Chapter 20 - Ethan
Ethan
"Did you see the projection reports that Gina sent ov-" Margot's mouth snaps shut as she stops mid-waltz into my office. Her eyes land on the cage on my desk, narrowing as they trace the network of brightly colored plastic tubes. "What is that?"
"That is Satan's tiniest minion," I reply, glancing at the tiny creature who is currently kicking little pieces of bedding over the sides of its enclosure and straight onto my desk. "Otherwise known as a dwarf hamster. Ask me how much he cost."
Margot's eyebrows pinch together. "Okay, how much did your dwarf hamster cost, Ethan?"
"So far, two-hundred and forty-seven dollars.
The hamster only cost seventeen, but then I was informed by a very pushy pet store employee that it requires this cage, plus a labyrinth of tubes, an exercise wheel, several bags of premium food, and let's not forget the twenty-dollar cube of recycled newspaper bits that need to be switched out daily to prevent the stink from emanating past the confines of its enclosure. "
It's not that I dislike animals. A dog, a cat, maybe some sort of bird—those all make decent pets.
This little dude, however, does not. He kept me up all night, making more noise than a toddler with a goddamn snare drum.
When I finally gave up on sleeping, I came downstairs to find most of his bedding thrown overboard, covering my table like a thin layer of snow.
Yellow snow.
Did I mention the bedding was damp with urine?
Margot crosses the room with a confused look on her face. "So, you bought a hamster and brought it to work to… make people guess the cost of its habitat?"
"No, I bought a hamster for Sophia because she literally squealed at the sight of it yesterday at the pet store.”
“I thought you were taking her to the aquarium?”
I shake my head. “It was closed. Some sort of electrical problem. I figured the next best thing was that fancy pet store off Broadway with the exotic fish. We were on our way out of the store when Sophia saw the hamsters and fell in love. I couldn’t say no.
Unfortunately, Rachel needed to go back home for a couple days due to a family emergency, so I agreed to watch him until they get back. ”
One corner of Margot's mouth lifts. "And how's that going?"
In response, I hold up my right hand to display the patchwork of bandages on my fingers. "Poorly."
The pet store employee said that he should have an hour of exercise every day.
Gumball (as Sophia calls him) disagrees.
Every attempt to place him in his little plastic exercise ball was met with the fury of his tiny but sharp claws and dull but effective teeth.
Once he finally complied with my very reasonable request to get in the stupid ball, I quickly learned that his favorite pastime is ramming into my baseboards repeatedly while simultaneously flinging feces everywhere through the tiny slots in the contraption.
“Lucy is stopping by soon to pick him up,” I explain.
Margot drops her head to one side, giving me an amused but chiding stare. “So, you were bested by a hamster?”
“I wasn’t bested by a hamster.” My voice drips with unearned indignity.
“I got a call from Ridgeway’s lawyer early this morning.
It sounds like they might try to pull out of the acquisition.
I’m flying out to their corporate headquarters in Minneapolis this afternoon with Javier from our legal department to try to get things back on track.
I’m not sure the airline allows hamsters as cabin pets. ”
No need to mention the fact that I had already asked my cousin Lucy, who happens to be a pet sitter, to come and take the little beast off my hands before Ridgeway called.
“Oh,” Margot says, straightening up slightly. “Do you need anything from me before you leave?”
Yes, I need you to bend over this desk and let me fuck you one more time.
“No, I’m all set,” I say instead.
The silence that surrounds us is anything but comfortable. Margot shifts her weight to her other foot, adjusting her glasses and attempting a smile that doesn’t quite land right.
She’s wearing my favorite sweater today, the dark orange one.
There’s nothing particularly revealing about it, but I like how cozy she always seems in it.
I can see her curled up in an old library reading a book in that sweater.
Today she’s wearing it with a black skirt, black tights, and these little suede boots that only come up to her ankle.
Against all of my better judgement, I consider how much I’d like to rip those tights right off from her.
