Page 13 of Strictly Against Policy

He narrowed his eyes. “My lack of professionalism?”

I lowered my eyelids just slightly to give myself the look of composure and utter control of my surging emotions. A gaze I learned to harness early in my life to redirect how people viewed, treated, and responded to me in circumstances like this. If they thought they had the upper hand, I proved them wrong—I did—over my emotions, over the situation, and, most of all, over how they reacted to me. Most people didn’t respond well to my icy resting bitch face, but it taught them to fear me. Especially my family.

An unreadable emotion flared across Jonathan’s face for a split second before he schooled it under a mask of frosty indifference. Similar to the way I had done.

“Yes,” I answered in the same low and gravelly tone.

We didn’t say a single word or move an inch as we stood on the pharmacy floor, staring down each other. Both our faces were bare of any emotion, yet every bit of pent-up agitation and pettiness were written in the depths of our silence.

“Please leave, Dr. Lee,” Jonathan finally said. He jerked his head toward the exit.

I did as he requested and motioned. My foot was about to walk off the pharmacy floor and into the break room when I turned around. I already regretted what I had just said. Despite my pointed words, this person was still my manager. He could easily terminate me tomorrow morning. It would be unlawful, but it was also the last thing I needed right now.

To be the bigger person, I looked Jonathan straight in the eyes. He kept staring at the wall behind me, looking bored. Yet, we both knew more brewed underneath.

“I wanted to apologize about what I said last week in the parking lot and what I said a moment ago. It was inappropriate of me to behave in such a way,” I said, gentler.

Jonathan continued to look past me as if I were nonexistent. He walked toward me, off the pharmacy floor, and into a little hallway that led to the back. I watched him jiggle the janitorial closet door, likely to grab the cleaning supplies we stored in there. Once again, it was another day where I was nothing but a waste of space for this person.

Our conversation today had the tiniest of progressions until we both became petty mere seconds into it.

“As I was saying, Dr. Lo, I’m sorry about what happened.” I followed him down the hallway.

Jonathan’s back stiffened as I pulled the heavy metal door, which he had propped open, wider. The air was heavy with tension when I stepped into the tiny, dimly lit janitor’s closet. It was frigid in there and the goosebumps on my neck raised like a warning sign.

I spoke up. “For the sake of peace, I’ll put aside my differences with you and be professional.”

My apology was only half genuine. I wasn’t apologizing because I felt sorry. I was apologizing because I wanted to look like the adult in the room. Jonathan was never going to apologize for his lack of professionalism. He was a higher-up, after all. Like most people in power, he would never admit to his childish antics.

Since he wasn’t going to apologize, I would. For some peace.

“I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again—” I stated again before our only source of light, which came from the hallway, suddenly dimmed.

“Shit!” cursed Jonathan.

He quickly moved to prevent the heavy door from shutting closed. His concrete body slammed into mine in the process. He couldn’t lunge for it on time as our only exit closed with a defining boom.

My head spun a bit as he pinned me against the cold metal door. I tried not to think about the way his defined pecs and one of his biceps tensed against my face. Whether he realized we were face-to-chest or not, he made no indication of it for a long moment.

With each hard breath he let out, I could hear his heartbeat wildly against my ear.

“Fuck,” he whispered. His hot breath brushed across my face and down my neck, and I tried not to squirm under it. “We’re stuck in here.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, sounding meek.

As far as our whole team was aware, the doorknob inside this closet was broken. It was practically impossible to get out if you were locked in due to rust and wear and tear. It was far easier to work with the still barely functioning knob from the outside.

A muscle on Jonathan’s jaw feathered as he pulled away. I felt something shift behind my head, and I jumped.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand from the back of my head. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Did his hand cushion the back of my head so I wouldn’t get hurt? From the light shake Jonathan gave his hand, that seemed to be the case.

“Why are you even asking that? I thought you hated me.” The words slipped out before I could stop myself.

He may have pulled away, but we were still standing only a breath away. It was impossible to distance myself from him, or him from me. Or I’d pressed my back into the doorknob, and he’d be pressing himself against the small sink for the mop bucket.

I looked up at him. The dim light from the broken light bulb on the ceiling cast dark shadows across his face, caressing him like an embrace. Some tension in his shoulders released, and the hard expression on his face softened just slightly.