Debbie pretended the phone rang just as Rick took a few steps toward Laura and walked her to her office.
“You excited?” she asked him.
“About what?” He seemed really nervous.
She frowned. “About the move! The promotion!”
“Oh. Yeah. That.” He laughed, a shy sound that made her feel warm toward him. Awkward Rick was great for talking about ComicCon or the latest gamer scandal. Anything else and he shut down.
“I’d be thrilled to move up the corporate ladder.” Laura’s words were not, technically, true. She’d be thrilled to get the raise that came with a promotion, but working in management was about as much fun as watching Debbie get a Brazilian. And Laura knew exactly how much fun that was, because one day Debbie had come to work with a video of it.
Laura was perfectly fine being a middle-level Financial Analyst. One of the drones. Even her grey sweater matched the walls of her windowless office.
She blended in, and that was all fine and good. Stohlman Industries owned her soul for fifty hours a week.
They couldn’t have more.
“I’m glad, sure,” he said with a shaky sigh. “And my girlfriend dumped me last week—”
“You had a girlfriend?” Laura regretted the words instantly, knowing her surprise would make Rick uncomfortable.
He glared at her, the look filled with menace and hurt. “Hard to believe, right?”
“No! That’s not what I meant...” A burst of embarrassment and shame filled her, making her tongue tied. Why was she like this? How could she ever imagine someone like Rick—this new Rick—would realize she was just making conversation and not judging? A sense of self-loathing pounded in her veins, and all she wanted to do was flee to her office and bury herself in a spreadsheet.
Spreadsheets were safe. Spreadsheets didn’t give her uncomprehending looks, or make her feel like an idiot. If she messed up a spreadsheet she could fix it with a few clicks.
Too bad men didn’t have an “Undo” button.
“Okay,” Rick said in a clipped voice, fidgeting as they reached her door. He looked like he wanted to get away as quickly as possible, like a little boy dressed up in his dad’s clothes. Laura’s keen sense of equilibrium with him was completely off, and all she wanted to do right now was get behind her desk, safely ensconced in her office, door shut.
But Rick followed her.
She faltered at her doorway, hand on the knob. “Um, you need something?” she asked, trying to smile. She was so drained from being “on”, and just wanted a break.
And it wasn’t even eight thirty yet. This would be one long Monday.
“The staff meeting,” Rick said, all business. “I just wanted to give you the head’s up that I’ll be leaving, and you’ll get an IT contact for problems.”
“Have they hired anyone yet?” she asked, a feeling of mild dread washing over her. During crunch times, a good IT contact was worth their weight in gold. A bad one was worse than no IT help, though.
“Nope. Budget cuts.”
She groaned. “They’ll just assign me to someone who’s already overworked, won’t they?”
He gave her a cheesy thumbs’ up. He was thawing. She grinned and shook her head, ending the conversation as she shut the door and leaned up against it, closing her eyes and looking up.
Why couldn’t life be an endless stretch of time in bed with four hands on her? She snickered, letting the tension ooze out of her body, willing herself to take deep breaths until she felt okay.
Because no one pays you to do that, she told herself. Unless you’re a porn actress.
That last voice sounded suspiciously like Josie’s.
Thirty minutes later, she’d triaged her email and realized she needed a cup of coffee before heading into the meeting. Walking past Debbie’s desk, she saw the receptionist and Rick holding their respective smartphones, heads huddled, each typing.
Debbie winked at her as Laura heard Rick mention a party at a club Laura had heard of, but never been to. Debbie laughed and touched his arm, while Rick leaned in, eyes all over Debbie’s cleavage.
Good for Debbie and Rick. Get laid and have fun. For now, Laura’s sex life would exist only in her mind.
And her nightside table.
I’m never that girl, she thought as she went to the coffee station and made herself a cup.
Only in my dreams.
Chapter 12
Tempo Bistro was supposed to be a sure thing, but so far all it had produced was certain failure. He'd heard about the place from some guys at the station, and asked his date to lunch here.
Leslie was an Instagram “influencer,” and her specialty was magnetic eyelashes.
How did he know? Because that's all she'd talked about for the last twenty minutes.
Magnetic eyelashes.
For twenty minutes.
Seated outside on the tiny patio, they were there before the lunch rush, one of three tables occupied, and while it was only 11:52 a.m., he desperately wanted a drink. The sushi he'd devoured was turning sour in his stomach as Leslie – a hot brunette with thick eyebrows, long (fake) eyelashes, and an ass that went on forever in a tight knit dress – drank her third iced tea with five Splendas and recoiled as she took her first bite of her now-warm dish.
That had been delivered fifteen minutes ago during one of her non-stop descriptions of YouTube algorithms and ad revenue.
She'd ordered a teeny salad and was complaining about the dressing.
“Who puts peanuts in salad dressing?” Leslie whined, eyeing the beige sauce like it was personally attacking her.
“Asian fusion restaurant,” he replied evenly. “Bet it's got ginger and soy sauce, too.”
“Is that what the clumpy stuff is? Ugh. And soy sauce? The sodium will make my eyelids swell and I'll lose revenue for two days!” She shoved the small bowl away from her and began waving wildly for the server.
“It's fine. She's taking someone's order and I'll catch her eye when she's done,” he began.
“EXCUSE ME!” Leslie said loudly, standing up halfway, until the poor server turned around, electronic device in hand, clearly inputting the other table's orders.
The server, a short Asian woman with hair in a long braid, gave her the universal gesture for “wait a minute” and smiled.
“Don't you point your finger at me!” Leslie called out, face flushing, blinking so hard she looked like her face was about to take flight.
The server frowned, said something in a clearly apologetic manner to the table, and hurried over.
Dylan groaned inside.
“I'm sorry, is something wrong?” the woman asked, face neutral, eyebrows up.
He looked at the server's name tag. Li-Bao.
“This is the most disgusting dressing I have ever eaten in my life,” Leslie said, using her fingertips to brush a piece of non-existent hair out off her brow.
Li-Bao caught Dylan's eye, then looked back at Leslie. “I'm so sorry. What else can I get you?”
“Something to get the taste out of my mouth.”
“It's fine, Miss,” Dylan said, the date over in his mind. “Leslie just needs a menu to see if there's something else she'd like.”