There’s no signature but it doesn’t need one. I can imagine Jeanette’s expression softening as she hands Danny a Post-it note detailing my address with a muttered, You didn’t get this from me. Even HR ladies break the rules for love.
I text him: Thank you so much!!
He replies almost instantly: I had a great time. I’d love to see you again.
I reply: Definitely!
I stand, hands on hips, looking at the flowers. The ego boost couldn’t have been timed better. I turn back to my computer. That job will be mine. And Joshua will be gone.
“Let’s get this finished.”
HE’S A BIG blur of mustard out of the corner of my eye when I walk in on Friday. I hang my coat and walk straight into Helene’s office. For once she’s in early. I could enfold her in my arms and squeeze.
“I’m here,” I tell her. She waves me in and I close the door behind me.
“Is it in?” I nod.
“Joshua’s is too. And two external applicants so far. How was your date? Are you all right?”
She’s always the picture of composure. Today she’s wearing a blazer over what is probably a pure silk T-shirt, tucked into a wool skirt. Nothing as common as cotton for Helene. I hope when she dies she bequeaths her wardrobe to me.
I ease into a chair. “It was fine. Danny Fletcher in design. I hope that’s okay; he’s finishing up next week to freelance.”
“Shame. He does good work. Seeing him won’t be a problem.”
My mind flashes to kissing Joshua in the elevator. That’s a problem, all right.
“But something happened,” Helene surmises.
“I had a huge argument with Joshua before the date, and it rattled me. I woke up feeling unstable. Like if I came in here we’d both be wheeled out by paramedics, drenched in blood.”
Helene is eyeing me speculatively. “What was the argument about?”
Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to vent about my personal issues with Helene. I’m terminally unprofessional. My cheeks heat and when I can’t think of a lie, I abbreviate.
“He thought I was lying about having a date. I’m so lame.”
“Interesting,” she says slowly. “Have you thought about this very hard?”
I shrug. Only obsessively, to the point where I couldn’t sleep.
“I’m upset with myself for letting him push my buttons. You have no idea how hard it is, sitting opposite him, trying to resist his constant attacks.”
“I’ve got some idea. It’s called brinkmanship, darling.” She gestures at the wall with her thumb.
She’s the perfect person to confide in. Mr. Bexley is on the other side of her wall right now, plotting ways to assassinate her. She follows my eyeline. We hear a faint honking sneeze, a fart sound, and some grumbling.
“Why would he assume you were lying? And why did it upset you so much that he did?” Helene is drawing spirals on her notepad and I feel a little hypnotized. She’s turned into my therapist.
“He thinks I’m such a joke. He’s always laughing about what my parents do. I’m sure he laughs at where I went to school. My clothes. My height. My face.”
She nods patiently, watching me try to untangle these complicated thoughts.
“It bothers me to know he thinks that of me. That’s the bit that trips me up. All I want is his respect.”
“You prize your reputation of being likable and approachable,” she supplies. “Everyone likes you. He is the only one who resists.”
“He lives to destroy me.” Maybe I’m getting a little overdramatic.
“And you, him,” she points out.
“Yes. And this isn’t the person I want to be.”
“Don’t interact with him today. You could take the vacant office down on the third floor for a few days.
We could divert the phones.”
I shake my head. “Tempting, but no, I can deal with it. I’ll draft the quarterly report and keep to myself.
I’ll forget he exists.”
I can still remember the taste of his mouth. I breathed his hot exhalations until my lungs were filled with him. His air was inside my body. He taught me things in the space of two minutes that the span of my lifetime did not. Forgetting his existence is going to be a challenge, but this job is nothing but challenges.