It’s been a whole week. Five days I’ve been cooped up in this office, working for Wes. And two weeks in total, of almost seeing his face every damn day. This wasn’t part of the deal. The close proximity is becoming too much. Not a day passes where doors haven’t slammed, voices haven’t been raised and the sexual tension is at the point of explosion. The worst part is it’s so busy, I can’t even entertain the idea of leaving Wes to handle this by himself; but I need out. I text Wes and tell him we need a work meeting, things have to change around here.

Me: What time can you get here?

Wes: What’s wrong?

Me: We need to discuss this “job” thing.

Wes: Ominous?

Me: Do you even know what that means?

My phone starts ringing and I should’ve known he would call soon enough. He hates texting.

“Yeah,” I answer dryly.

“Of course I know what Ominous means”

“We need to talk,” I say, getting straight to the point.

“So, you’ve said. What’s bothering you now?”

“I can’t keep working for you.” I thought he’d be quick to argue, but there’s nothing but silence on the other end.

“Wes,” I say, checking he’s still on the line.

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Loud and clear. Listen, I’ll be there in an hour. We can talk then.”

He hangs up without saying bye, and all of a sudden I feel overwhelmed by the thought of sitting down and talking to him. I’m not trying to be a diva about it, but there’s only two ways things with Wes and I are going to turn out and neither of the possibilities are something I want to encounter. I know this is for the best. I’ve got to stick to my decision and just run with it. I’m not in desperate need of this job, and just thinking of all the things I can do for Jeremiah and Lucy while I’m home makes me sure this is the right choice. And since Wes and Lucy are friends, this is the only way he and I can maintain any civility until everything with mom works out.

The phone rings, bringing me back to the moment. Regaining momentum, I continue to get through the long list of things that need to be done. As time passes quickly, it feels like only minutes before Wes is walking through the door. I look at the papers piled in front of me and mentally prepare myself for the talk. He sits in his usual spot opposite me, where we’ve eaten dinner and debriefed every day this week.

“What, no food?” I ask sarcastically.

“I don’t feed ex employees.”

“Oh, it’s like that is it?” Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with me. I should be overjoyed he’s brushing me off and letting me off the hook.

“I’m not going to beg you to stay, Avery.” He leans back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest, “but I have some conditions.”

I bite my tongue, to avoid slipping into our usual banter of insults, and stick to the task at hand. I slide everything I’ve put together toward him, “Okay, well before you tell me your shit, here is an instruction manual I made up for whoever starts next. It’s pretty straightforward, and more importantly they’ll be able to run your social media with no hiccups.”

“We don’t need the instruction manual,” he says.

“Yes you do, I’ve made changes. Good changes,” I argue.

“I’m sure you have, and I’m grateful.” Running his hands down his face, I know whatever he’s about to say has been purposely formulated to ruffle my feathers. It’s his tell, and after so much time spent with one another; I can almost read him like a book. “I love what you’ve done so much, I want you to hire the new person. Pass on all that information - straight from the horse's mouth, you know?”

“Are you asking me to stay till someone new comes on board?” I ask in clarification.

“Well, I don’t want all your hard work to go to waste.”

He knows I’m a stickler for perfection. There’s a reason people call me Anal Avery and it’s got nothing to do with my ass. The thought of somebody fucking up what I’ve set up and developed makes me nervous and that smirk on his face, tells me the fucker knows it.

“Fine,” I grit out. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Yes,” he says enthusiastically. “Now, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that shit you were talking about?”

I raise an eyebrow, “I’m not a mind reader, Wes. What shit?”

“Whatever that fuck face Magnus has?” he spits out.

“You mean Twitter and Instagram?”

He grunts like a neanderthal and I just assume we’re both on the same wavelength,

“Yep, you’re all set up. Except he just hit a massive sponsorship with Timber, so you’ve still got some catching up to do.”

“What the fuck is Timber?” He growls. Even if I don’t bite back with my smart ass commentary, Magnus is sure to make his blood boil.

“It’s a new dating app,” I inform him. I google the website to show him. Spinning the computer screen around, I watch his face turn from confusion to pure anger. His jaw clenches together as Magnus’ face appears on the screen. Shirtless and centred, perfectly on the screen the caption “Lumberjack Love” flashing incessantly. It’s so damn cheesy; it’s perfect.

“Are people really going to sign up to this shit?” He asks.

“Wasn’t it you telling me all the ladies love you, and that disgusting germ carrier you call a beard?”

“So are you going to join this dating app?” He asks, changing the subject.

“Wh-” I cut myself off from objecting and realize this might actually be a way I can get Wes off my back.

“I think I might,” I tease. “If I can’t have Magnus, I may as well see what else is on the market.”

“He’s got a beard too, why aren’t you repulsed by it?”

I turn the screen back around and start setting up my profile. For all intents and purposes, I need to follow this through.

“Some guys can just pull it off, I guess,” I say with a shrug. The rage on his face spurs me on even more. “The app is perfect for finding a Magnus knock off; Hot beard, hot body.”

“A body that’s probably injected with steroids.” He states, trying to find fault in my explanation. “It’s okay,” he continues, “we all know guys on steroids have smaller dicks anyway.”

“I bet Magnus’ is the perfect size,” I challenge.

“Pity he won’t know what to do with it.”

“And the non existent ladies in your life prove that you do?” I scoff.

“Oh, Avery,” he taunts. “Do you really want to go there?”

“What?” I ask making eye contact and playing coy.

“Go and find loverboy lumberjack on Timber,” he says nonchalantly, “but we both know when all this bullshit is said and done the only dick you’ll be calling perfect is mine.”

I steer my eyes away from his confident demeanor and begin punching the keys harder; desperate to prove him wrong and find someone on this stupid app. He’s so sure of himself, it makes me want to cut down his ego whenever I can. I’m not touching his dick, not now, and not even if he was the last guy on the planet.

“Oh look, it wants me to put up a profile picture.” Standing up, I purposefully fiddle around with my clothes. I run my hands over my tits and let them skim the curve of my ass. His eyes follow every single movement. “I think a bedroom selfie might be appropriate, what do you think, Wes?”

Without saying a word, he stands up. With clenched fists and face full of fury, he leaves my office; Avery 1 - Wes 0