My stomach dropped.Dinner?“Couldn’t we just meet here at the office tomorrow evening?” I pressed.
Garrett’s expression hardened slightly. “Beth, I’m trying the hardest to accommodate you in my extremely busy schedule. I’ll be close by the restaurant tomorrow evening, and we both gotta eat. This is the only way. We kill two birds with one stone by ‘meeting while eating’. But if you’re not interested in helping with the gala...”
“No, I am,” I blurted out. “Of course, I am. I just thought?—”
“Is it your boyfriend again?” he interrupted, his tone with an undercurrent I couldn’t quite place. “Does he have a problem with you working late?”
“No, he’s out of town,” I said, then immediately regretted volunteeringthatinformation. “I mean, so… I guess… whatever… sure, dinner. I just?—”
“Great, then Flannigan’s at eight.” He practically leaped to his feet, snatching up his laptop and files like someone had just announced free drinks at the bar. “Late for a donor meeting now. Gotta fly. We’ll hash out everything tomorrow night.”
Before I could object, he brushed past me, heading for the door. He paused at the threshold, turning back. “Oh, your boyfriend’s coming to the gala, right?”
The question caught me off guard. “Actually, no. He couldn’t get away from work. He’s in Philadelphia for?—”
“That’s a shame,” Garrett cut me off, not sounding remotely disappointed. “Well, see you tomorrow.”
As I watched him leave the office, I felt like I’d been outplayed. How had he managed to make me feel like I was the unreasonable one for not wanting to have dinner with him? And why was I suddenly questioning my own instincts?
I made my way back to my desk, confusion swirling with frustration. Before sitting down, I detoured to Abigail’s workspace, my new mission solidifying in my mind.
“Abigail, sorry to bother you again,” I said, lowering my voice. “You know those anonymous gifts I told you about earlier? The flowers and chocolates?”
She looked up from her computer, her expression shifting to one of concerned interest. “Yes, of course. Don’t tell me you’ve received another one?”
“No, but I might have a name,” I said. “Garrett mentioned a man named Tyler Mathews from Accounting has been asking about me. Do you know him?”
Abigail’s professionally polite mask slipped for a fraction of a second. “Tyler Mathews?” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening before leaning in slightly. “I know who he is. Quite handsome, if you like that clean-cut, boy-next-door type.” She lowered her voice even more. “But Beth, dear, he’s married.”
A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. “Oh, thank God,” I breathed, the tension in my shoulders loosening. “It’s probably not him then. I mean, sending flowers to someone’s flat and chocolates to their desk? That’s a bit bold for a married man, surely.”
“Well,” Abigail said, her eyes alight with the thrill of officegossip she was trying to suppress. “You’d think so. But I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but… there were rumors after the company Christmas party last year.” She paused for dramatic effect, leaning in even closer. “Something about him and one of the junior secretaries from legal getting a little too friendly after a few too many glasses of cheap Prosecco. Nothing was ever proven, of course, and it was all kept very quiet. Just whispers. But you know…” She gave me a meaningful look.
Fuck.The relief I’d just felt evaporated, replaced by a cold, hard certainty. The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. So, Garrett wasn’t lying, and my initial assumption had been hopelessly naive. This Tyler character was exactly the type: a married predator who used his charming facade to fool around with colleagues, bold as brass. My blood began to boil. How dare he? Had he seen the stories about me from Glasgow and thought I was an easy target?
Abigail picked up her notebook, her professional mask back in place. “Has he approached you?”
“Not yet,” I said, my voice hardening with a new resolve. “But I’m going to make sure he doesn’t. Thanks, Abigail. You’ve been a huge help.”
Abigail checked her watch. “I’ve got to run to a meeting with Ms. Henderson.” She stood, gathering her things. “You be careful, dear. Later.”
I nodded, forcing a smile until she was out of sight. Then I slumped into my chair, staring at the drawer where I’d stashed that damn box of chocolates.
Who the hell did this Tyler guy think he was? Sending me gifts, causing problems between me and Sean, making me look unprofessional. And if he really was married? That made it ten times worse.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stood up. No more being passive, waiting for the next unwanted gift to show up. I was done letting men dictate the course of my life.
“Where’s Accounting?” I asked Malinda at her desk.
She blinked, surprised by my intensity. “Fourth floor, east wing.”
The elevator ride to the fourth floor gave me just enough time to work myself into a proper rage. How the fuck dare he? I’d come to New York to escape scandal, not to become part of some married man’s midlife crisis fantasy. And if Ms. Henderson found out I was receiving romantic gifts from a married colleague? My chances of doing any career jump here would evaporate.
The Accounting department was a maze of cubicles. I scanned the nameplates until I spotted “T. Mathews” on a desk near the window. A man sat with his back to me, typing something on his computer.
I marched up, clutching the chocolate box I’d retrieved from my drawer. “Excuse me. Tyler Mathews?”
He swiveled around, tall, and as Abigail had described, with dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Handsome? A hundred percent. And there it was on his left hand: a gold wedding band.
