4. Sebastian
Chapter four
Sebastian
I ris takes a seat in front of my desk and crosses her legs. My gaze remains firmly planted on her face, even if she does have attractive legs. It’s not like I could avoid noticing them when she was kicking them out the window.
These offices are small, but I’m lucky to have my own space—most of my colleagues sit in open-plan spaces, but Bob argued Legal handles confidential matters so we need privacy.
She says, “I’m sure you’ve seen the posters for the Secret Snowflake exchange—”
“No. What’s that?”
“It’s like a Secret Santa exchange, where you pick a name out of a hat and buy gifts for that person anonymously. It’s now called Secret Snowflake so nobody feels excluded. Anyway, I signed up and got Ernest.”
I wouldn’t have picked Iris as the type to sign up for the office Secret Snowflake exchange. She comes across as all-business in the work environment—other than the window stunt and whatever she was doing swinging her hips and tossing around garbage bags at Zeke’s engagement party.
“Aren’t you guys friends?” Iris asks. “I don’t know him, so I was hoping you could suggest some good gifts for him. Within the thirty-dollar limit, of course.”
“I’m not really friends with him. We just had a tight deadline on a joint project,” I say. “I have no idea what to get Ernest as a gift. Socks?” Ernest is very…earnest. When her face drops, I add, “But I’ll think about it.”
“Not if socks is your idea of a good gift,” she says.
“I heard Lily loved the Shh, I’m reading socks Rupert bought her,” I say.
“Lily loves Rupert. And they have their own love language.” She rolls her eyes.
“You seem skeptical,” I say.
“Not of their love. No,” she says.
“Just your own? Aren’t you dating someone?” Didn’t I hear Iris is dating a rock star? Rupert invited me to see a concert, but I had to work.
“We broke up.”
I nod. “I’m sorry.” It feels inadequate, but something needs to be said.
She shrugs.
“There’s a lot to be said for being single,” I say. “No one steals the comforter or eats your last banana. You can do whatever you want at night. And nobody complains if you work late.”
Her brow wrinkles. “Did you date someone who complained if you worked late?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. Even though he worked late too. And then he blamed me when he didn’t do this gig because I was free to hang out, and then an agent showed up at that gig and signed another act.” She shakes her head. “He stole the comforter too.”
“So many perks to being single,” I say. We smile at each other—as if in acknowledgment that we’re in this together. And there’s a flicker of awareness, but it’s quickly banked. I’m staying single. Not to mention we’re colleagues and our best friends are coupled up. Iris is definitely out-of-bounds.
She also seems to withdraw.
“Anyway, you should sign up for the Secret Snowflake,” she says. “They’re still looking for some more participants. And the events are fun.”
“There are events associated with it?” I ask. “Bob just told me I need to socialize more so people come to me for advice if they suddenly suspect they’re in a tight spot. It made sense.” But not that I give off some unapproachable vibe.
I’m approachable. Iris is sitting in my office, and that woman from Accounting clearly felt comfortable asking me to drinks.
“There’s an activity where you make a gift—kind of like a return to kindergarten craft time.” Iris laughs. “You should see your face. You look utterly pained at the thought of that.”
“Crafting is definitely not my forte.”
“What is your forte?”
I stare at her for a moment as I consider how to answer that question in an appropriate way. I want to joke about rescuing damsels in distress, but then I simply respond, “Not picking out gifts for Ernest or strangers.”
“You ate lunch with Ernest every day this week. You must have some idea of what he would like.”
“How do you know I ate lunch with Ernest every day?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t notice all the staring single women. You’re one of the best-looking guys in the company, and every day you sit together at the corner table with Ernest. Haven’t you noticed that all the surrounding tables are full of women?”
“No.” I frown. “Really?”
She leans back as if that compliment was already too much.
I grin. “So, I’m one of the best-looking guys in the company.”
She shakes her head and covers her face with her hand.
“I think I would have noticed if you were there,” I say. From what I’ve seen, Iris has her fair share of admirers. It makes sense. She is very attractive, with her silky brown hair and green eyes, but mostly I think it’s her smile. She comes across as kind of reserved, but then when she smiles—like she did when she grabbed the room keys—it’s so wholehearted that you can’t help but smile in return and feel a sense of delight.
“Are you free for lunch today?” Iris asks. “But not in the cafeteria. Because there’s no privacy in there. I’m sure I can ask you enough questions to figure out a gift for Ernest.”
I’m all for lunch with Iris and getting to know her better—in a strictly platonic manner—even if it is under some false pretense that I know anything about Ernest, but it’s probably best to be honest.
