“Good luck,” Andre said to him, and my hands balled into fists.
The half-grin appeared on Brock’s mouth and he waited until Andre had disappeared. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word ‘fuck’ before.” His gaze flipped to the ceiling. “Well, there was the one time you tripped over your own feet and banged your knees off the pool deck. Pretty sure you yelled ‘fuck’ then.”
“This is not happening,” I murmured, heart thumping heavily in my chest.
“Actually, I think you yelled ‘fuck’ when your uncle Julio caught you trying to sneak out of the house. You remember that, right? You were trying to follow me—”
“You can stop,” I snapped, “with the walk down Fuck Lane.”
That grin increased, spreading into a full smile that caused my stomach to dip. I placed steadying hands on my desk. “Please tell me I’m dreaming right now.”
“If you were dreaming, I’d hope we’d both have less clothes on.”
“What?” My jaw hit the top of the table. Was he flirting with me? Not entirely surprising. If you looked up “flirt” on the internet, I was sure it had a picture of him grinning the panties right off of some chick, so I guessed a fiancée wasn’t going to change that.
Chuckling, Brock leaned against the door and folded his arms across his broad chest, stretching the material of his white button-down. My gaze dropped. Yep. He was wearing the damn Chucks. “You’re not dreaming, Jillian. I’m the new General Manager and you’re my assistant manager.”
“There is no way,” I said dumbly.
He glanced around, arching a brow. “Is it really that surprising?”
I wanted to scream yes, but I should’ve guessed it the moment I saw Brock Friday night. Anger swept through me. Not only did I feel incredibly stupid for not figuring out Brock was my new boss, I was extremely pissed everyone in my family had basically set me up.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Can you give me a second? Please?”
Brock didn’t move for a moment and then he unfolded his arms. “Your wish is my command.”
My fingers curled around the edge of the desk to stop myself from throwing something at him. The moment he stepped out of my office, I hurried to the door and closed it behind him. Storming back to the desk, I pulled my cellphone out of the little slip inside my purse and jabbed my finger on my father’s contact.
He answered on the third ring, his accented voice way too cheery for this time of the morning. “Jillian, my baby girl, are you—”
“Brock is the new General Manager?” I whispered-yelled into the phone.
“You’re at the office already? It’s not even eight-fifteen—Wait, Brock is already there too?” He laughed. “That is surprising.”
“That’s not really important right now.” I took a deep, calming breath. “Brock really is . . . he’s the GM?”
“I don’t think you really need to ask that question,” he responded. “Especially when you know the answer to it.”
Closing my eyes, I held the phone so tightly I was surprised it didn’t shatter into a million pieces. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have a made a difference?” he asked.
Yes. A thousand times yes, but I didn’t say that. I refused to admit that. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re going to have to ask him that.” There was a pause. “I didn’t offer you this job because I thought you couldn’t handle working with him or that you would be calling me on your first day, thirty minutes before you should even be there.”
Ouch.
“And I’m not saying that to hurt you, hon. You know that. Hurting you is the last thing I’d ever want to do.” There was another gap of silence while I contemplated knocking the computer off my desk with a ninja kick, and then Dad said, “You can do this.”
Then he hung up on me.
What in the hell?
For a moment I didn’t move and then I lifted my chin and saw Brock waiting outside the office. That grin was back on his face as he raised a hand and crooked his finger, motioning me to come out of the office, to come to him.
My temper flared. Seconds away from flipping him off, I forced myself to gently place my phone on the desk.
There was a huge part of me that couldn’t believe this was happening, but I had to face the fact that Brock—one of the main reasons why I’d left Philly, the man I’d loved with every ounce of my stupid little being and the man who broke my heart—was not just back in my life, he was also my boss.
Holy crap, this was like worse than a nightmare.
I had two options at this point.
Option one included me grabbing my purse, walking out of the office, whopping Brock over the head with the thing, and then driving straight to the unemployment office and then on to an epic job search. That option scared me, because hello, being jobless was not exactly a smart move, but having to see Brock five days a week also wasn’t a smart move. And his hard head would probably damage my purse.
Walking out of here meant no more wet food at all for Rhage.
Or new purses for me.
Option two required that I gain some lady balls and deal with the cards dealt, and I’d obviously done that before, to some extent. I was standing here today, and even though my life hadn’t panned out exactly like I’d expected it, I was a walking miracle. Dealing with Brock was by no means the hardest thing I’d had to stare down. I was finally where I felt like I needed to be.