Chapter 7 Lucy
Lucy
“Remind me to always upgrade my flight.” Jonah plops in his chair beside me. “No matter how much it costs.”
“Hey!” I spin from my laptop to face him. It’s been a week since we’ve seen each other but somehow it feels like a lifetime. “How was Vegas?”
“Vegas,” he says. “There was a woman who was literally eating her own foot on the Strip. Then the airline double booked my flight, so I was sandwiched between two people I know for certain don’t own deodorant,” he says, and I scrunch my face.
“But work was great. Probably the smoothest music festival I’ve ever been to. ”
“Wow,” I say. “Also, please never work from home ever again.”
“How were things here?” He turns on his desk monitor. “How was the rest of Jay’s party?”
“I am sad to report that I still have not spoken to Jay,” I say regretfully.
“Well, RIP Jay,” he says. “And okay, tell me more about this Marsh person,” he adds, reminding me of our phone call. “You were chatting with him at Gold Line…then what?”
Chatting with him is a little bit of an understatement.
“I’m, uh, kind of his plus-one to his ex’s wedding.”
“Wait, what?” Until this moment it seemed like Jonah was maybe half listening, but now I have his full attention.
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“Okay, well, tell it as we get coffee.” Jonah stands.
Immediately I follow him. “So, after you left, I ended up meeting Marsh, and we really hit it off. He was telling me about his ex’s wedding and how he has to go—”
Jonah makes a face. “Oh, that’s awkward.”
“No, totally,” I say as we get on the elevator. “And, you know me, I love a wedding—”
“You really do,” Jonah agrees.
“So, I offered to go with him.”
Jonah looks like he’s trying to solve a math puzzle in his head. “Yeah, I’m still confused.”
“I’m not done,” I continue. “Eman met with me last week and she was saying my column hasn’t been doing as well as it used to.”
“What?” Jonah turns abruptly toward me. “Why?”
“Apparently people want to read about the vagaries of babies and marriage when you meet someone you care about.” I roll my eyes. “Regardless, I need to adjust my voice.”
Jonah squints. “In what way?”
“I need to start writing about my new relationship,” I say.
“What new relationship?”
I take a dramatic pause. “Enter Marsh. He’s going to be my boyfriend for the next month or so.”
Jonah’s face collapses. “He’s what?”
“Technically my boyfriend,” I amend. “We’ll pretend to date each other. He’ll have a date to the wedding, and I’ll have a solid month’s worth of relationship stories that are going to be successful as ever…leaving me with the best case for a promotion.”
Jonah’s mouth curls as he processes this plan. “You know, it’s like a plot of a movie that’s so unrealistic nobody would actually do it in real life,” he says. “But when you think about it…it’s genius?”
“Thank you!” I wave my hand to him, glad that someone else understands.
“I have many follow-up questions, though,” he says as we get off the elevator.
“Obviously.”
On our way out of the building, I see Marsh walking through the front doors. He has a deep brown leather laptop bag around his shoulder and is wearing a black denim shirt and green trousers.
Speak of the devil.
“Hey, Marsh!” I stop as we make eye contact.
“Hey,” he says, making his way toward us.
“Marsh, this is Jonah Katz. Jonah, this is Marshall Oakley,” I say as normally as I can, given our last topic of discussion. “He’s the news reporter taking over for Jay.”
“Nice to meet you, Jonah.” Marsh puts out a hand and Jonah shakes it. “Lucy has said nothing but great things about you.”
Jonah cuts me a wide-eyed look. “Welcome to The Journal, Marsh,” he says. “Has anyone told you about the monthly happy hour? You should come!”
“Oh, uh, no, I don’t think so,” Marsh says. “But sounds like fun. What day?”
“In two weeks,” Jonah tells him. “I’ll add you to the group.”
“Sounds great.” Marsh moves his bag to the other shoulder.
“You got it,” Jonah says. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too.” Marsh tips his head in our direction. “Have a good one, Luce.”
“Bye!” I wave to him. When he’s out of sight, Jonah puts on his sunglasses, and I can see the glare he’s giving me through his tinted shades. “What?”
“Lucy, do not tell me you two hooked up.”
My head whips to him once we get outside. “No! Why would you think that?”
“Girl, maybe because you just told me he’s your fake boyfriend? That he looks like that?!”
“Yeah, exactly. Fake boyfriend.” I try to keep up with his steady pace. “Meaning what we do is fake.”
“Like faking an orgasm?”
“Jonah!” I swat his arm. “We’re not going to have sex, thank you very much. We’re just helping each other out.”
“And because you work together,” Jonah adds like he’s reminding me there’s another reason why we can’t have sex.
“Right.”
