We Shouldn't Read online

  An obnoxious smile slid across Bennett’s face. “Fine with me. I’m not afraid of a little competition…unlike some people.”

  “We’re not competition anymore. Perhaps that hasn’t sunk into your head yet.” I sighed and mumbled under my breath, “It does look like the information would have to penetrate a lot of hair gel to get there.”

  Bennett ran his fingers through his lush mane. “You noticed my great hair, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Jonas shook his head. “Okay, you two. I can see this isn’t going to be easy. And I’m sorry to do this to you both.” He turned to Bennett. “We’ve worked together a long time. I know this must sting. But you’re a professional, and I know you’ll do your best to get through this.” Then he turned to me. “And we may have just met, Annalise, but I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you, too.”

  After that, Jonas asked Bennett to see if he could find a spare office for me to set up in for now. Apparently, people were still being moved around, and my permanent office wasn’t ready yet—well, as permanent as it might be under the circumstances. I stayed behind to discuss some of my accounts with Jonas until early afternoon.

  When we were done, he walked me to Bennett’s office. Foster Burnett’s space was definitely nicer than what I was used to at Wren. Bennett’s office was sleek and modern, not to mention twice the size of my old one. He was on the phone but motioned for us to come in.

  “Yes, I can do that. How about Friday at around three?” Bennett looked at me, but spoke into the phone.

  While we waited for him to finish his call, Jonas’s phone rang. He excused himself and stepped out of the office to speak. Jonas returned just as Bennett hung up.

  “I need to run upstairs for a meeting,” Jonas said. “Were you able to find a place for Annalise?”

  “I found the perfect spot for her.”

  Something about the way Bennett responded seemed sarcastic, but I didn’t know the man well, and it didn’t seem to bother Jonas at all.

  “Great. It’s been a long day with a lot for you both to take in. Don’t stay too late tonight.”

  “Thanks, Jonas,” I said.

  “Have a good night.”

  I watched him depart and then turned my attention back to Bennett. Both of us must’ve been waiting for the other to speak first.

  I finally broke the silence. “So…this whole situation is awkward.”

  Bennett came out from behind his desk. “Jonas is right. It’s been a long day. Why don’t I show you where I set you up? I think I’m gonna call it an early night for a change.”

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  I followed him down the long hall until we came to a closed door. There was one of those nameplate holders on the door, but the name had been slipped out.

  Bennett nodded his head toward it. “I’ll call down to purchasing and get them to order you a new sign for your office before I go tonight.”

  Well, that was nice of him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so awkward between us after all.

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled and opened the door, stepping aside for me to enter first. “No problem. Here you go. Home sweet home.”

  I took a step in, just as Bennett flicked on the lights.

  What the hell?

  The room had a folding table and a chair set up, but it was definitely not an office. It was a small supply closet at best—and not even the nice kind with organized chrome shelves where office supplies were stored. This was a janitor’s closet, one that smelled like bathroom cleaner and day-old, musty water, most likely because of the yellow bucket and wet mop sitting beside my new makeshift desk.

  I turned to Bennett. “You expect me to work in here? Like this?”

  A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “Well, you’ll also be needing paper, of course.”

  My brow furrowed. Is he joking?

  Reaching into his pocket, he walked to the folding table and slapped a lone piece of paper down at the center of it. Turning to exit, he stopped directly in front of me and winked.

  “You have a good night. I’m going to go get my car fixed now.”

  Stunned, I was still standing just inside the closet when the door slammed behind him. The whoosh of air from its closing caused the paper he’d left to fly into the air. It floated for a few seconds, then settled at my feet.

  I stared at it blankly at first.

  Squinting as it came into focus, I realized something was written on it.

  He left me a note? I bent and picked it up for a closer look.

  What the hell?

  The paper Bennett had left wasn’t a note at all—it was a parking ticket.

  And not any parking ticket.

  My parking ticket.

  The same damn one I’d left on someone’s windshield this morning.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  Annalise

  “I need a drink like you wouldn’t believe.” I pulled out a chair and looked around for a waiter before I’d even sat down.

  “And here I thought you wanted to hang out with me because of my winning personality, not the free meal you get every week.”

  My best friend, Madison, had the best job in the world—a food critic for the San Francisco Observer. Four nights a week, she went to a different restaurant for a meal that would eventually turn into a review. On Thursdays, I joined her. Basically she was my free meal ticket. More often than not, it was the only day I left the office before nine and the only decent meal I ate all week because of the sixty-hour workweeks I tended to put in.

  A lot of good that’s done me.

  The waiter walked over and extended the wine menu. Madison waved him off. “We’ll have two merlots…whatever you recommend is fine.”

  The order was her standard answer, and I knew it was the first step in reviewing the restaurant’s service. She liked to evaluate what the waiter brought. Would he ask her questions about her taste so he could make a good choice? Or go for the most expensive glass on the menu for the sole purpose of maximizing his tip?

  “No problem. I’ll pick something out.”

  “Actually.” I held up a finger. “Can I change that order, please? Make that one merlot and one Tito’s and seltzer with lime.”

