Chapter 13
Danni
“He destroyed my code!”
Morgan, Kayla, and I are standing in the storage closet, the single overhead light casting long shadows on our faces.
Morgan’s mouth drops open, creating a shadow within a shadow. “Drew did?”
“Yes. And Chance.” Bitterness soaks my words.
Kayla crosses her arms and juts out a foot. “Is that what their bromance is all about?”
“Apparently. They deleted half of my code and rewrote the other half.”
“You have to tell Christopher,” Morgan says.
“It’s too late,” Kayla says matter-of-factly.
“Why?” Morgan asks.
“Remember when Drew rewrote Bruce’s API for the CRAP load? Bruce complained and Christopher didn’t do anything about it.”
“That’s because he knocked twenty minutes off the process,” Morgan answers.
They look at each other, and then slowly turn their eyes toward me, sadness tinging their expressions.
“They didn’t improve my app, they just hacked it to bits,” I say defensively. “This is different. It’s not time sensitive.”
Morgan rubs the back of her neck. “Drew is pretty good.”
Now my mouth drops open, shadows encroaching on my tonsils. “You’re defending him?”
“No. I’m just saying. We all know he’s smarter than us. Even Bruce. Bruce couldn’t get Drew to follow one of his design plans, and he couldn’t argue because Drew’s new design was over Bruce’s head with fewer lines of code. Much fewer.”
“The number of lines does not determine the robustness of an app. An app is as good as it is understandable. If the next programmer coming along can’t read and debug the code, what good is it?”
“It mattered in Intro to Computer Science,” Kayla says. She pulls her glasses off her nose and rubs the lenses with her sleeve.
“That’s because professors are dumb. They’ve never worked in the real world with real programmers.” Fully convinced of my argument, I lean confidently against a shelf, cross my arms and my ankles, jabbing my big toe against the floor like a skilled ballerina.
Morgan and Kayla still have that saddish look on their faces. It’s deepened by the shadows and looks kinda ghoulish now that I think about it. “I can’t believe you’re defending Drew.”
“Chance was in on it too?” Morgan asks.
“Of course he was. Why do you think they’ve been joined at the hip all week?”
“Because they have a budding bromance,” Kayla offers while holding her glasses up to the light to check for smudges.
Morgan ignores Kayla’s comment. “I thought maybe Drew was training Chance.”
“No,” I say flatly. “Chance was in on it. Just like Zane was in on it when he rewrote half of my app without telling me, even though he knew how hard I’d worked to get that thing to Prod.”
“Zane rewrote your code after it went to Prod?” Kayla asks, not as aghast as she should be, in my opinion.
“Yes, he went to management and said he needed to fix it or there’d be audit findings. And they let him.”
“And then you broke up with him,” Morgan says.
I squeeze my arms against my chest and ball my hands into fists. “Sure. That’s how it went.”
“You didn’t break up with him?” Morgan gapes at me, her shocked expression transformed into ghoulishness by the shadows. Why isn’t there better lighting in here?
“Not that time,” I mumble.
“Danni!” Morgan admonishes.
“I know. I know! That’s why I’m not going to let it happen again.”
“Except it did happen again,” Kayla says out of the corner of her mouth like she doesn’t want to take full credit for pointing out the obvious.
“I mean, it’s not happening with my benefits portal app. I’m not letting Chance steamroll me and rewrite half of my code. My code might not be as fancy, but it’s simple to read and it works. There’s nothing wrong with my approach. I’m not here to prove to everyone how smart I am.”
Morgan tucks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Well, for starters, no one is disagreeing with you. At least not in this room. And Chance isn’t your boyfriend. So this isn’t a repeat of your disaster with Zane.”
“Hey!”
“What?”
“I never said my relationship with Zane was a disaster.”
“You’ve implied it many times.”
“Fine. It was horrible. That’s why I can’t make that mistake again.”
Morgan leans forward to close the distance between us. “You aren’t making that mistake again,” she says carefully. “You and Chance aren’t dating. This is different.”
