Chapter 23
Chapter
After her presentation, Erica pings me:
erica.putnam:
Great work on that
Real life-saver. I’ll remember how you took initiative
Keep it up and you’re going places around here
Yes! Exactly what I needed! I did it!
Just in case Mom isn’t paying attention, I take a screenshot and send it into the haunted DM. Good day at work! I write, and add a blushing face.
sampaguita72:
Good, that’s what I’d expect from you
The curt reply makes me blink. I don’t know why I’m surprised; I’d forgotten the times I’d bring home report cards filled with A’s and hand them to her eagerly, and she’d barely nod and pass them back. One time I asked, “What do you think?” and she said, “That’s normal. What do you want, a parade?”
ruby.ocampo:
Do you feel any different now?
sampaguita72:
Why do you keep asking me that?
Different how?
I have to close out of Slack and take a minute in the bathroom.
After the adrenaline from rushing out that presentation recedes, I slog through the rest of the day, melancholy and numb. And my mind wanders to earlier, under the desk—Greg so close, laughing together, sending me back to a movie theater ten years ago. I need to get my head on straight.
I play back the memory of Mark Winterson’s arms around me, his astonished face gazing down at mine.
Everything’s pointing in his direction. It might be Mom’s best chance to move on. And maybe it would be good for me—someone who likes me. A chance for me to move on, for real. Win-win, like Mom would say.
I get up with my tote on my shoulder, like I’m popping out for coffee, and sit in the stairwell. Mark Winterson hates the elevator; maybe if I wait here awhile, I’ll run into him.
And sure enough, he appears—I see the back of his head first as he walks up from below, his broad shoulders in a navy suit jacket. He rounds the corner of the landing between floors, looks up, and flashes his pearly whites.
“Just who I was hoping to run into.” He raises the drink he’s holding. “Got this for you. Strawberry fruit tea, no boba.”
A hazy, flushed feeling comes over me, and I try to laugh it off, sliding the box out of my bag. “I’ll trade you that for some shoes.”
Mark Winterson’s brows push closer to each other. “You don’t like them? They don’t fit? I can get another size.”
“No, it’s…it’s just too much. And people talk.”
“Ah,” he says, walking up the steps toward me. “I should have thought of that. Sorry.”
He hands me the drink and points to the stair beside me. “This seat taken?”
“Nah, saved it for you.”
I slide the shoebox onto his lap and he drums his fingers on the top.
“Mark…” I start. “You said I could ask you anything?”
“Oh wow, just Mark, I’ve leveled up.” His expression relaxes. “Sure, anything.”
“Have you…been hitting on me?”
Mark Winterson clears his throat and sits up straighter. “I would never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.” His mouth twists into a bashful smile. “I was rectifying a wardrobe issue I caused. And now I’m checking up on a valued member of the team after a, uh, health scare.”
I’m not sure what comes over me, but I stick one hand out, palm up, and give him a challenging look. “Maybe I’ll feel worse later. Let me give you my number so you can check up on me some more.”
His eyebrows go up, and he shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re really something,” he says as he unlocks his phone and passes it to me.
“So, hypothetically…” I punch in my number. “What if…I wanted you to be hitting on me? Would you want me to want that?”
He holds my gaze in that steady, searching way he has, and the heat rises in my cheeks.
“Strictly hypothetical!” I add. “Low stakes.”
Those doe eyes give me a once-over, and he leans closer, voice low so I have to strain to hear. “I can neither confirm nor deny until you sign some paperwork.”
I burst out laughing, but his face stays serious. “Wait, for real?”
“Can’t be too careful.” He straightens his tie. “I could send you a DocuSign.”
“Okay, so, just to confirm—it’s not a joke?”
“Um, no.” He leans forward, hands clasped together. “No, I’m quite serious.”
Quite. It’s like someone opened a window and let in a draft. I need to lie down.
“Let me think about that and circle back!” I squeak, hopping up and scrambling back to the eighth floor.