  “Of course.”

  Madison barely waited until the waiter was out of earshot. “Uh-oh. Vodka seltzer. What happened? Is Andrew seeing someone?”

  I shook my head. “No. Worse.”

  Her eyes widened. “Worse than Andrew seeing someone? You had a car accident again?”

  Well, maybe I exaggerated a little. Finding out my boyfriend of eight years was dating another woman would definitely devastate me. Three months ago, he’d told me he needed a break. Not exactly the three little words I had expected him to say at the end of our night out for Valentine’s Day dinner. But I’d tried to be understanding. He’d had a lot of change over the last year—his second novel had tanked, his sixty-year-old father was diagnosed with liver cancer and died three weeks to the day after the diagnosis, and his mother decided to remarry only nine months after becoming a widow.

  So I agreed to the temporary separation, even though his idea of a break was more Ross than Rachel—we were both free to see other people, if we wanted to. He’d sworn there was no one else, and it wasn’t his intention to go out and sleep around. But he also felt an agreement not to see other people would keep us tethered and not allow him the freedom he felt he needed.

  And when it came to driving… I’d hated it ever since the first month I got my license because of a pretty bad accident that had turned me into a nervous driver. I’d never gotten over it. Just last year I’d had a small fender bender in a parking lot, and any of my fear that had been quelled reared its ugly head. Another accident so soon might push me over the edge.

  “Maybe not as bad as that,” I said. “But it’s up there.”

  “What happened? Bad first day at the new office? And here I was thinking
I’d get to hear about all the hot guys at the new place of employment.”

  Madison didn’t understand Andrew’s need for a break, and she’d been encouraging me to get back out in the dating world and move on.

  The waiter arrived with our drinks, and Madison told him we weren’t ready to order. She asked him to give us ten minutes to decide.

  I sipped my vodka. It burned going down. “Actually, there was one hot guy.”

  She put her elbows on the table and rested her head atop her hands. “Details. Give me details about him. The story about your bad day can wait.”

  “Well…he’s tall, has bone structure a sculptor would envy, and reeks of confidence.”

  “How does he smell?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get close enough to sniff him.” I plucked the lime from the rim of my glass and squeezed the juice into my drink. “Well, that’s not true. I did. But when he was that close, we were in a supply closet, and all I could smell was cleaning supplies and musty water.” I sipped.

  Madison’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t! The two of you…in the supply closet on your first day at the new office?”

  “I did. But it’s not what you think.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  I smirked. “Alright.”

  She definitely thought this story was going to have a different ending.

  “I had a trunk full of last-minute boxes with files and junk from my old office that had to be moved into the new space. I tried to find a parking spot, but there was nothing for blocks…so I parked illegally and made a few trips up to the office with my stuff. On my next-to-last trip down, there was a ticket on my windshield.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Tell me about it. Almost two-hundred bucks for those these days.”

  “Crappy start to the day,” she said. “But it could have been worse, I suppose, with you and cars.”

  I had to laugh. “Oh, it got worse. That was the best part of my day.”

  “What else happened?”

  “The meter maid was a few cars away from mine, still giving out tickets. I figured I’d already gotten the ticket, so I might as well finish my unloading. I carried the last of my boxes up to my new office, and when I came back downstairs, every car had a ticket to match mine. Except one. The car parked right in front of me.”

  “So the car arrived after the cop left, evading the ticket?”

  “Nope. I’m positive it was there before me. She just skipped that one. The reason I’m certain is that it was the same make and model Audi I have, only a newer year. The first time I passed it, I peeked inside to see if they had changed anything in the interior on the newer edition. I noticed there was a pair of driving gloves with the Porsche logo on the front seat. So I know it was the same car that had been parked there for more than an hour because the gloves were still there.”

  Madison sipped her wine and scrunched up her face.

  “The wine’s not good?”

  “No, it’s fine. But driving gloves? Only race car drivers and pompous jerks wear driving gloves.”

  I tipped my drink to her before bringing it to my lips. “Exactly! That’s exactly what I thought when I saw them. So I re-gifted my parking ticket to the pompous jerk. My car was the same make, model, and color. Why should I have been out two-hundred bucks when Mr. Porsche gloves hadn’t gotten a fine? The ticket didn’t have a name, only the make, model, and VIN number of the car, and the license plate on my carbon copy was barely legible. I figured he wouldn’t know his VIN and would probably pay it—he was parked illegally, after all.”

  My best friend smiled from ear to ear. “You’re my hero.”

  “You might want to let me finish the story before you declare that.”

  Her smile wilted. “You got caught?”

  “I didn’t think so. But I had a little mishap. When I leaned over and lifted the wiper to tuck the ticket underneath, somehow a piece of my hair got caught and tangled.”

  Madison’s brow furrowed. “In the wiper blade?”

  “I know. Strange. But it was so windy today, and when I went to unwind it, I made it worse. You know my crazy thick hair. I could lose a hairbrush in it for a few days and no one would notice. These waves have a mind of their own.”