I scoff.
“What’s that look for?” Morgan asks.
“She’s overcompensating for the fact that she thinks Chance is hot and doesn’t want us to know,” Kayla says.
Thank goodness for poor lighting. Maybe they can’t see the ripe tomatoes posing as my cheeks. “He’s not hot,” I say, stiff-lipped.
“He is so hot,” Morgan says.
Kayla nods her head vigorously.
“Then you guys can date him!”
“I might,” Morgan says.
“It’s a definite possibility,” Kayla adds. “I just haven’t worked up the courage yet.”
“Trust me. You do not want to date a coworker.”
Morgan smirks. “Let us worry about that. You worry about your benefits portal app and not falling for Chance while you guys work late nights together in the dark office alone.”
My cheeks ripen at the thought of alone time with Chance in a dark room. These two are bad influences. I push myself back to standing. “Don’t worry. I plan on maintaining a professional distance. Chance is trouble. I know his type. You two can have him, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I head out of the storage closet before they can plant more ideas about Chance and me together alone in a dark room. Ironically, Chance is the first thing I see when the bright office lights hit my eyes, and as my gaze follows the contours of his cheeks and jawline, my fingertips turn into tiny little furnaces. I’m like ET except I have ten glowing fingers. But I do not want to cure Chance’s childhood trauma–or whatever else caused him to be this way–with gentle caresses along his chiseled chin. He’s my coworker. Coworkers don’t find each other attractive. Also, he hacked up my code without asking my permission. He’s not the type to ask. He’s the type to do without considering other people’s feelings.
Chance looks up from his monitor. “Did you forget something?”
It takes a moment to register that I’m standing by my cube like an idiot as I contemplate how not hot Chance is–not with that personality anyway. “No,” I say quickly before pulling out my chair and sitting down.
I slump to hide from Chance’s face and pull up my project management app. I’ve already started on the backlog, dividing tasks fairly between Chance and Heng, giving myself a higher percentage. As I’m systematically dragging tasks into the “To-Do” column to prepare for our first week of work, Chance pops his gum repeatedly like it’s the Fourth of July. I scootch up a bit to get a better look at him as his jaw muscle bulges from the constant chewing. He snaps and pops in quick succession before grabbing a wrapper and spitting his gum into it. Happy Independence Day everyone, that was the finale.
I refocus on my screen and continue dragging and dropping while Chance pulls out another piece of gum and starts chomping on it. Nope. I was wrong. That wasn’t the end.
I straighten to make sure Chance can see my look of disapproval. “I think you’re addicted to gum.”
He looks at me, chomps down a few times, blows a bubble, and then snaps his gum between his front teeth. Then, with his eyes still dead-focused on mine, he drags his trashcan from under the desk and slides his hand along the desktop. I hear the pitter-patter of gum wrappers as they rain into the trash. All this without dropping his gaze or batting an eye.
“Maybe I am,” he says before refocusing on his monitors.
We work the rest of the day, mostly in silence except for snaps and pops, minus the crackle. At five o’clock, he stands and peers down at me, which quickly becomes awkward.
“What?”
“It’s time to go. This is when you usually leave.”
I shake my head. “Not tonight. I’ve got…stuff.” No, I don’t. I finished my kanban board, emailed the link to Chance and Heng with specific instructions to slide their tasks into the “Doing” column as they work them so I stay apprised of their status, and then I piddled on the internet searching for stuff like, Is gum addiction a real thing? (Turns out it is.) And How smart are elephants? That last one was the end of a long rabbit hole that started with What are the telltale signs of a narcissist? Chance doesn’t seem to fit them, and I suppose he’s smarter than an elephant, so there’s that. Although, he does trample all over code to establish his territory.
Yeah, I’m soooo busy. So busy avoiding any chance of running into Chance at our apartment complex. If I give him a head start he should be safely tucked inside his home before I pull into the parking lot.
