“Shit,” I grunt as I continue pacing.
We’ve avoided each other as much as humanly possible. However, workwise, we’ve spent a lot of time together—too much time together—so you’d think we’d know each other more intimately. But that’s the thing about an enemy: if the old adage is to keep them closer, then maybe I should.
What irks me more than anything is the fact that El has me pegged all wrong. Forget it if I want to know more; she won’t reciprocate. How I got this reputation as being the office manwhore, I’m unsure about. El thinks I fuck everything that moves. Little does she know, I’m selective about the women I keep in my company. Ladies do flock to me, and I won’t deny it. That doesn’t make me a cocky, womanizing bastard.
My great aunt raised me to be gentlemanly. She taught me to dance, play the cello, and got me my first computer at age nine. I owe that woman my life for taking me in as a rambunctious five-year-old. My parents both died in their sleep of carbon monoxide poisoning—a freak accident that my aunt still can’t get over since my mom was her favorite niece.
To celebrate their anniversary, my parents had gone away to some ski resort in the Adirondack Mountains. The cabin they rented had an undetected flue leak from the heating system. At the time, I was staying with my mom’s parents. After my mom and dad passed away, and my grandparents realized they weren’t up to the task, my grandmother’s sister took me in, and I was shipped from New York to Texas.
God bless Great Aunt Taffy—her name is Tammy, but I didn’t know better as a kid, so the name stuck. She never had children of her own and was unmarried. I became the center of her universe—she became that for me too.
The age of five may seem grown enough that I should’ve retained a good recollection of my parents after they died, but I’m not one of those people who has a vivid memory. Details have faded over the years, and unless I see pictures, I barely remember them. What’s concrete in my mind, though, is I know they loved me, and I will always love them.
Aunt Taffy filled their shoes nicely. She, being the baby of the family, is younger than my grandmother, who has already gone from this earth. Taffy’s seventy-eight-years-old, thirty-five at heart, but her health is deteriorating. She’s all I have left of my family, something El wouldn’t take the time to learn about me.
I convinced Aunt Taffy to move here to Florida with me so I could take care of her. The risk of uprooting an elderly person from their surroundings and taking them out of their comfort zone is great. However, leaving her alone in Texas wasn’t an option. She’s adjusting well at an assisted living facility, and I visit her as often as I can. It wasn’t a selfish move on my part because she wanted me to explore opportunities.
Nope, El knows none of these things about me. Although, I have to hand it to Elodie because I recently found out from a co-worker that she’s tackling grad school on top of the sixty-hour workweeks she puts in here. Keeping up with her studies is impressive. Yet, she should take a little time to get to know people. This may be a place of business, but it doesn’t have to be all business, all the time. If she really wants to run this place one day, it’ll be in her best interest to take a page out of her dad’s book.
My desk phone buzzes with the intercom feature, and another one of our secretaries, Deb, starts talking. “Mr. Fox, umm, sorry for the interruption, but Miss Alcott wanted me to remind you every few hours to review the documents.”
Placing my hands on my desk and breathing rather loudly and obnoxiously through my nose, I reply as politely as I can, “Deb, I don’t need reminders. I realize you were instructed to deliver the message, but I’m giving you a different task. Every few hours, please page Miss Alcott and remind her the project was awarded to me, and if she has any questions, she can visit my office. That is all!”
With my trusty pointer finger, I stab the button on my phone labeled DND for “do not disturb.”
Elodie Alcott…yeah, she’s a piece of work, all right.
3
Elodie
“You just getting in, hon?” my neighbor Melissa, who’s a yoga instructor at the gym down the street, asks me while I’m heading up the steps to the front door of my townhome. I’m envious of her perkiness at all hours—the antithesis to my grumpiness.
“Yeah, and I’ve got lots of studying to do.”
“Lucky you. Listen, we should get together this weekend and have a girl’s night out. I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. And some hot guys might take my mind off Will,” she says sadly.
Lissa, as I call her, is still nursing a broken heart from her long-time college boyfriend and their relationship that ended four months ago. Unfortunately, I’m not much help in the broken-heart department when it comes to lending advice, seeing how I’ve never been in love as an adult, nor have I ever been in a long-term romantic relationship. I’m not sorry I swore off men—back then it was boys—when I was a teen.
Mulling over her proposition, I’m thinking that, despite my aversion to clubs, bars, or any of those typical hangouts for twenty-somethings, a change of pace might do me some good. Besides, I’ll show Jamison that I can loosen up.
Who are you kidding? You’re not gonna go, my subconscious reminds me.
“I’ll think about it, Lissa, and get back to you. Of course, I’ll need to check my calendar.”
She flicks her long, strawberry-blonde ponytail over her shoulder and laughs boisterously—I know it’s because she thinks my boyfriend is my damn calendar, the way I’m attached to it. As much as I love technology, and it’s an integral cog in my profession, I love writing things in my planner that I carry with me at all times.
When I arch a brow at her, signaling my lack of amusement, she blows me a kiss and waves goodbye. I’m lucky she puts up with me. Sighing, I enter my empty house, thinking about how it’s been another long day. Hours of homework are still ahead of me tonight. My schedule is grueling, but I won’t complain about it to anyone—always keeping my stress and complaints to myself. Like most things, my subconscious chimes in again.
Kicking off my heels as I’m walking through the foyer, I flip on the lights and wander from the living room to my kitchen. Coffee is a must at this hour if I’m going to study and work on my assignments. Admittedly, I love deadlines and the subsequent rush that comes along with them, even though I’m not a last-minute person. Procrastination is not a trait I exhibit, so I ensure I carefully plot out my calendar well before things are due. Meticulousness, decisiveness, and careful planning with resolute execution are attributes in my repertoire.
My coffee machine produces a heavenly smelling vanilla-flavored brew, and I grab my favorite mug from the cupboard, which has a little cartoonish man with a computer for a head. He’s holding up his middle finger, and under him, it reads, Compute This! Lissa gave me the mug. She’s my best friend—really my only friend, but it’s sad since we don’t hang out as much as we could or should. I guess I’m classified as a loner. Even at school, I keep to myself so there are no distractions from my studies or job. I have no friends at work because we’re not there to socialize.