relief.

“Don’t you mean, Ms. Bryant?”

 He smiled and touched my cheek as he shook his head.

In response I tried to move my head, but he gently grabbed it. “Please, Kelli, don’t move your head. I don’t know how badly you’ve been injured.”

It was then I realized I hurt all over. I felt something wet and sticky on my face, and I was surrounded by deployed airbags. That explained the jet fuel smell. I tried to reach up and touch my face, but moving my right arm caused pain like I had never felt before. I cried out.

“Please don’t move at all,” he pled again. He grabbed a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket and used it to apply pressure to the right side of my head.

“What happened?” I managed to ask.

As he applied pressure with one hand, he sweetly stroked my face with the other. He looked as if he were on the verge of tears. “A truck ran a red light, and I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry.”

I was able to move my left arm, so I reached up and touched his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

 “This whole thing is my fault,” he replied.

I would have shaken my head no, but I was afraid to move, and I didn’t want to worry him more.

“Mr. Greyson, are you ok?” I finally thought to ask.

He kissed my forehead before responding. “Please don’t worry about me. Just hold still. The paramedics are on their way.”

 “I think that crosses the professional boundary line, Mr. Greyson.” I couldn’t help but say it.

He laughed softly. “To hell with the line, Kelli.”

I tried to laugh, too, but found it difficult. “I don’t feel very good.”

I could see the worry in his eyes. “It’s going to be ok.”

Then, as if on cue, I heard the sirens, and suddenly there was a flurry of activity going on around us. I heard emergency personnel communicating with Mr. Greyson, but he wouldn’t let go of me. I was thankful for that. His presence was more calming than I would have thought.

From what I could tell, without moving my head, the truck that hit us needed to be moved and my door had to be pried opened. Once the paramedics got to me, they convinced Mr. Greyson to let me go. I missed his touch immediately, but that quickly gave way to panic as I found myself being placed in a neck brace and as I heard talk of my face needing stitches and a possible broken arm and concussion. Once they finished their initial assessment, they asked me a series of questions: “What’s your name? Do you know what happened? Do you know what day it is?” I guess they were checking to make sure I hadn’t checked out. I was able to answer each question satisfactorily, I think.

The paramedics carefully removed me from the vehicle and placed me on a stretcher. I tried not to wince, but I hurt all over.

Once on the stretcher, Mr. Greyson came into my line of view. “Do you want me to call Amanda?”

“No! I don’t want her to worry.” I knew if she found out, she would come straight home, and I didn’t want to ruin the vacation they had all being looking forward to.

I felt Mr. Greyson pick up my left hand. “It’s ok,” he said trying to obviously calm my emotional state.

I had never been in accident like this before, and I admit, I was a little freaked out.

“Would you like to ride with your wife to the hospital?” I heard one of the paramedics ask Mr. Greyson.

 “Of course,” Mr. Greyson responded before I even had a chance to correct the paramedic’s false conclusion.

Mr. Greyson leaned over me, so I could see his face, and he smiled stupidly.

 If I could have scowled properly, I would have. “Mr. …”

He silenced me by crossing way over the professional boundaries, and the worst (or maybe the best) part was I couldn’t even move to stop him. His lips lightly glided across mine like they had done so many times before, so long ago. He pulled back and smiled even wider. “I think you meant, Ian.”

“Ian,” I repeated back dumbly.

It was then I was wheeled away with Mr. Greyson, or Ian, or whoever the heck he was, holding on to my hand and following me. The jarring from loading me into the ambulance unfortunately made me moan in pain.

“Can’t you give her anything?” I heard Ian ask in response.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bryant, we can’t until we know the extent of her injuries,” replied the paramedic.

I couldn’t help it; I had to tell the truth. “His name isn’t Mr. Bryant we aren’t even …”

“My last name is Greyson,” Ian interrupted. Then I heard him chuckle. “I’ve been trying to convince her to take my last name, but you know how women are today.”

I heard the paramedics laugh in response. What was this? The comedy hour? I was in pain, my boss was a liar, he was doing and saying things that made my already-pounding head hurt more, and even worse, my heart ached. It ached for things I wished I could’ve had, things I was now pretending to have.

The fool stroked my cheek and winked at me before I could rebut his asinine comment. “But maybe someday …” he said lovingly.

I just closed my eyes. I felt nauseous, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the accident, the ambulance ride, or my pretend husband. But then I remembered something. My eyes flew open. “What about our meeting with Premier?”

Ian smoothed my forehead. “Relax. I’ll call Delfia when we get to the hospital.” He grinned. “That is, if you want me to, Director.”

I had forgotten that. Was he really willing to give up his job for me? Then I thought,
Did I really want him to?

After a moment of contemplation I quietly responded. “What I said in the car, I didn’t mean it.”

A smile danced across his face. “I’ll call Delfia then.”