The New Man

No one's working.

Everyone's eyes are trained toward Scott's office. Their lips are moving, spreading rumors and speculation.

Far too many glance at me before resuming their whispers.

Maybe sitting in here is a bad idea, after all. It's just making them go wild with their unsubstantiated assumptions.

Grabbing my things, I slip out of the office, heels clicking against the polished floor.

A tide of eyeballs turn my way, and it's everything I can do to keep my face impassive. By some miracle, my cheeks don't flush, despite embarrassment heating the nape of my neck.

My cubicle is a flimsy sanctuary in this hurricane of gossip, and I set my things beside my keyboard with a firm clack, mentally cursing Scott for having his stupid blinds shut. If he didn't, we'd all be able to see what's going on.

Yes, I like gossip—when it doesn't involve me. So sue me. I'm a hypocrite, like most of the earth's population.

Mike's staring at me from the other side of the room, his brows tugged together and lips downturned. Our eyes lock for a brief, awkward moment before I glance away, pretending to focus on my computer screen.

Does he know that Logan's part of SED? Does he think I played dumb about our earlier conversation?

Or is he just another coworker feeding the gossip machine?

I just need everyone to mind their own damn business.

Another muffled thump echoes from behind the closed door.

Gasps ripple through the office like a wave, but I manage to stay composed as my brain flits left and right like a hummingbird, wondering the same thing they are.

What's going on in there?

Logan was furious, but he's also SED. A professional in high-intensity situations.

He can't possibly be beating the snot out of Scott, right?

Everyone's wondering the same damn thing, too.

"Did you hear that?" Marissa from accounting whispers, not quite softly enough. She's one of the few women in this office, and I would have hoped she was on my side.

"I bet it's her new man," Tom replies, his voice dripping with scandalous glee. "Marking his territory. You know how wolves are."

Marissa shushes him, but then continues talking. "I don't think she would bring her lover to her workplace, would she? I mean, she's always so professional…"

Clearly, she's just playing it up for anyone listening. I know the type; they pretend not to be a part of the gossipmongering crew, but they're the shadow leader of it all, spreading rumors with innocent eyelash flutters and shocked gasps.

Somehow, they never know what's going on—while knowing everything that's happened in the last six months.

And how dare they paint me as the villain in this soap opera? It all started as an appointment for anti-magic consultation, okay? The rest of this isn't on me.

Another voice, one I don't recognize, chimes in. "Makes sense. Scott's such a nice guy. Who'd cheat on him?"

Oh, fuck that.

I slam my hand against my desk, the sharp crack silencing the whispers.

All eyes turn to me once again.

I clear my throat, willing my voice to remain steady. "If you all have time to speculate about my personal life, I'm sure there are plenty of reports that need filing." Fixing all of them with an icy glare, I continue, "Scott is dealing with an unhappy customer. Nothing more."

The silence stretches as they share gazes and eye movements. Probably saying things like we'll continue this later, in that universal way we have.

Then, slowly, keyboards start clacking again. Hushed conversations resume, but at least no more heads are peeking over cubicle walls.

I'm halfway through reading a tedious security report when another thump, louder this time, makes me jump. My mouse clatters to the floor, and I curse under my breath as I bend to retrieve it.

Love my wireless mouse. It keeps everything clean and tidy.

Hate it, because I'm always dropping the damn thing. I go through at least two a month when something breaks on it.

"Everything okay over there, Nicole?" Mike's voice, despite the concern in it, grates on my last nerve.

"Just peachy, Mike. Thanks for asking."

He leans against my cubicle wall, arms crossed. "You know, if you need to talk..."

His stare is a little too intent, too direct, leaving me uncomfortable.

Working in a male-dominated field is something that usually has my competitive spirit soaring. For some reason, people think men are better at understanding security. Historically, women record less sales and less satisfaction ratings.

But there are times I hate it. Like now.

I've avoided awkward situations like this for years because I was known as the Ice Queen—the only female in the office who outright refused to date coworkers. Scott, of course, brought that frigid (as he would say) wall down. And now they must think I'm an easy target.

Well, sorry, boys, but my original belief has only been reinforced.

Don't. Date. Coworkers.

"I don't." The words come out sharper than I intended. I soften my tone, not wanting to add fuel to the gossip fire. "But I appreciate the offer."

Mike lingers for a moment, but I turn back to my screen, pretending to focus on what I was reading.

"Don't listen to the gossips," he says, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder.

Unwanted physical contact. According to HR, I can report him for sexual harassment.

I won't, of course. Something like that would label me as troublesome. And, despite the general vibe I'm getting from his direction, he hasn't done or said anything untoward. He's just a worried coworker, checking on my mental health.

I hate that. I'm not one for frivolous complaints, but there should be a divide. Physical contact with other people? Not a fan. I'm more of a wave and smile girl. I cling to Penelope like crusty glue, but that doesn't mean I want other people's skin cells on me.

Revulsion has my skin cringing beneath his hand.

"Don't touch her."

The enraged words come from Scott's doorway.

When did that open?