Chapter 18 #2
He doesn’t slow down until he’s halfway across the floor, tucked beside a vac pack station and safely out of Tom’s line of sight. Only then does he allow himself to exhale. He held his ground, said the hard thing, and didn’t apologize for having a standard.
Maybe it’s sad that it feels like a win, but it does. He exhales again, chuckling to himself.
“Pretend,” Jackson had told him softly in the diner.
He had been. Pretending to be fine. Pretending to have everything under control. Pretending he wasn’t one bad meeting away from locking himself in a storage closet with a clipboard and stress hives. People seemed to believe it, so why not pretend to be confident, too?
Ben’s mouth tugs into a quiet smile. Jackson’s clearly a bad influence on him.
Ben should be working. He is working; he’s just also checking his phone every two minutes. He’d texted Jackson earlier, still a little buzzed on adrenaline, giving a play-by-play of his showdown with Tom. It felt good to write it all out, better still to imagine Jackson reading it.
Finally, his phone lights up with a new message.
Sorry. Was tied up in an interview. Just spent twenty minutes listening to a woman swear a pod of seals is targeting boats with blue hulls and colluding to steal bait like it’s Ocean’s Eleven. Anyway…
You should feel extremely proud for telling Tom off.
But just to confirm I’m reading this right: telling him off = calmly and professionally asserting a reasonable boundary? Wow. Absolutely feral, Whitaker. You have to be stopped before you hurt someone.
Ben snorts. Loud, ungraceful, completely involuntary. And totally forgets his office door is wide open until someone clears their throat.
“What’s got you smiling like that?”
He jumps slightly as Pina breezes in, two paper cups balanced in her hands like she’s been preparing for this ambush all day. The smell of cinnamon and espresso hits him before he can think of a cover.
“Nothing,” he says quickly, flipping his phone face down on his desk. His ears betray him, already glowing pink.
“Uh huh.” Pina raises a perfect, skeptical eyebrow. “And I’m Miss July. Oh wait, I’m not, because Lou was bragging in the lunchroom that he got July. I stocked up on sparklers for what, Benjamin? For what?”
He groans. “I didn’t promise anything.”
“You heavily implied.” She drops into the chair across from him. “So, no, I’m not believing anything that comes out of your mouth right now. Yesterday you looked like you were five seconds from weeping into your agenda on that JHSC zoom, and today—” she gestures to his whole face, “—this.”
Pina studies him. He can feel himself getting redder under the scrutiny.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “Finally. You met someone.”
She slides a latte across the desk with a triumphant flourish. “I told you posting that gym selfie would pay off.”
Ben hides his face in the lid of his cup. “It wasn’t the gym selfie.”
“Ben. Be serious. That lighting? Your arms? That jawline? He might not admit it, but he saw the selfie and it helped.” She leans forward. “So, do I know him? Is he cute? More importantly, does he appreciate your painfully nerdy obsession with sustainable seafood?”
Ben opens his mouth. Closes it again. Admitting it aloud feels like tempting fate. But, also… strangely good? “No. Yes. And weirdly, ...yes.
“But it’s complicated,” Ben adds quickly. “Timing could not be worse.”
“Oh, please.” She sobers just enough, reaching out to absently straighten the crooked edge of a document on his desk. “Timing’s always terrible. Feelings are always complicated. That’s the whole deal.”
She leans back, tipping her latte toward her lips, then pauses. “Are you bringing him to the party Friday? Please say yes. I need entertainment. If Kent corners me with another twenty-minute story about winterizing his boat, I will fake a medical emergency.”
“I don’t know,” Ben hedges. “It’s early.”
Also, he’s a journalist investigating if this plant is implicated in a growing waste management disaster and cover up. It might be wise to hold off on ‘the meeting the parent’ phase of the relationship until he’s sure that he and Jackson haven’t destroyed his father’s life’s work.
Even thinking about Jackson and his father being in the same room makes him nauseous. He already used up his courage quota for the day on Tom.
But he doesn’t say no.
Amy Calhoun knocks lightly on the still-open door. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says briskly, giving Pina a polite nod.
“No worries, I was just leaving.” Pina throws Ben a look as she stands, mouthing, ‘We’ll talk later,’ behind Amy’s back before ducking out the door.
“What’s up, Amy?” Ben asks.
“Tom asked me to bring this over,” she says, handing him a clipboard. “Said you wanted to sign it personally. Truck’s going out tonight.”
Ben skims the first page. He stops cold.
His stomach lurches. He stares at the line of text, hoping he’s misread it, but it’s right there in bold at the top. MarineSelect Waste Shipment Authorization. It must be Tom’s idea of a joke, giving Ben exactly what he asked for while serving up a poison pill.
Ben swallows hard. He’s supposed to be pretending everything is fine. He almost believed it was.
He should’ve known better.
He signs. Even manages a smile for Amy while he does. He passes her back the pen with a steady hand. She smiles back; he’s successfully pretended once again. It doesn’t help.