“I am. I joined this company when I was fresh out of college. I’ve worked sixty-hour weeks with minimal vacations and no significant pay raises for the last eight years.” He stopped eating and stared at me. “I did it because I believe in Dynex and The Scientist’s Companion.”
There was an awkward pause in the conversation. We both stared at the television monitors overhead. I saw Garrett scan the bar before flagging the bartender out of the corner of my eye.
“Two more, please.” He waved toward our empty glasses and turned his body to face me. “I know about your nerdy childhood, pothead early adult years, traveling, and ambition-filled twenties. What’s next for you?”
“I am up for partner. I’ve spent the last five years traveling across the globe. I’m ready to slow down a bit, travel for enjoyment, and see the life outside of the conference room.”
“Life outside the conference room . . . You’ve been here for a month. Have you visited the Museum of Science and Industry?”
“I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t had time.”
“We’ll go together. It’s the perfect place for geeky girls.”
I turned to face him, placing my foot on the footrest at the bottom of his barstool. My leg briefly touched his, and I nearly jolted from my seat. I didn’t remove it from the footrest but made sure that our body parts didn’t touch. We sat with his legs flanking mine and talked about bad haircuts, prom dates, and embarrassing moments. At one point, I laughed and instinctively touched his chest. I pulled my hand back like I had felt a hot oven. His chest was so hard. Seriously, no one’s chest could be that hard. He smiled, his amber gaze refusing to leave mine.
The casual dinner felt like a date, and I wondered how I got here. Three weeks ago, I hated the guy, and now I had a massive crush on him. Feeling a lot braver, I threw caution to the wind and asked a personal question.
“You’ve not mentioned a girlfriend. Are you dating anyone?”
He stiffened and sat back in the chair. A shadow crossed his face, and he stared at the television monitors overhead. “We broke up months ago.”
Well, damn. His answer was short and to the point. So, his relationship didn’t end well. Breakups were challenging, but I sensed his was off-limits.
“I broke up with my boyfriend last year. Now I’m navigating the world of dating apps. I hate it.”
“The Lonely-Hearts Club sucks, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” I cocked my head to the side. Lilah’s gossip connections had said nothing about him actively looking for love. They’d described him as committed to bachelorhood. Maybe Lilah got it wrong.
He imitated my expression. “What’s that look for?”
“I’m surprised is all.”
“Jasmine, don’t evade my questions. What are you thinking?” He placed a hand on mine and gazed deeply into my eyes. Sparks radiated from the place where our skin touched. I felt a combination of warmth and slightly drunk. The two glasses of red wine had done their job of relaxing my brain, but I couldn’t become too comfortable with Garrett.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to drop it.” I slipped away my hand, that uncomfortable silence hitting us again. This time, I didn’t allow it to linger. “Garrett, thank you for the burgers and drinks. I had a great time. I need to get back to the hotel.”
“I have work to catch up on tonight. Let’s do it again.”
He settled the bill, and we walked to the entrance of the restaurant. We both lingered. Expectant stares passed between the two of us. I wasn’t sure what he thought, but I needed to run my fingers through his hair and feel the full length of him against my throbbing body.
Yes. Throbbing body. From head to foot, I ached for him.
“I should go.” I stared at the lips that I desperately desired to taste.
“I’ll hail a taxi.” He walked to the curb and raised his arm, flagging down the first available cab. He opened the door and gave the driver directions.
I walked to the opened door. Garrett tentatively moved closer as if he would embrace me but caught himself. Instead, he extended a hand, which I gladly accepted.
“Sweet dreams, Jasmine.”
Garrett
The first week in the war room, the team got to know each other. Everyone was kind and polite. We maintained a consistent low hum, the only sound was the tapping of keyboards. Everyone set their cell phones to vibrate, and we took calls outside of the space. We related all conversations to work. Even then, we’d leaned over and whispered while collaborating.
We were now in our fourth week of being trapped in the hot room. We’d stopped being polite, allowing our real personalities and quirks to come through.
By the time we added folks from the Wallace and Dynex teams, there were twelve of us seated around a table suited for ten.
Each of us centered our days around the room. The only time someone left was for executive updates or interviews with the different departments. We ate breakfast and lunch in the room and filled the cabinets with snacks. I even moved my beloved French Press into the conference space.
“Hunter, is it necessary to manspread? Your legs are taking up your space and drifting into mine. Have you heard of social distancing?” Lilah nudged his leg over with hers. Like a mountain, he didn’t move. Instead, he clasped his fingers behind his head and reclined in the chair.
Lilah followed his gaze to the ceiling. Exasperated, she squeaked. “Is it necessary to encroach on my personal space?”
“Lilah-putian, you don’t need a lot of space.” Over the last three weeks, the tiny, most energetic member of our team had gained a new nickname. The name was a play on the word, Lilliputian. She had a love-hate relationship with it.
“I don’t need your leg bumping me. You’re tall. I get it. However, I need a six foot bubble of peace and serenity.” She folded her hands and nodded her head. “Namaste.”
Jasmine snorted.
“What is that about?” She turned to Jasmine’s smirking face.
Hunter sat up in his chair and dove right in. “Jasmine, please, allow me.”
Jasmine nodded, resting her chin in her hand as she waited expectantly.
“Delilah, either play the music for everyone to hear or turn it down. I speak for the team when I beg that you stop mouthing the words to the songs. Also, nobody cares for Maroon 5. Find another playlist.”
“I like Maroon 5.” Jasmine raised her hand. Lilah reached over, and the two high-fived. “I’m more concerned with the sheer volume of snacks consumed during an entire day. I try to be nice, but when you guys open those french onion chips, I can’t take it. The smell fills the room, and I get nauseous.”
Hunter then turned to Jasmine, “Now, as for you, Miss Sigher. You sigh at least five times an hour. Why? Why do you sigh so much?”
“We’re seated shoulder-to-shoulder. The room is hot. I sigh because I’m a hostage to this space. I have to delay the onset of the Stockholm Syndrome. Soon, I’ll identify and sympathize with each of you.”
Everyone laughed, several heads nodded in agreement.
This morning’s weekly status update with Nic was tenuous. I needed a stiff drink and laughter—anything to dissipate my stress and free it into the air.