If Alex Grayson had a hobby, it was apparently pissing me off.
Over the next few days, he made it his personal mission to invade my space at every possible moment.
A lingering gaze across the conference room. A touch at my lower back when he leaned in to "discuss" something. A husky comment disguised as a professional inquiry.
He knew exactly what he was doing and It was exhausting. So f*****g exhausting.
But I had a plan.
The plan was simple. Avoid. Deflect. Ignore.
And for the most part, it worked.
I kept our conversations strictly professional, kept my body angled away whenever he got too close and made sure my schedule was always conveniently "booked" whenever he suggested we "discuss things privately."
But then the universe betrayed me.
And by "the universe," I meant Rebecca.
