Chapter 9
SAPPHIRE
I’ve been out all morning delivering a keynote speech to a management team at an advertising agency on the importance of self-care in high-pressure roles.
The thrill of working with creatives always leaves me buzzing, and that’s why I prefer to take a walk right after an intimate event like the one this morning.
They get me, and love what I say and do for them.
They leave motivated and buzzing with new ideas and a new sense of determination they lost somewhere along the way.
At Safire he needs a full-body massage to help pummel away the tension he holds tightly in his body like a vessel.
Slowly, he lifts the mug of matcha latte in the air, inspecting it as if it might poison him if he drinks it, so he smells it first. Then he grimaces and tightens his face before closing his eyes briefly, finally brave enough to taste it.
He almost drops the mug on the table as he gags, wiping his hand across his mouth and shaking his shoulders, shivering, as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever tasted.
I have to cover my mouth to hold back how funny he is, even though he doesn’t know it, as a mix of joy and entertainment overwhelms me.
For someone who isn’t eager to try new things and is grumpier than a bear unable to scratch an itch, I commend him for at least giving it a shot. Matcha is an acquired taste.
I’m spellbound as I watch him tugging off his tie and unbuttoning his top button, then rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt like he’s psyching himself up for a challenge.
Then he goes in for a second sip, but this one is worse than the first. This time, he coughs and splutters before grabbing a bottle of water he must have bought as a backup and downs half of it.
He pushes the matcha latte away, shaking his head in disgust, then takes a huge bite of his muffin, which I assume is to get rid of the taste of matcha in his mouth.
This is too much fun and to mess with him some more, I decide to drop him a text.
Me
We need to discuss venues and finalize the day’s schedule. Are you free for a chat?
I look up and watch him read my text, and I don’t know what I said that was so amusing, but he smiles.
It’s a rare occurrence, like a once-in-a-blue-moon moment, but seeing him smile stirs something inside me, making me want to send another message just to see him smile again.
The dots dance on my screen, indicating he’s typing back, and within seconds, which is unlike him, the message appears.
Eli
I’m busy.
Me
Like you have been for the last few weeks? Are you allergic to phones or meeting in person? Final decisions need to be made by the end of next week.
Eli
Okay, and I do have one decision that my brothers agree to that I forgot to tell you about.
Me
Great, what is it?
Eli
The color theme is to be black, white, and gold. We’re having a slight rebrand. Same logo but in gold.
That’s hardly a big decision, but it’s one thing to tick off the list.
Me
Please forward me the new logo.
Eli
The marketing team have been instructed to send it to you.
Me
So you’ve been busy, and you’re busy now?
Eli
Yes, I have been in court, and I am working on a merger of two corporations that is taking longer than expected to finalize.
Me
I guess you don’t have time for coffee, breaks, or checking emails?
Eli
Like I said, I’m slammed.
Feeling mischievous, I do something that on any other day would be unprofessional: I take a photo of him sitting directly across the street from me and send it.
His head snaps up and he looks around like a meerkat on high alert until he spots me.
Then his mouth tightens into a thin line, and the bump between his eyes thickens, eye narrowing to slits.
I can’t tell if he’s angry at me for catching him taking a much-needed break from his office, or if he’s mad at himself for lying about being too busy to speak to me.
I’m actually delighted that he’s out of his office and taking a break from his stressful job; he needs to do more of that, in my opinion, not that it counts for much.
I lift my hand in the air and throw him an over-the-top finger-wave, then shoot him a smile before pushing myself off the lamppost and continuing in the direction of my office.
If driving the grump that is Eli Hart crazy with annoyance were a sport, I’d be winning.
In fact, I just won gold.