“Sure. The only thing I know about Ernest is that he plays golf. Shouldn’t I just invite Ernest and you can ask him questions directly?” I ask.
“No, not yet. I don’t want to blow my cover and have him realize I’m his Secret Snowflake.”
“You take this very seriously,” I say, half-teasing.
She grins, and her whole face lights up. When she gives a presentation about cybersecurity measures, she’s so serious, almost scary—I definitely don’t dare click on any links unless I’ve first checked that the email address of the sender is legitimate. When she’s in cybersecurity mode, she doesn’t smile. But then she has this other side to her—the side that climbs into open windows and cares about getting the right gift for someone she doesn’t even know.
“Of course. Undercover missions. Super fun. You know, I started out as a white hat hacker.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say. “I feel like I should be worried now. You’ll be looking for my vulnerabilities, figuring out where I’m weakest so you can overwhelm my defenses.”
She narrows her eyes and pauses a minute, her glance sweeping over my office. I wonder what she sees. My law school diploma is framed on the wall, next to a black-and-white photograph of a snowy Literary Walk in Central Park.
I should bring in some personal knickknacks for my desk, but I’ve been working so hard ever since I arrived, I haven’t really had time to think about decorating my office. There’s been so much to learn—transferring from working in the legal department of a finance company to an entertainment company brings some very different issues. But that’s a challenge I enjoy. I think I have the hang of it now.
She leans forward. “You seem to have built a rather strong defensive network, and that does intrigue me.”
“Why?”
“Because you seem happy being single. That’s impressive. And then, of course, why does it make you happy?”
“I explained why before.”
“I think that’s just scratching the surface.”
“Maybe you’re giving me credit for being deeper than I am,” I say.
“I’m sure there’s a deeper reason,” she says. “Just as I’m sure that there’s an opening somewhere.”
I hold her glance. Now her eyes look more hazel than green. “I don’t think so.” My voice sounds a little sad. Oddly .
“Anyway, there are a few other Secret Snowflake–related events. In addition to the crafting activity, I asked HR if we can solicit book donations to benefit Lily’s holiday book gift drives at her library. We’ll have a Secret Snowflake event where company employees can wrap the books. And then there will be the reveal party. You should also definitely attend the main company holiday event, which is ice skating at Rockefeller Center with little siblings from the Big Brothers Big Sisters program with Alice Walker High School. You’re allowed to come even if you’re not a big sibling. That program is great. We meet as a group every other week, so it is very social.”
Xavier has created so many great initiatives at this company. And he was so happy when L’Etoile bought Dream, thinking it would mean more money for all his projects. And maybe it would have, if those last two movies hadn’t bombed at the box office.
“That I can do. And I should sign up with Big Brothers Big Sisters.”
Social activities per Boss Request. Check .
So what if they all also include Iris? I’m sure we can be friends.
And the fact that I’m already swamped with work?
“Should we meet for lunch at that new gnocchi place?” Iris says.
“No,” I say quickly. Too quickly. Iris pulls back. But I’d just taken a huge bite of gnocchi when Melody told me she thought we should just be friends. All taste left, and the bite became a huge soggy mess of dough in my mouth that was impossible to swallow. Like my mouth was a cement mixer. I haven’t had gnocchi since.
“How about StuffIt on 10 th Avenue?” I ask. “I’ll sign up in the meantime. Will you help me pick gifts for whomever I get?”
“I love that place. Definitely.” She gets up to leave. “Let’s meet in the lobby at one.”
I finish the last of my edits on this contract and send it back to my counterparty. An email from Ernest pops up, asking me if I’m free for lunch today. I let him know I’m meeting Iris instead.
My phone rings.
“Iris?" Ernest asks. "The stunning dark-haired woman in the cybersecurity department? How’d you score that?”
I frown. That’s a little crass.
“She’s friends with Rupert’s girlfriend.”
“The librarian?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, so this is a friend thing?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Can you introduce me to her?”
Is Iris interested in Ernest? Because he is clearly keen on her. Is that why she noticed he and I have been eating together in the cafeteria lately? I should do some due diligence on Ernest, given that Iris is Lily’s friend. Part of the same friend circle. Like I’d do due diligence on anyone my sister dated.
“I thought you were dating someone,” I say.
“I was, but it didn’t work out. Mother didn’t like her. Is Iris also a bookworm?” Ernest asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t know her that well,” I say. “Why? Do you consider yourself a bookworm?” Books would be a good gift.
