Hiya! This will be short, sweet, snarky and (a little) smutty, lol. Don't worry, I have some angst coming once this is complete. ;)
Big thanks to Hadley for her beta pen, and to Paige, May, Heba and Pamela for prereading!
Thank YOU for reading!
1
"I can't believe we have to do this," Rose drawls as we walk into the conference room set up with rows of chairs facing a TV.
Some employees are already here, milling about. Some have claimed seats. With a quick glance around the room, I know who's not here yet.
Not that I'm waiting on him or anything.
"Yeah, well. The company has to save face after that video of Mike went viral," I remind her, as if she's forgotten.
But no one will ever forget that video.
Hell, nearly half a million of the views were likely from me alone because that shit was hilarious.
Mike Newton, the senior art director at the advertising firm, got fired three weeks ago, and he lost his goddamn mind.
He could have gone quietly. He could have kept his dignity. Who the fuck am I kidding? Mike didn't have any dignity nor any regard for anyone else. So he decided to throw a hissy fit the second he made it back to our department after he received the bad news.
One of our colleagues captured nearly all of the aftermath.
The video didn't start until a minute into his meltdown. By then, he was standing on his desk, dropping different personal items into a box below. A picture frame crashed. A coffee mug that said "More Gagging, Less Nagging" fell in next and broke too.
Evidently, he's been an HR nightmare for a while, and they finally had enough complaints to let him go.
The footage of him acting like a privileged prick lasted for several minutes. Profanities were yelled. Shit was talked. About the company. About the employees. Just before he whipped out his penis to urinate in the plants, security walked in and put an end to his show.
Some people awkwardly glanced away during the whole event, trying not to get involved. Most laughed in shock, and a few honestly looked scared. But no one stepped in before security showed up, which is why we're here today.
Nonviolent Crisis Intervention.
As if any one of us could've climbed up on the desk with Mike and safely restrained his dumb ass.
It's bullshit, honestly. It's not our responsibility to step in when a staff member becomes unruly.
I can't complain too much because this stupid training gets me out of sitting at my desk, staring at my computer.
Seconds later, Cullen walks in. He may also be part of the reason why I'm not upset about this training.
He spots me immediately and gives me a nod, but he gets caught up with another colleague. It gives me a chance to stare at him.
The calendar invite for today's training said to dress comfortably.
I've never seen Cullen look so comfortable.
White T-shirt. Gray joggers. Black backward cap.
He's undeniably sexy and completely off-limits.
He's also my work husband.
Of course, he doesn't know this, and I would die if he did.
That term was coined by Rose a year ago when we were halfway through our internship. We were waiting for a team meeting to begin, and Cullen walked in, placing a pink sprinkled doughnut in front of me. There was only one left, and he knew they were my favorite.
He took a seat next to Emmett and Rose quirked a brow at me. I merely shrugged, pretending like my stomach didn't flutter.
After that, Rose initially started referring to Cullen as my "work boyfriend," but it's been a year since we were all hired on, so she's upgraded the term to "work husband."
Just because Cullen and I constantly email about non-work-related things, save seats for one another in meetings, and always make sure the other gets their favorite food before it's all gone doesn't make us work "spouses."
Still, I welcome the stupid nickname because I can't deny that Cullen does make work fun. If Rose's idea of fun is teasing me about crushing on someone who has a girlfriend, well, she's a bitch—but I love her, anyway.
Cullen walks over and stands close. The height difference between us is more noticeable today because I'm not wearing heels.
I went for comfy, too. Black leggings and a white cropped hoodie.
"Where's the rest of your sweatshirt?" Cullen asks.
I roll my eyes before glancing down at my outfit. "Shut up."
His eyes are still on the hem of my hoodie, which just barely meets the top of my leggings. If I move even a little, he'll probably see a sliver of skin.
I stay dangerously still.
"Missed you at happy hour last night," he says, hands shoved in the pockets of his joggers.
"Liar," I tease.
He almost smirks, and his eyes sparkle with amusement. "I don't lie to you, Swan."
"You're lying right now!"
"He actually did ask about you," Rose chimes in, shrugging.
"See?" Cullen smiles, a little too innocently.
Emmett joins us, hopping on his feet and pretending to one-two punch Cullen.
"Ready to get your ass handed to you, man?"
Rose laughs at him. "We aren't actually fighting. This training is nonviolent. It's in the title."
Em frowns. "Really?"
She snickers. "Do you not read any emails?"
"I do," he counters, a little too defensively.
"Yet every reply I have to send you begins with 'per my last email…'"
"I can't control the fact that you like to repeat yourself," he fires back. "It's the electronic equivalent of loving to hear yourself speak."
Rose rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. "Here we go again."
If Cullen is my work husband, Emmett is Rose's work ex-husband.
They had a thing a couple of months ago. One random hookup. Although it wasn't exactly random because they've had this love-hate relationship for a while. They didn't officially seal the deal either. Rose wanted to have sex, and Emmett wanted to do everything but, so Rose got pissed and left. It's been awkward between them ever since. I'm convinced they just need a do-over and to actually acknowledge their feelings.
