Chapter 10: Unwanted Attention

Brooke

“Mom, did you happen to iron my white shirt?”

The temperatures rose suddenly, from one day to the next, and I only had sweaters and sweatpants in my wardrobe. We had spent the weekend emptying boxes for the change of season, but most of the items were badly folded and wrinkled during the winter months.

“No, but I put the pink shirt on your desk” he replied from the kitchen.

“Mother!” I groaned. “This shirt has two cats printed on the front. Do you think I could wear it to the office?”

“Then put on the black one.”

The black one had a seamless hem on one of the sleeves, and it would take me at least twenty minutes to fix it. I doubted that Mr. Farrow would have excused my being late for a very trivial cutting and sewing job.

Truth be told, from the hostile way he often looked at me, I doubted he justified my entire existence. The fact that he honored me with flowers didn't automatically mean he liked my presence. His gesture was probably dictated by some kind of truce pact, along the lines of “I can barely tolerate you, but since we have to work together, we might as well put the hatchet aside…and, by the way, I forgive you!”

Thinking back, I regret rejecting the first bouquet. In doing so, I did nothing more than confirm to him what I had said in the agency's lobby on the day we met for the first time, namely that his arrival would disturb my peace of mind at work.

When I then had other work delivered directly to my house, there was a clear attempt to irritate me and an even clearer sign that everything I felt was indifferent to him. It was done as he wanted. And that's it. And if he wanted to put an end to our disastrous first meeting, this blessed end should have been ended without any protest.

Not that I wanted to protest, on the contrary. As much as I hated authoritarian men, in this particular situation, I had better set aside my intolerance and stop going overboard with a cordial gesture. I wasn't so sure if I wanted to tell Dimitri about it anymore. What's the point? Being your partner, he would have taken your side and I would have found myself in an unnecessarily awkward position.

“The coffee is ready.” My mother called me.

I put on the pink t-shirt, fixed some strands of hair that were stuck in my neckline, and ran out of the room, avoiding glancing in the mirror on the wall. Sometimes it was better not to see.

“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” I begged, catapulting myself into the pergola and immediately stopping in surprise. “Sergeant Malloy, welcome! What are you doing here at this hour?”

The old man stopped his hand in midair, giving up on taking a bite of the donut, and jumped up to hug me.

“My little girl, how beautiful you are.”

I returned the hug with a big smile. “You are always splendid, too. Who knows how many women tell you that?”

“Don't be so cheeky with me, little girl.” he pretended to scold me, no doubt thinking about the time I tried to set him up with the grandmother of an old friend of mine from high school. However, the meeting never took place. “But what does your mother give you? Look! “He pinched my side.” What is that? Is it bacon I'm smelling?”

“Ah-ha! Very funny.”

“Seriously, what do you girls eat these days? You are just skin and bones. And grab a donut, come on!” He placed his hand in the center of my back, pushing me towards the table.

“I'm going to be late for work.” I started to protest.

“You are already working.”

“Being in your company is tiring, I admit, but I didn't know that talking to you was considered a complete job.” I was provoked.

“Yes and no.”

“In what sense?”

“Sit down, little girl. Sit down and I'll explain.”

I sat next to my father and kissed him on the cheek.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully.” He returned the kiss with a loud slap.

“So, Sergeant Malloy, explain a little to me.” I insisted, serving him some fish in syrup.

“I have a little project here for you to see.” He gave the professional tone he always used when he was on duty, and it made me smile.

He leaned over his hard leather briefcase and took out some papers. Then he passed them to me, careful not to knock the coffee pot.

I took a quick look at a pencil sketch of a list of work to be done at Eagle Mountain Base Control.

“What is this?”

“We are making some adjustments to the safety protocol and starting some research into how climate effects are influencing the life of the fauna present in our forests. The climate crisis involves a reaction on the part of animals, like wolves for example, who are forced to adapt to new temperatures. This is an ambitious project but also very expensive. He asks for liquids that we don't have and that's why we think of starting a crowdfunding campaign to obtain the necessary funds.”

“And do you need publicity?” he put two and two together.

“Exactly.” he nodded, leaning towards my father. “Your little girl is smart.”

“The apple never falls far from the tree.” my father rejoiced.

“Dad,” I warned him jokingly. So I went back to Malloy. “Have you spoken to Dimitri yet?”

“No, no, not with him. I discussed this with James.”

“And who is it?”

“Mr. Farrow, you silly girl.”

I hit my forehead. “Oh yes. I'm so used to calling him by his last name that at first, I couldn't connect. And who attended to you? Does he agree?”

“Clear. He was the one who told me to match with you.”

I stuck a finger into the center of my chest. To say I was surprised was an understatement.