“Not really, but Mother is very fond of reading romances.”
Not sure how that relates, but okay.
A t StuffIt, Iris and I each order a tinga de pollo burrito and sit with our drinks at a table against a bright-turquoise side wall. Colorful Mexican tiles adorn the counter in the center of the restaurant. Mariachi music plays on low volume in the background. It smells of frying tortillas and simmering tomatoes. Several customers sit at the counter.
“I thought nobody knew about this place. I never see anyone from the company here,” I say. It’s one of the best deals in the neighborhood. Maybe Bob is right that I need to meet more colleagues.
“I usually pick it up and eat at my desk. And the production guys regularly order from here for delivery.”
We compare notes on other affordable options in the neighborhood, and I manage to impress Iris with one that she didn’t know of before. The waiter places our two plates down in front of us. We’re both silent as we take some time to eat our lunch.
“What made you want to work at Dream Company?” she asks. “Zeke mentioned you were very well-respected at Capital.”
“My job there was great, especially my boss, but this seemed to offer more opportunities for promotion,” I say. “Bob said he plans to retire in two years, so he’d train me and then I’d take over as the GC. There was no way I was going to become the GC at Capital anytime soon. My boss would be first in line, plus both the Capital GC and Associate GC are in their late fifties, so they could be there for another ten years. Why did you come work here?”
“Raphael recruited me. I met him at a competition—he was one of the judges—and he seemed like he’d be a great boss. And he is. We work well together, and he gives me much more responsibility than I might have in another job. Especially since as the company grows, the information security team will grow, and I’ve been in since inception.”
She doesn’t know. Yet. I think the L’Etoile news is still confidential.
I bite my lip. I finish the last of my chicken burrito. A group of young people walk in, and Iris waves to them. She notes that they’re from Production Design.
“Who’d you get as your Secret Snowflake recipient?” she asks.
“Someone named Anita?”
“Pregnant Anita who works in the mailroom?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lucky. That’s so easy. There are so many gifts you can buy.”
“If you’re familiar with pregnancy and babies. I have no idea what to get her.”
“My oldest sister has three kids and my younger sister is pregnant, so I can definitely advise you. And if she has a registry, you can just pick up some stuff off there. Have you given any more thought to what I could give Ernest?” she asks.
“Not really. He has a lot of accounting books around his desk. He often gets a coffee from Starbucks, so you could get him a gift card there.”
“That’s boring. Does he have any hobbies?”
“Like I said, he plays golf, but I’ll have to ask him if he has a secret passion for stamp collecting.”
“You shouldn’t knock it. People with hobbies are supposedly happier.” She finishes her burrito.
“Do you have a hobby?”
“I play video games in my spare time, but it’s more like an obsession than a hobby.”
“Is that how you got into cybersecurity?”
“Yes. And other reasons.”
“Other reasons?” I lean in.
“Other reasons,” she repeats.
“But you don’t want to share them?”
“It’s not that mysterious. My grandmother had a small business. She got phished, and they stole almost all her savings. That inspired me to learn about information security. I started a small side consulting business when I was in high school, where I helped mom-and-pop businesses implement cybersecurity measures. I kept doing that in college and graduate school—until I began working full-time at a company.”
“That’s so cool. Why wouldn’t you share that?”
She shrugs. “Do you game?”
“I played a lot when I was growing up, but I’ve been working too much lately. And the priority is getting a squash game or run in now so I can stay in shape. I wouldn’t consider myself a gamer, though.”
That’s probably an important hobby for her partner to share.
“Actual exercise is much healthier for you.” She shrugs. “Does Ernest read books? Have you ever seen him with a book in hand on his way in the office?”
“Ah, I actually asked him that question, and he said he didn’t consider himself a bookworm.”
“That’s too bad. Books are such good gifts.” Iris scrunches up her nose, deep in thought. She looks cute.
“But his mother likes romance,” I say.
“He told you that?” Iris asks.
“Yes. You can always give him a gift to give his mom. He lives at home,” I say.
“I live at home,” Iris says. “Since the breakup.”
Way for me to put my foot in my mouth.
“But I’m planning to move out by the end of the year. What did he say he did this past weekend?” she asks.
“Not much.” I’m not sure what Iris is expecting. “I think he said, ‘I made my Christmas list, and I’d like some pajamas, a coffee thermos, and a new set of golf clubs.’”
“Funny,” Iris says.
“Couldn’t resist. No. He said, ‘Busy weekend, but got in some golf on Sunday. You?’”
“Are you serious?” Iris asks. “What did you do this past weekend?”