They're both stubborn as fuck, but they'll figure it out eventually.
Our team manager, Aro, walks into the room, and a man we've never seen before trails behind him.
"Everyone, please take a seat," Aro calls out. "The sooner we start this, the sooner we can end it." The trainer looks offended, and Aro corrects himself. "I mean, the sooner we can begin to cultivate a… safe and positive workplace."
Cullen leans down and whispers in my ear, "I'll show you how to cultivate a safe and positive workplace."
I laugh. "You're an idiot."
"That's not very positive of you," he says dryly.
We move toward the last row of chairs. I sit between Cullen and Rose, and everyone quiets down, waiting for the trainer to speak.
"Good morning, everyone. I'm Peter, and I'll be your coach for the next four hours." He's young, maybe a few years older than me. He's not bad-looking, either. "Today's training will give you the skills to build your confidence in keeping yourself and others safe in a crisis situation."
I'm already bored.
"You don't always know how you'll respond to others' behaviors, but your reaction is what will most likely influence the outcome," Peter explains, tone gentle. "My goal today is to leave you feeling empowered to manage conflict."
Cullen sinks a little lower in his chair, his thighs spread wide, and his joggers stretched out in the crotch. I stare for a beat too long, certain I can see a bulge, until I hear him clear his throat. When I meet his eyes, he's smirking.
My cheeks burn, and I mentally curse myself for getting caught.
I turn my attention back to the front of the room, but I can feel Cullen's eyes linger on my profile for a beat before he turns away, too.
For the next hour, Peter speaks about the de-escalation techniques we'll be learning. When he gets to the part about how to approach someone who's in crisis, and he starts talking about the "supportive stance"—position, posture, and proximity—Cullen leans over, his breath tickling my ear.
"I'll show you position, posture, and proximity," he whisper-jokes, and I stifle a laugh before shoving him away.
Then I quickly pull him back.
"Pay attention," I whisper, both of us going back and forth, murmuring in each other's ears.
"You pay attention."
"I would if you'd stop distracting me."
"Is my crotch distracting you?"
When I pull back, his eyes are blazing, his mouth turned up just so.
Then his eyes flick ever so briefly toward my mouth.
I want to smack him.
"You're so immature," I murmur, but there's a bounce in my tone because I love when we're like this. Innocent with our flirting and lighthearted with our banter.
"Be my partner," he whispers.
"Why?"
"You know you wanna beat my ass. Or, at least, pretend to."
I crack a smile. "Fine."
"That was easier to convince you than I thought it'd be."
"What can I say? You had me at 'beat my ass.'"
He laughs quietly and bumps his shoe with mine.
I cross my legs.
Innocent or not, he has a girlfriend.
They're not that serious, as far as I know, but still.
I have to constantly remind myself of this.
Like whenever he goes out of his way to hold the elevator for me.
Or when he leaves sticky notes on my desk. They never say anything meaningful, but to me, they're little reminders that he's around and thinking about me.
The last time I really had to fucking remind myself that he's off-limits was last weekend. We were out with our work crew like we usually are. Too many drinks were had, and at one point near the end of the night—he kissed me.
It was unexpected.
It was fucking good.
My mouth sparked, and my body tingled, and if I had zero decency or self-respect, I would have dragged him into the alley and let him fuck me against the brick wall.
Unfortunately, I do have self-respect.
I also have respect for him. His girlfriend, too.
I told him as much.
But I have to admit that maybe this little innocent crush of mine isn't all that innocent.
I want him.
Badly.
I need it to be real and not a drunken hookup.
I need him to not be the kind of guy who gets wasted and kisses someone who isn't his girlfriend.
Suddenly, the lights switch off.
I'm too aware of his proximity.
Peter turns on the TV and starts playing a video, showing us the different holds we'll be learning today.
I can't pay attention whatsoever because Cullen shifts in his chair, and his arm brushes mine.
My skin breaks out in goosebumps under my sweatshirt.
My body feels the same way it did when he kissed me.
Sparks.
Tingling.
Electricity.
I uncross my legs and press my thighs together, and I swear I can feel his smug smile even without looking at him. And I don't—I refuse to look over at him.
After a few minutes, he sinks even lower and widens his legs, so the outside of his thigh is touching mine.
Then he nonchalantly stretches his arm along the back of my chair, his fingers barely brushing my shoulder.
The electricity in my body doubles, and I'm nearly buzzing with want.
I start to wonder if maybe him touching me is an accident, but then his leg presses harder, and I know it's deliberate.
I don't move.
I let our bodies stay connected, reveling in the feeling that he's conjuring inside of me from just a simple touch.
He turns toward me, his face almost touching my shoulder as he stifles a cough that sounds entirely fake.
When I glance over at him, our faces are close.
His eyes are deliciously dark.
Desire and lust course through me.
The video ends.
The lights switch on.
And all too suddenly, he straightens in his chair, his body no longer touching mine.