Chapter 10 #2
After I cleared things up with Deputy Do-Right, I returned to my inbox only to find more emails piling up; each one another fire to put out. How do these mistakes keep happening? Am I missing something? No matter how careful I am, it feels like the details keep slipping through my fingers.
Frustration curls in my stomach, heavy and unshakable. Feeling defeated and overwhelmed, I decide to skip the rest of the luncheon and retreat to my office. Maybe if I bury myself in work, I can regain some control and find the source of the problem.
Nearly an hour later, after a full review of all event correspondences, spreadsheets, and contracts, I’m still at a loss. I don’t come up for air until a soft knock sounds at my door.
Please don’t be another emergency.
“Come in.”
The door opens and Ben hesitantly leans inside. “You okay, Madness?”
I deflate in my seat from relief and exhaustion. Am I okay? I’m not sure. Somedays I feel like I’ve got this. Others? It feels like it will only take one more straw to bring the camel to its knees.
“Of course. There’s just a lot to do for the event.” I’m not going to burden Ben with my problems.
Despite my reassurance, concern is written all over his face as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Is it possible he can still tell when I’m being less than honest after all these years?
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You’ve done so much already. Thank you for today. You definitely dazzled the donors.”
“I told you I would.” He grins down at me before placing a takeout container on my desk. “Since you didn’t get to eat anything.”
“You had them package up my lunch?”
Ben shakes his head as he collapses in the chair across from my desk. “Nah. The sandwiches were kind of dry. I just ran down the street and grabbed you a shawarma.”
The moment the strong garlic scent hits my nose, I’m almost lightheaded.
“Thank you so much. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until this moment.
” I waste no time tearing open the container and peeling back the wrapping on my favourite Lebanese food.
I unroll the sandwich, looking for the pickle and pickled turnip so I can extract them before I inhale everything else.
“What are you doing?” Ben regards me quizzically.
“Looking for the pickles,” I say, still digging under a piece of chicken. Where are they?
“I ordered it without them,” he answers.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out; I just stare at him.
“You always hated them,” he explains.
I still hate them. I hate all pickled things. Loathe them entirely. But in three years together, despite knowing how much I detest them, Derek has never asked them to leave them off my shawarma. Not once.
“I do,” I finally manage, looking down at my disassembled sandwich. “I do. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The first bite is heaven. Warm, spiced meat, tangy garlic sauce, and soft, pillowy pita—it’s everything I didn’t know I was craving until now. I close my eyes and moan as the flavour hits my tongue sending my tastebuds straight to nirvana.
When I open them, he’s staring at me.
Ben’s gaze flickers from my lips to the shawarma in my hand, and I swear I hear his jaw click.
“Good?” he asks, his voice rough and teasing.
“So good.” This might be the best shawarma I’ve ever tasted. The combination of spices is complex and perfect. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a meal this much. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Wow.” His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
I roll my eyes. “That’s clearly not what I meant. If we’re going to work together, I’m going to need a bit more professionalism on your part.”
“Speaking of work,” he says, leaning back in his chair and running a hand roughly through his thick hair, “I see a fun run is next on my list of ambassador duties?”
“Yes. The Santa Turkey Trot this weekend.” I feel only mildly ridiculous saying it.
“The what now?”
My lips pull into a smile. “As you heard in Chanda’s presentation this morning, we’re all about Christmas here.”
“I got that vibe from the eight-foot tree in the lobby, yeah.”
“So next weekend’s fundraiser is called a turkey trot because it’s on Thanksgiving.”
“And where does Santa come in?”
“You and the rest of the runners will be wearing Santa hats.”
He stares at me and I stare back, trying not to smirk.
“You’re enjoying yourself too much.” His voice is low but laced with amusement.
“I think I’m enjoying myself just enough.” It feels good to joke around with him, and it amazes me that despite everything that we’ve gone through, I can still be myself around Ben.
“Will you be running?”
I snort loudly, not even attempting to stifle it. “I haven’t changed that much in ten years, Ben.”
“Yes, you have.” He says it softly.
“W-well,” I stammer, flustered. “I still would never run voluntarily. Someone would have to be chasing me.”
His eyebrows raise and he grins. “I think that could be arranged.”
I can’t think of a witty response, so I ball up my napkin and throw it at his head, missing spectacularly.
Ben laughs and pushes himself to stand. “Alright, alright. I’ve got to get going. Regular season opener tonight.”
Right. The hockey star has to go be a hockey star.
“Of course. Thank you again for lunch.” I pause, giving myself a moment to choose my words carefully. “And thank you for earlier. When you gave Chanda the abbreviated version of our history.”
The smile he gives me is bittersweet. “No problem. I figured you wouldn’t want everyone at work knowing your business.” He heads for the door, turning back to me when he reaches it. “Plus, I wanted to spare you from interrogation.”
I pause, sandwich halfway to my mouth. “Interrogation?”
“Of course. If your coworkers knew you’ve seen me naked, they wouldn’t leave you alone until you painted them a picture. Not literally, of course. I mean, they probably wouldn’t ask you to put pen to paper and sketch it. But they would hound you until you gave a detailed visual.”
“Mmmhmm.” I’m trying to keep a neutral expression, but God, he makes it hard.
“And when you finally break down and describe it, they probably won’t believe you or think that you’re exaggerating and I don’t want you to have to endure that. That’s not fair to you.”
“That’s very considerate of you, Ben.”
“Isn’t it?” He gives me the widest, most Ben Michaels grin. It proudly showcases his dimples like the national treasure they are.
“I’ll make sure to find a Santa hat that fits around your inflated head.”
“Much appreciated. See you soon, Madness.”