  “How did you get it out?”

  “I yanked until it came free. Only when it finally detached from the car, the windshield wiper was attached to my hair instead of the brand-new Audi it belonged to.”

  Madison’s hand flew to her mouth as she cracked up. “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you leave the owner a note?”

  I took a healthy gulp of my drink, which tasted a little better the more I drank. “Does the ticket count as a note?”

  “Well…at least there’s an upside?”

  “There is? Tell me, because right about now, after the day I had, I’m not seeing any upside at all.”

  “There’s a Greek god in the office. That’s good. How long has it been since you’ve been on a date—eight years?”

  “Trust me. The Greek god won’t be asking me out on a date.”

  “Married?”

  “Worse.”

  “Gay?”

  I laughed. “Nope. He’s the owner of the Audi I vandalized and then re-gifted my parking ticket to, and apparently he saw me do it.”

  “Crap.”

  “Yeah. Crap. Oh, and I have to work with him on a daily basis.”

  “Oh shit. What does he do?”

  “He’s the regional creative director for the company we merged with.”

  “Wait a minute. Isn’t that your title?”

  “Yep. And there’s only room for one of us.”

  A waiter who wasn’t even ours walked by. Madison put out her hand and grabbed him. “We need another vodka seltzer and glass of merlot. Immediately.”

  ***

  The next morning, I made a stop on the way to the office. As much as I hated what was happening with my job, apparently, I was going to have to work with Bennett for the next few months. And…let’s face it, I’d been wrong. I’d damaged his car and left a parking ticket instead of a note. If someone had done that to me... Well, I doubted I would be even as polite as he’d been throughout the day. He’d waited until we were alone to call me out on my shit, when he could’ve made me look bad in front of my new boss.

  His car was illegally parked in the same spot as yesterday when I arrived. Last night, when I’d replayed the day in my head, I thought perhaps his car had been skipped over by accident because the meter maid lost track and thought she’d ticketed it already since it looked identical to mine from the outside. But if that were the case, and he’d already gotten away with it once, why would he park there again today and risk getting another ticket?

  There were only a few logical answers. One, he was rich and arrogant. Two, he was an idiot. Or three, he knew he wouldn’t be getting a parking ticket.

  Bennett’s office door was closed, but I noticed from the bottom that his light was on. I lifted my hand to knock, but hesitated. It would’ve been easier if he weren’t so damn good looking.

  Grow a pair, Annalise.

  I straightened my spine and stood tall before knocking loudly on the door. After a minute, relief started to wash over me as I decided Bennett wasn’t in there. He must have left his light on. I was just about to turn away when, without warning, the door whipped open.

  I jumped in surprise and clutched my chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  Bennett removed one earbud from his ear. “Did you just say I scared you?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t expecting you to open the door.”

  He pulled the other earbud out and let them dangle around his neck. His brow furrowed. “You knocked on my office door but weren’t expecting me to open it?”

  “Your door was shut, and it was quiet. I didn’t think you were in there.”

  Bennett held up his iPhone “I just got back from my run. Had my earbuds in.” />
  Music blared from them, and I recognized the song.

  “‘Enter Sandman?’ Really?” My voice hinted at my amusement.

  “What’s wrong with Metallica?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. You just don’t look like someone who listens to Metallica.”

  He squinted. “And exactly what do I look like I listen to?”

  I gave him the onceover. He wasn’t dressed in the expensive suit and wingtips he’d had on yesterday. Yet even wearing casual clothes—a body-hugging black Under Armour T-shirt and low-hanging sweats—there was something about him that reeked of refinement.

  Although the way that vein bulged from his bicep was more fine than refinement at the moment. Bennett was older than me, I’d guess—early thirties, perhaps—but his body was firm and muscular, and I imagined he looked even more incredible without that shirt on.

  Blinking myself back from a semi-daze, I remembered he’d asked me a question. “Classical. I would have taken you for more of a classical music person than Metallica.”

  “That’s kind of stereotyping, isn’t it? In that case, what should I assume about you? You’re blond and beautiful.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and cocked one brow. “You did get your head stuck to the windshield of my car.”

  He had a point. And I was most definitely not starting off on the right foot by arguing with him again this morning. Getting myself back on track, I held up the long, slim package I’d picked up on my way to the office.

  “That reminds me, I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

  Bennett seemed to assess me for a minute. Then he took the wiper blade from my hand. “How the hell did you get your hair stuck to my car, anyway?”

  I felt my face heat. “Let me start off by saying cars aren’t my thing. I don’t like to drive them, and have crap luck with them working properly. At the old office, I could walk to work. Now I have to drive every day. Anyway, I got a parking ticket yesterday morning while I was unpacking boxes from my car. We happen to have the same make, model, and color Audi. Yours was parked illegally, too, but you hadn’t gotten a ticket. So I tried to put mine under your windshield wiper, hoping you would pay it. Only a gust of wind came, and my hair somehow got tangled when I lifted the wiper. When I tried to unravel it, I made it worse. I really didn’t mean to vandalize your car.”