Chapter 3 #2
“You’ll never guess who I saw today,” she says, always mid-conversation.
I can picture her—her apron dusted in flour, curls piled high on her head in a riotous bun, phone on speaker while she keeps her hands busy kneading.
“Hot Bod. He picked up a special order earlier. For his mom,” she emphasizes.
“Oh.”
The last time Alice said those words, it was because her date still relied on his ma to buy his underwear.
“No, no, it’s a good thing. She’s setting up a book club, and he wanted to make sure their first meeting started off right.”
Gosh, that’s sweet. “Please tell me you asked for his number this time.”
Outside, the sky is awash in gray. I hope it rains soon. I miss the thrill of lightning. It reminds me of home.
“I chickened out,” she admits. “I don’t know. It just seems creepy to hit on a customer when I’m working.”
“It’s not creepy. It’s romantic. This is what, the third time you’ve run into each other?”
“Fourth. He actually made a joke that we should make plans in advance next time, and I was so flustered that I handed over the business card for the bakery.” She groans and turns off the oven timer that started beeping. Her voice gets more distant. “It was so embarrassing.”
“He’s clearly into you. He’ll be back.”
She sighs. “I hope so. So, is it good news? Did you get the apartment?”
There’s no hiding the smile now. “Yep.”
Alice lets out the squeal I can’t. “Video chat next week? I miss talking to your face.”
“I miss talking to yours. I’ve gotta go, but please promise me you’ll flirt with Hot Bod next time he comes in, or I’m jumping on a plane and making you.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she jokes. “Oh, the buns are ready. Love you.”
“You too.”
* * *
Fate is a lovely concept. Destiny? Soulmates?
Bad people facing karmic retribution, balancing out the evils committed in the world, while good people live long, happy lives.
A wonderful idea.
If only real life worked that way.
If Fate exists, she’s fickle and unpredictable. Maybe Cupid ghosted her one too many times or told her that he didn’t really want a commitment right now, all the while speed-matching on a dating app as he sat beside her.
Maybe she’s sick of doing all the work while we do nothing.
I don’t hold it against her.
I, Mia Finnegan, will create the change I want to see in the world, and I want to live in a world where strangers will do the same for me.
Let Fate take a day off. She’s earned it.
Sterling’s response arrives fifteen minutes after I convinced myself to press Send, and what the hell does that mean?
Did he even read it? It’s only 1,600 words, but certainly, he’s got more important things to do than read about eczema treatments.
Or maybe not. Maybe he’s so offended by my terrible writing that he took one look and couldn’t stomach the rest.
Maybe I’ll open his comments and find the entire draft redlined and a single note to quit while I’m behind.
“I told you to stop that.”
I shiver at the deep tone of Sterling’s voice.
A faded Observer mug is placed in front of me, branded with The Observer’s original motto—Small print, big difference. There’s a chip over the V. It’s been run through the dishwasher so much that it’s got varicose veins. I’ve seen it many times before on Sterling’s desk.
I follow the offering up a well-defined arm to the man in question. Sterling blinks down at me, tall enough to block out the overhead lamps.
“I guarantee it tastes terrible, but the caffeine works.”
He brought me coffee? Am I dreaming?
For a second, all I can do is stare. The coffee here is notoriously bad—bitter and burnt. There’s not a single redeeming feature about it.
I cup the mug in both hands. You couldn’t tear it from me.
“So, is this a prank or an undercover-boss sort of situation?”
Sterling slides one hand into his pants pocket and ignores the question. “How busy are you?”
That certainly isn’t what I was expecting. “Um …” Is he digging? “A little.”
He continues, checking his phone when it beeps, “The article I’m working on has become a little more complicated than I originally planned. I need a second pair of eyes to dig through the data.”
He doesn’t usually need an assistant. I wonder what the piece is.
“Will it take long?” I’ve seen the stacks of research that go along with Sterling’s investigations, the long hours he submits himself to. I’m still not convinced he sleeps.
Rest will be a distant memory if I agree, especially since I need to do my actual job as well.
“This isn’t something that can be rushed, Mia.” There’s a rough edge to the way he says my name that raises the hair on the back of my neck. “It’s extremely important, and it can’t be taken lightly.”
I swallow.
Why me? We’re not a huge company anymore, but there are still plenty of options for help, and I know at least half the office would jump at his command. But he’s not asking them; he’s asking me.
And he brought coffee.
I make the mistake of checking Monica’s office. She’s staring, and she’s livid.
“I don’t know …”
The look Sterling levels at me is serious. “Yes or no, Mia.”
This is everything I’ve been waiting for, but like all wishes, it comes with a cost.
If I say yes, I already know Monica will use it against me.
But if I say no, I’ll miss out on the opportunity to work with the man who inspired me to apply here in the first place.
What do I do?
* * *
Make Your Choice:
assist Sterling (go to 5)
turn him down (go to 8)
go back (go to 1)