“I had dinner at my parents on Friday, played squash with Rupert on Saturday, started reading this book he recommended, had a date on Saturday, went for a run on Sunday, and then worked in the office. What about you?”
“Hold up.” Iris splays out her hand like a traffic cop. “You had a date on Saturday? I thought you were committed to remaining single.”
“Daughter of my mom’s friend. I can’t turn my mom down, but in any event, she was also not interested in pursuing a relationship. She just accepted a job in Hong Kong and is about to move there.”
“All right, I’m going to make you a list of questions to ask Ernest—and you have to ask them.” Iris picks up her phone and types furiously. That looks like a lot of questions.
“Why can’t you ask him?” I ask.
“Because then he’ll know I’m his Secret Snowflake. There. I just sent it to you.”
I open my phone. “How am I going to ask him all these questions? What size boxers he wears? What type of boxers? What? You’re not serious.”
“I definitely can’t ask him that question,” Iris says, shrugging but with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You can’t give Ernest boxers.”
“I found some golf-themed boxers for under twenty dollars,” she says. “Given that the only thing you’ve told me he’s interested in is golf, that might be the best I can do. Unless you can find another interest.”
“Way to put the pressure on. You can’t give boxers in the work environment,” I say. Boxers! Ernest will definitely take that as a green light. “Why don’t you give those golf club sock covers?”
“Do you like socks as a gift? Why do you keep suggesting socks? Have you gone into company lawyer mode?”
“Yes.” I cross my arms across my chest. “And I said sock covers , as in the things that go over the business end of a golf club. As your counsel, I’m advising you not to give boxers. I’ll ask him the questions on your list. Do you still want me to ask him about books?”
“Yes, because even if he’s not a ‘bookworm,’ but he still might like reading a good book.”
“I think you created some of these just to make it difficult for me. How am I supposed to ask him what his favorite cookie is?”
She grins. “I admit I wouldn’t mind eavesdropping when you interview him.”
E rnest stops by my office later that afternoon to review the numbers in the CEO presentation. We finish polishing the presentation, and I send it off to Bob. I lean back in my chair.
“It’s great you found that extra revenue,” I say. If a bit suspicious.
As if answering my unspoken question as to how it was missed before, he says, “Colby made a mistake with a bill.”
No way . Colby breathes the numbers of this company.
Maybe Bob is right that there is something off lately, but he seemed to be a part of it, with the way he shoved those papers into his desk drawer. Or maybe I’m just being way too suspicious. But I can’t just trust everything people say. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.
Time to ask Iris’s questions. “I was just reading this mystery by Wilhemina Chrissy. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“Do you read mysteries?
“Not really.”
“Thrillers?”
Ernest looks at me. “I don’t really have time to read fiction at the moment. I didn’t realize you were a big reader.”
“I stopped reading fiction for a while, but my friend, Rupert, got me back into it. I guess it’s a good way to relax, kind of like a good hobby. Do you have any hobbies?” I’m proud of my segue.
Ernest looks at me like I’m a weirdo. I pull at my collar.
“No,” Ernest says. “What is this? Twenty questions?”
“I just realized we eat lunch together every day, and I still don’t know much about you.” I wince. That sounds ridiculous.
Ernest’s eyes widen. “And you want to know what my hobbies are?” He takes a sip of water.
“And your favorite cookies.”
Ernest chokes on his water. “My favorite cookies?”
I should flutter my eyelashes at him.
“For Lily’s cookie baking party. She wants to know everyone’s favorite cookies,” I say. “She also wants to know everyone’s hobbies and favorite movies, for possible gift exchanges.”
Ernest visibly recovers.
“Oh, for your friend Lily’s party. Anything with chocolate,” he says. “How was lunch with Iris? Why don’t you invite her to join us tomorrow for lunch so you can introduce me? I need to establish some sort of connection before I ask her out.”
“Don’t you need to see if you like her first before you ask her out?” My voice comes out a bit testy, but Ernest doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m out of the office tomorrow, unfortunately.” Or not. I should want to set them up. It’s not like I want to date Iris.
“She’ll be at Rupert and Lily’s cookie party on Sunday, right? That’s better. More informal. Thanks again for inviting me,” Ernest says.
Lily asked me to invite good single guy friends. I don’t consider Ernest a friend, but when he asked me what I was doing this weekend, it felt weird not to invite him when he seemed lonely, especially since Lily had already given the greenlight. But now I’m not so sure Ernest is the good guy I thought he was. And Iris deserves a good guy.