At five thirty, I’m tired of learning how to feed backyard ducks, so I gather my things and head to my car. The drive is uneventful, allowing me to enter a meditative state wherein I consider the cost-benefit analysis of repainting my living room and adding a couple more bookshelves. By the time I reach home, it’s decided. I’m going with a pink accent wall, I’m painting my bookshelves black, and installing LED strips to highlight my hardback collection. I may start a BookTube channel just to show off my epic setup.
My mood drops when I pull into the parking lot and see Chance poking around in the trunk of his car. As I park, he loads his hands with grocery bags.
Grocery shopping again? Is he doing this on purpose?
I step out of my car. He heads to the stairs, leaving his trunk open for the next round.
“You need help?” I call after him.
He pauses and shrugs under the weight of his groceries. “Sure.”
I manage to loop the rest of his bags around one wrist and then use my other hand to close the trunk. Chance waits for me and lets me take the stairs in front of him. A narcissist would go first. Or would they? Would they instead try to make me feel important as a way to lure me in? I’ll have to Google it.
I pause at his door, giving him room to unlock it, and then follow him into his apartment, which is unsurprisingly mancave-ish, but surprisingly clean. His gaming setup looks like something they’d use at SpaceX. Glad to see he’s making enough money to build his own little mission control center.
Chance deposits his groceries on the kitchen island. “You want a Coke?”
I set my bags next to his, and decline his offer.
“Want some gum?”
“Is it time to open a new pack?”
“Actually, it is.” He digs through a drawer and pulls out a fresh pack of Orbit Sweet Mint.
“You’re keeping them in business.”
He tears through the packaging and unwraps a piece of gum before popping it in his mouth. “I try.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have stomach issues.”
“Why?” He props a hip against the island, rests one hand on the countertop, and jabs his other hand in his pocket, letting his thumb hang loose. My eyes linger on his bent wrist and the word “exquisite” grapevines through my mind doing jazz hands. I immediately pound it back into its very dark, very dusty box where it belongs.
“Sugar alcohols. They make me…” I almost say toot. Actually they give me the runs, but this conversation is starting to get way too personal, and I’m enjoying his forearms way too much. I gotta get out of here. “…sleepy.”
Chance looks at me funny. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“Yeah, well. It’s a thing. Be careful using heavy machinery when you’re using that stuff.” I turn to leave.
“Hey.”
I peek over my shoulder.
“I didn’t realize it was your code.”
I turn back around. He’s holding the same pose, looking so relaxed it kinda irks me. “For being smarter than an elephant, you’re not very observant.”
He looks at me funny again.
“My name is–or was–literally all over that code,” I explain.
“No. It wasn’t. It was here and there.”
“And everywhere.”
He grins. “Okay, Dr. Seuss.”
“I would prove it to you, but you already deleted it all.”
“Not all of it. Just some.”
“Half.”
Chance pushes off the island and anchors his other hand in his pocket. Now he’s looking at me, all broad-chested and sturdy, enjoying this too much. “How was I supposed to know you wrote it? I’m the new guy. Drew was just showing me the ropes.”
“If you knew it was my app, would you have deleted all my code?”
He raises his thumbs, which sends my eyes right to his tapered waist. “Probably.”
“You do realize sometimes it’s okay to leave well enough alone, right?” I force my eyes back to his face.
“Not really.”
“Didn’t think so.” I turn to leave again. This time he doesn’t stop me. “Would you like me to take your trash down to the dumpster?”
“No, I got it.”
In an instant, he’s right behind me, nearly breathing down my neck. When I open the door, he reaches over my shoulder and holds it while I pass through, giving me an ample view of that ropey forearm. “You mean, you got it right now. Like this very minute.” I steady my voice.
“Is that a problem?” His deep voice vibrates the hairs on the back of my neck, while his alpine-sweet-orbit-mint scent wraps around me, enclosing me in a little Chance bubble.
I quickly pop it and dart over to my apartment.
“See ya later,” Chance says as he manhandles his trash bag and tosses it over his shoulder.
“Later,” I say before diving inside, visions of Chance’s biceps flexing intrusively in my head.