Yes, Sir.

Chapter 11: Stay

CHAPTER 11

Harry is staring at me.

This has to be the fifteenth time in the last ten minutes. I gnaw on my bottom lip nervously, wondering what I could possibly be doing that is so out of line. He has a little frown on his face; his eyebrows drawn together slightly.

I look away from the window and back to my laptop screen. Harry gave me the job of creating the power point for the big board meeting scheduled for next week. So obviously it has to be perfect.

I mess around a little with some transitions, add a final picture to the slide, then allow myself to look up again.

Surprise, surprise; he's still staring at me with that dissaproving little look. I pull me lip out from under my teeth and make a face that clearly asks, Why are you looking at me like that?

When our eyes meet, he quickly glances down at his desk and begins scribbling with his pen. I huff in frustration and slide my eyes back to my computer screen again.

What is with him? I have half a mind to storm right over there and demand to know why, but then I remember yesterday and the shirtless incident. Yeah, better not.

Just the thought of Harry in those shorts makes me blush. I can't believe I stood there drooling at him for a full five minutes. He probably thinks I'm some sort of sex-crazed idiot.

I command myself to stop thinking about him. I begin typing an email up to some businessman, confirming his ten o'clock meeting. Halfway through the e-mail my mind drifts to my boss again. Damn it.

I look at Harry again, and he is staring right back. This time he doesn't break our eye contact, instead he keeps a steady gaze on me. And there's that look in his eyes again that causes a blush to rise in my cheeks.

Then I snap out of it and finish the e-mail, concentrating profusely on not thinking about him. The last thing I need is to fall for Harry's shit.

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I don't think I've ever hated anything more than copying company models. I blow a wisp of hair out of my eyes as I type up the last line. I decided to wear a loose ponytail today, tied high on top of my head, partly because I'm sick of braids and partly because I was late leaving the gym this morning.

The power point's last three slides are dedicated solely to the stupid models. After I finish, I check over the numbers Harry gave me and the ones that I just typed a total of ten times. I'm not about to mess these up again.

I print out the sheets and then tap lightly on my boss's door. "Harry? I finished the models."

He motions for me to come in, so I step inside, closing the door behind me. He examines the first sheet of models, nodding appreciably at the pie chart I added, but when he reaches the second page his forehead creases into a deep furrow.

"Half of these figures are wrong, Leah."

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

"What? They can't be. I proofread them ten times!"

"I don't care if you proofed them a hundred times, these are completely incorrect." He drops the papers on his desk with an exasperated sigh. Harry begins comparing my papers to his copy and puts an x next to each number that is different. Soon, half the sheet has angry red marks all over it.