Chapter 2 #2
Inside, the smell of vinegar and frying oil hits like a freight train. The space is small, with white and pale blue tile walls, and even though the extractors hum at full blast, the salty fish smell lingers like a trademark.
Fish and I have always been strictly amicable, but I still try it in an attempt to embrace the culture—after a lot of peer pressure.
I admit, by the time I head home, they’ve made me feel like I could actually adjust to this office. The cold welcome of the morning long forgotten.
But I have to be focused. After all, they’re still my competition.
“Not our usual setting, but it’ll do,” Emma says, biting into her taco ‘Al Pastor.’ She’s sitting on her office’s patio, long palm trees swaying with the ocean breeze behind her.
We’re continuing our Taco Tuesday tradition, except I’m having dinner instead of lunch, and the light flashing through my living room window is a thunderstorm, not the UV-heavy, tanning rays of sunshine.
“How’s Liam doing?” I ask. Her latest conquest to last more than a week.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days.” Emma doesn’t believe in ghosting. She doesn’t take things personally enough for that to be a thing.
“Aw, I really thought he might stick!”
She shrugs and adds an insane amount of hot sauce to her next taco. A perfect metaphor for her—hotter than Death Valley in every possible way.
“Wasted potential,” she adds, with a roll of the eyes. “I don’t think he could keep up.”
Picture this: wake up at six to catch the sunrise, stroll through Hollywood’s Sunday farmers’ market, have the first coffee of the day around ten before getting ready for the beach.
Second coffee on the way there, surf until your legs give out, only taking breaks to apply sunscreen and munch on the sandwich choice of the day.
Watch the sunset, shower, and go out again for dinner and drinks. Rinse and repeat.
“Two weeks is really impressive,” I admit, giving the guy some credit.
“You handle it fine,” she counters. That’s true, but I’ve had years of practice—and I usually skip sunrise.
“Reading while tanning isn’t the same thing as hours of intense physical activity. All while trying not to get ripped apart by a shark.”
“You and your irrational fears,” she mocks. “I bet you’d rather be in the water now.”
I ponder for a moment. The chances of coming across any type of large fish are extremely rare. I’d probably risk it if it meant getting me out of this shitstorm.
“You’re right, my craving for sun and warm grains of sand under my feet definitely outweighs the fear.” She hums in approval.
“Did you stop by to check on my parents?”
I still haven’t been brave enough to call. The guilt of the sudden change flares every time I click on their contact.
“They’re doing fine,” she reassures. “Saw them this morning on my way to work. They were chilling on the porch, as usual. I know you think you’ll be letting them down, but I’m sure your mom cares more about hearing from you than your career.”
“Ugh, I know,” I groan. “I wish you would’ve come with me.”
“If it wasn’t for the feature I’m researching, I would’ve. Either way, you got this!”
“I hope so,” I sigh. “If I wouldn’t have been so distracted after Noah, I would be marketing manager by now.” Instead, I’ve been stuck as Senior Marketing Specialist.
“Be thankful you didn’t get Joshua’s number,” she teases. “That would have been a sexy distraction, though.”
And oh, she’s so right.
He’s down-to-earth in a way that puts you at ease, flirty without trying, charming to the core.
And those eyes, a mesmerizing blue. Add the broad shoulders, the easy laugh, and his ring-covered fingers, and my self-inflicted dry spell is gasping for water in a desert.
Yeah, he would’ve been dangerous—for my promotion and for my heart.
I have my first personal assignment: learn the banter.
The boys have made it their job to try to use as many British words as they can to add a bit more spice to the newbie being from the US.
Surprisingly, there are a lot—way too many, if you ask me.
The jokes have been flying over my head all day. So, boys, challenge accepted.
Most of the team has already left. I’m sitting at my desk, secretly scrolling through a website that’s supposedly going to teach me all the slang currently in use.
The last one I looked at told me that ‘Colder than a witch’s tit’ is a saying used to express freezing weather.
Sure enough, it was used for that—a few decades ago.
I managed to embarrass myself and almost made Lucy pee her pants in under thirty seconds.
I see Henry get up from the corner of my eye and quickly close the window.
“Have a good weekend, Julia,” he says, “Cheerio!” He’s grinning devilishly.
The only Cheerios I know are the cereal.
“See you,” I answer, rolling my eyes.
“Up to grabbing a drink before heading home?” Claire asks.
A tiny spark lights up in my chest. Maybe this won’t be such a boring Friday after all.