“With me?”

“Aren't you his assistant?”

I shook my head, increasingly confused.

“Well, he assured me that you two will continue with this project.”

“But I'm just an employee. I make photocopies and change some graphics on the billboards.”

“Honey…” he pointed the fork at me. “I'm not aware of your corporate hierarchy, but if James has decided he wants you to become an active part of this project, he's fine with that. You will probably have made a good impression on him.”

A grimace escaped me. Oh, sure! Very good!

“It's him?” he asked.

“He what?” The grimace showed no signs of abating.

“Did he make a good impression on you?”

The question was strange and irrelevant. He seemed to want to insinuate something, and it was strange that Malloy would engage in such frivolous conversations.

I felt my parents' eyes on me and carefully measured my words.

“More or less. I didn't talk to him much.”

A strange smile stretched his lips and his hollow cheeks lifted.

“Now you will have the chance to do that.”

When I arrived at the Farrow company, I noticed some commotion around my station. I didn't even manage to put my bag on the chair before Connor made space among the several colleagues who intended to roll up some posters.

“Attention everyone!” He clapped his hands a few times and waited for us to form a circle around him. “From today onwards, this will be Mr. Farrow's office.” he pointed to a room with transparent panel walls at the end of the open space. Until that moment it had been used as a thinking room, that is, where we, creative people, took refuge when we needed a little silence to come up with some slogans.

“Why doesn't he use the one on the thirteenth floor?” Jenny was surprised.

“It looks like there are some breaks. Maybe there's a problem with the pipes. I don't know. Anyway, from now on there is no more useless chatter in the bar area.” he began to list, raising his thumb, then his index finger, and so on, “No more hysteria attacks when a job is not accepted, no more personal calls, no more chatting on Telegram with the waitresses at Dorian's bar. … yes, yes, I'm talking to you, Simon. And you…” he turned abruptly to me, pointing a finger behind him. “… stop crushing snack wrappers on the table. We are an advertising agency, not a candy company. And stop throwing trash on the floor, too. You understand me?” I shook my head in a daze and jumped to the side until I reached Jenny. You could see on her face that she was excited about this unscheduled event. Even her hands were shaking.

“You heard?” Her eyes widened. Her smile was so wide that I was surprised he could speak. “The big boss, Mr. Farrow himself, side by side with us! This is an opportunity worth taking, one we have all been waiting for two years. Qualified to get a promotion. Who knows? Maybe he'll choose an assistant. My God, can you imagine?”

“Vaguely.” I stammered in horror.

I went to my desk and turned on the computer. Everyone was thrilled to finally be able to impress the boss, while I wanted to hide behind the copier and only come out at closing time.

How could I justify to my colleagues that Mr. Farrow had already decided me as his assistant, without even bothering to check whether I was up to the task? There were people much more competent than me and with twice my experience.

The only campaign I followed was for a food supplement aimed at guinea pigs, and it wasn't even accepted by the client.

Could it be that Mr. Farrow wanted to entrust me with such an important project only to humiliate me and eventually fire me? He was the boss, he could fire me without having to make excuses!

I was so focused on my hypotheses that I belatedly realized that the voices of my colleagues had become a buzz. You could even hear the buzzing of the fly hitting the window glass. Connor stood in front of me, with his hands on his hips and the angriest expression on his face. I've never seen that. Even more so than when I inadvertently broke the mug his mother had given him for Christmas.

“Are you with us, Brooke?” he growled when I finally lifted my head from the pencil sharpener I was absently playing with.

“Yes, what is it?” I replied a little grumpily.

Connor closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before pointing to something behind me.

I started to turn around, but my eyes registered a set of muscles hidden beneath a dark t-shirt; Mr. Farrow was behind me. He stared at me in silence, leaning slightly towards me, supporting part of his weight with one hand resting on the edge of my table.

“This is an addiction.” I whimpered with shame. Why did he always have to come after me?

“In my office,” he ordered coldly, waving for me to hurry.

I looked at Connor and started to follow him.

“Mr. Farrow, I wasn't distracted at all. I was in creative meditation. This is how our business works. If you were here the last two years instead of wandering around…”

Farrow froze instantly, and I collided with the tense muscles of his back. I put my hand on my nose and took two steps back, realizing that out of anxiety I had criticized him in front of everyone.

When he turned around, a worried expression briefly crossed his furious gaze. His eyes registered the way I was rubbing my nose.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Do you have granite instead of muscles?” I murmured. I wrinkled my nose, clenching my teeth in pain, and tried to relax the muscles in my face.

“Make a note to move a little further away from me,” he advised, opening a smile when I rubbed his nose again. “It's not just my back that's hard as granite.”