“Yes?” He looked up at me with polite confusion, followed by a flirting smile, a glint in his eye.
I slapped the chocolate box onto his desk. “You need to stop.”
He stared at the box, then back at me. “I’m sorry, what?” The smile had vanished.
“First the flowers at my apartment—and how the hell did you even get my address—and now chocolates on my desk? It needs to stop. I have a boyfriend, and you’re married.” Igestured toward his ring. “This is completely inappropriate and unprofessional.”
His eyes widened. For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression morphing from confusion to disbelief. He leaned back in his chair, a slow, condescending look replacing his initial shock.
“Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Your accent. You’re the new intern. I’ve heard of you.” His gaze flickered over me dismissively. “From England, right?”
“Scotland,” I corrected through gritted teeth, my cheeks burning.
“Scotland,” he repeated, a humorless smirk playing on his lips. “Right. Look, I have no idea how you conduct yourselves over there, but here inrealcivilization, we don’t march into someone’s office and publicly accuse them of harassment without a shred of evidence.”
“Don’t play dumb,” I hissed, aware that heads were turning in nearby cubicles. “Garrett Reeves told me everything. How you were asking about me, how you wanted a florist recommendation.”
“Garrett...?” Tyler’s brow furrowed again, but this time his look was sharp, angry. He stood slowly, and I suddenly felt very small. “Let me be perfectly clear,” he said, his voice quiet but razor-sharp. “I have never sent you flowers. I have never bought you chocolates. Until this moment, I couldn’t have picked you out of a lineup.” He picked up the box and held it out to me. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I want no part of it.”
“But Garrett said?—”
“I don’t care what Garrett said.” His eyes flashed with genuine anger. “What I do care about is that you’ve just created a scene in my workplace, accusing me of inappropriatebehavior in front of my colleagues.” He gestured around at the onlookers. “Do you have any idea how serious these accusations are? This constitutes sexual harassment and could be grounds for a complaint to HR.”
My stomach dropped. The absolute certainty in his voice, his reference to HR, the cutting remark about “how you conduct yourselves over there,” it all made me falter. “But... he specifically mentioned you,” I said, my conviction wavering into a desperate whisper.
“I’ve spoken to Garrett Reeves exactly twice in the three years I’ve worked here,” Tyler said flatly. “Both times about budget reports for his gala events.” His jaw tightened. “And now I certainly hope I never have to speak to him, or you, again.”
The blood drained from my face. Garrett had lied. But why would he?
A middle-aged woman at the next desk stood up. “Is everything okay here, Tyler?”
He exhaled slowly. “This woman seems to think I’ve been sending her gifts. I haven’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, mortification washing over me. “I thought?—”
“You thought wrong,” Tyler said coolly. He sat back down, turning to his computer in a clear dismissal. “Whatever game you and Garrett are playing, leave me out of it.”
I felt twenty pairs of eyes on me as I backed away from Tyler Mathew’s desk, clutching the box of chocolates to my chest like a shield. The elevator ride back to my floor was excruciating, my mind replaying every moment of the confrontation in agonizing detail. Here in civilization... His words stung worse than the public humiliation. It wasn’t justthat I’d been wrong; it’s that I’d acted like a boorish, confrontational outsider.
I collapsed into my chair, burying my face in my hands. I’d come to New York to avoid drama, and I’d just served it up on a silver platter in the middle of the Accounting department. Garrett had lied. He’d played me perfectly, setting me up to make a fool of myself. And it had worked.
My first instinct was to call him, to scream at him. But what would that achieve? He’d deny everything, and I’d look even more unhinged. I had been outplayed in a game whose rules I didn’t understand. The direct, blunt approach, my default setting, was useless here.
A slow, cold resolve began to form in the pit of my stomach. Alright, you manipulative bastard, I thought, a bitter smile touching my lips. You want to play a game? Fine. Let’s play. But you’ve forgotten something. I grew up in a world of fake smiles and hidden daggers. I know how to play.
My strategy wasn’t working. It was time to change tactics.
That evening,as I stood in front of my cramped closet, my mission for the dinner with Garrett was clear. If brushing him off made him retaliate, what would happen if I did the opposite? If he wanted a flirtatious party girl, then fine. I would give him the performance of a lifetime.
I bypassed my sensible work blouses and pulled out a slinky, emerald-green silk camisole that I usually reserved for nights out. I paired it with a black pencil skirt that hugged my curves just so. The makeup I applied was darker, more deliberate. A smoky eye, a bolder lip. I was putting on my armor. This wasn’t a dinner meeting; it was a strategic operation.
When I arrived at Flannigan’s, Garrett was already there, a Gin and Tonic in hand. His eyes lit up as I approached, his gaze doing a slow, appreciative sweep of my outfit.
“Wow, Beth,” he said, standing to pull out my chair. “You look… stunning.”
“Thank you, Garrett,” I said, giving him a warm, dazzling smile. “You clean up nicely yourself.”
He took the bait instantly. The dinner was a masterclass in manipulation. I laughed at his jokes, leaned in conspiratorially when he spoke, and found reasons to let my fingers brush against his hand. I talked about art and travel, playing the part of the sophisticated, charming socialite he clearly wanted me to be.