“I’d love that,” I say.
“I know this place down the street. It’s not super fancy, but drinks are cheap.”
“Anywhere beats another early night in the apartment,” I answer honestly.
“Oh! They also have a pool table," she adds excitedly.
Oh no… It can’t be, right? Not again.
“Sounds fun!” I try to seem enthusiastic, but my voice comes out more like a shriek.
I had promised myself after the other day that I wouldn’t be coming back to The Anchor, and yet, somehow, here I am, standing by the door once more.
My brain switches to overdrive, running through all the possible scenarios. Claire’s voice cuts through my thoughts. The chances of him being here on a busy night are almost none. Despite that—and my goal of no distractions—I can’t help but itch with curiosity.
“It’s not that bad inside, I promise.”
We walk in, and I sweep the room. Looks like we’re clear.
“I’ve been here before,” I tell her with a smirk. “I couldn’t find anywhere to shield myself from the rain on Monday, so I waited it out with a drink.”
She pats my shoulder. “I don’t blame you.”
I thank the universe when Claire insists on buying the first round. I keep my head low and do my best to avoid eye contact with Tony. Last thing I want is the man thinking I’m a crazy stalker. She comes back after a few minutes with two cold beers in hand.
“The bartender says hi,” she says, giving me an interesting look.
Well, that didn’t last long. I turn my head to see Tony smirking. He waves and goes back to serving drinks. I’ve been made.
“So, about this British banter…” I begin.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” she encourages.
“How about I bribe you for the answers?”
“Hmm,” she ponders dramatically. “If word gets out that I’m leaking trade secrets, I’ll be dead in the water. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”
I chuckle. After a week of watching their playful dynamics, I have no doubt it would come with some ridiculous consequence.
Have you been at Mavericks for long?”
“Over four years,” she shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “I love it, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be there.”
I give her a questioning look.
“I’ve been saving up to try and open my own marketing agency.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, honestly. “I could never.”
And it’s true. As much as I have other dreams and aspirations, I wouldn’t be brave enough to quit my job to pursue them. I’m secure where I am.
Then again, I also thought I was secure in my relationship, and look how that turned out.
“Don’t say that!” she says, almost scolding me. “You won’t know unless you try. If it doesn’t work, you can always go back.”
“It’s not that simple,” I argue.
“Well… What is it?”
“What would I do if I were like you?” She nods. “I don’t know… I used to be passionate about photography, but it never went anywhere.”
“How do you know if you haven’t tried?”
“People have dropped that I’m not… good enough.”
Not so much dropped as forced a harsh reality check, but I don’t tell her that.
“Even if I don’t have to quit, I’d have to put myself out there, and that’s hard enough.”
“You can work on that,” she urges. “Next Friday there's a photoshoot over at Hyde Park. I’m close with the photographer; I’m sure he’ll let you snap a few.”
I give her a tight smile. I’m nowhere near ready to hold a camera again.
“I’ll sleep on it.”
“Excuse me, ladies. Let me get this cleared up for you.”
That voice. It can’t be.
A long arm, with a full sleeve of tattoos, reaches between us to grab the discarded glasses by the wall. It’s not him, I reason, he doesn’t have any ink.
I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind until I look up. Blonde hair falls short of his eyes. That unforgettable shade of blue draws me in. Our gazes lock. He winks, then walks away with a grin so wide I catch a tiny dimple on his right cheek.
My heart does a small, traitorous flip.
Claire, as oblivious as you’d expect, takes another sip of her beer—unaware that Joshua Harrison cleaned our booth. Because why would she ever imagine someone like him would be here? Working part-time as a bartender.
I chug my beer down not because I’m thirsty, but because I need an excuse to head back for another. What is he doing? My brain is buzzing with all the barely contained, smartass teasing that rests at the tip of my tongue.
When I put the glass bottle down after the longest swig of my life, Claire’s staring at me like I’m a borderline alcoholic.
“Really thirsty,” I say, wiping a drop off the corner of my mouth. “Be right back.”
He’s in a corner, loading dirty glasses into the dishwasher.
“Is this your thing now? Moonlighting as an incognito bartender?”
He turns towards me with a smirk, flipping his head to the side. The blonde strands follow the motion effortlessly.
I press my lips together to stifle a laugh.
“Just for tonight. I call it research. Tony calls it a last-minute emergency dishwasher-slash-bartender.”
“You look like you lost a bet in wardrobe and got stuck with leftover costume pieces.”