“Lucy, just be careful,” Jonah says in a way that makes me more irritated than anything.
“Be careful of what?”
“He’s hot…and you work together and you’re pretending to date him? It just all feels really close.”
My stomach sinks. I’ve been pretty excited and proud of what I was able to accomplish, and now Jonah is making me second-guess everything.
“Are you saying you think this is a bad idea?”
“No!” He looks at me. “Look, I’ve seen you do weird shit for the column—like that time you stayed at a convent for a weekend to see how horny nuns really are.
This is relatively normal. The idea of being in a committed relationship for a month is the most vanilla thing I think I’ve seen you do. And Marsh seems like a nice guy—”
“But?” I cut in, anticipating where he’s going with this.
“But was it a good idea to choose someone you work with?” he says as we get in line at the coffee shop. “Especially with all these layoff conversations happening?”
Jonah isn’t wrong. I see his concern and I thought about it too. Marsh and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. But as long as nobody finds out, I don’t necessarily see that as a bad thing.
“I mean, we don’t technically work together. We write for two different publications,” I say, and Jonah gives me an unimpressed look. “Okay, well even if it was a bad idea, what am I supposed to do? Not be his date? I already told him I would! That would be so shitty.”
“Did he ask you to be his date?”
“No, he was actually opposed to the idea,” I say. The last thing I want is Jonah thinking Marsh asked me or took advantage of me. “I’m the one who asked him.”
“Of course you did.” Jonah gives me a tired head shake. “I guess he’s not your type anyway.”
I frown. “What’s my type?”
“Not him?” Jonah says as we inch closer in line.
This causes me to pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Luce, you and I both know you like bad boys.”
“Bad boys?” I give him an unimpressed look. “What am I? Sixteen?”
“Assholes,” he amends and I wince. “Like Chris.”
“That’s not true!” I say as Jonah orders a coffee and a blueberry oatmeal muffin. I’m too annoyed to order anything.
“Do I need to go through the guys you’ve been out with since I’ve known you?”
“No,” I say a little too loudly and then think about my latest track record. “God, maybe you’re right.”
“And they’re all air between the ears,” he adds.
“Well, this is depressing.” I can’t help but let out a laugh. “Yeah, Marsh is definitely different. He’s like the polar opposite of Chris.”
“It’s hard to find a smart, hot, single guy,” Jonah says.
“There are smart, hot guys out there,” I say and then immediately look at the people behind us, making sure they’re not eavesdropping.
Jonah raises an eyebrow. “Name one.”
I stop and think. “Bill Nye.”
Jonah looks at me. “The Science Guy?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “He’s hot.”
He levels his gaze. “You’d have sex with Bill Nye the Science Guy?”
“Yes.” I stand by my answer.
“Okay, well”—Jonah swirls his iced coffee in his hand—“do you want to have sex with Marsh?”
I think about the way Marsh’s hair has the faintest gold highlights in the sun and how it’s always effortlessly pushed back.
How there’s something attractive about the way he owns an interview and curates his stories.
I then picture those thick, tortoiseshell glasses and wonder if he’s just as handsome when he takes them off.
I remember seeing his forearms the other day at sushi and wondering how his biceps feel.
But that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with him, right?
“N-no…” I say, not sure if I’m even convinced of my answer.
“Good.” Jonah takes a sip of his drink. “Because that would be bad.”
After our run-in with Jonah, Marsh and I agree to keep our distance when we’re at work.
It makes complete sense. There’s no reason why the two of us would ever be working together.
Considering how he would stick out like a six-foot thumb on my floor, and someone asked him who I was after being in his office the other day, avoiding each other at work is the best plan of action.
On Saturday we brave the Koreatown parking drama and have brunch at a popular Chinese diner. Moments after ordering some inventive pastries and egg noodles, Marsh lets out a heavy sigh.
“I don’t feel right about this.”
I hold my breath. “About what?”
He removes his glasses for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose then places them back on his face. He’s wearing a navy blue polo shirt, and the texture of the fabric tells me it’s not something cheap he bought at H&M.
“This.” He gestures between us. “It feels like we’re hiding something. Like I’m taking advantage of—”
“Marsh.” I sit up straight. “We went over this. It’s not like you’re exploiting me or anything. I asked you to do this! I promise, you have nothing to feel bad about.”
“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “But I hope you know I would never ask someone to do this.”
“As you have told me many times, Marshall,” I say.
Our waiter brings us a mix of Hong Kong–style French toast, matcha pineapple buns, and pork belly over rice.
“So, how did you feel about the other day?” He grabs the chili oil and starts sprinkling it over his rice. We didn’t have a chance to properly regroup after our interview with Christina.