My fingers flex at the thought. I can practically hear the sound of the fabric tearing.
The little gasp Margot would let out as that sound filled the silence and the cold office air hit her thighs.
The way Margot looks at me makes me wonder if she is reading my mind right now. It wouldn’t surprise me. Her eyes are caught on mine as she rolls her lips together, blushes, and then pulls her gaze away.
I glance away as well, hoping to diffuse the tension. But even with both of us staring squarely at Gumball, who is now darting around the cage like he’s consumed his body weight in cocaine, the air still buzzes around us.
We agreed that Saturday night was a one-time thing.
We agreed not to mention it here at work.
But I can’t leave for this trip without making sure that we’re okay.
“Margot,” I say her name softly, a hint of warning in my voice to let her know that I’m about to mention the thing we both agreed not to mention.
Her eyes find mine again. Her chest rises with a deep intake of air.
“I know we agreed not to talk about this at work, but I just need to know that you’re—”
“Hey guys!” a cheery voice interrupts. Margot jumps a little and both of our heads snap to the doorway of my office, where my cousin Lucy is standing. Her wide smile falters as her eyes shift between Margot and me. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”
As much as I’d like to tell my cousin to come back later, there isn’t a lot of time to spare. My flight leaves in less than two hours. A car will be arriving to take me to the airport any minute now.
I shake my head. “No, come in.”
Lucy takes a few tentative steps into my office, as if she’s wading through the tension hanging thick in the air.
There’s a quick round of greetings before I summarize the pet store employee’s instructions.
Lucy rolls her eyes and tells me she knows how to keep a hamster alive for a few days.
It’s a fair point. After all, Lucy has built a whole career out of offering concierge pet nanny services, which in short, means glorified pet sitting for people too rich to bother shopping around for better rates.
People like me.
But since I’m her cousin, and my brother and I supplied the funds to get her business off the ground, she refuses to take my money. I offered her use of our cabin in Aspen instead, which she gladly accepted.
My desk phone rings. The first-floor receptionist says the car is here to take me to the airport.
“I’ll walk out with you,” I tell Lucy. Then, without thinking, I turn to Margot and pull her into a hug.
I don’t realize my mistake until she tenses, clearly caught off guard by the very public show of affection.
At work, no less. But since it’s too late to take it back, I murmur, “Let’s talk when I get back. ”
Margot nods, and we pull apart.
Lucy is standing there holding the hamster cage, looking very shocked. And because my cousin isn’t exactly one for subtleties, Lucy glances between the two of us and blurts out, “Well, that was weird. Are you two sure you’re okay?”
“Mmhmm,” Margot hums in a tight voice at the same time that I cock my head towards the door and say, “Let’s go,” ignoring Lucy’s question entirely.
On my way out, I take one last look at Margot. The smiles we exchange are tight and restrained. As much as I hate leaving on that note, I don’t have much of a choice at the moment.
***
By Wednesday, the acquisition is back on track.
The current CEO was having second thoughts about selling his family’s legacy to a soulless corporation. All it really took was a few honest conversations with him to set things right.
True North is anything but a soulless corporation.
It started as nothing but a couple of kayaks that my brother would rent out to visitors at the lake near our house.
For a few extra bucks, my brother or I would give them lessons.
Garrett worked hard to build his business from that tiny kayak rental stand to the huge national brand that it is today.
I understand the attachment to family legacy, and the guilt of turning it over to someone else, but Ridgeway will always be respected as a legacy brand, with a whole line of retro-inspired clothing and gear with their original logo sold in our stores.
His family will receive generous royalties on those products for the rest of their lives.
We’re not trying to erase their hard work or their brand; we’re trying to help them preserve it.
Admittedly, True North has a lot to gain from merging the two brands in the midwestern market, where they are easily our biggest competitor. That’s why this trip was so important.
By Thursday, the paperwork is signed. All that’s left to do before I leave tomorrow is to show their CEO some mockups of their product line. Unfortunately, our design team is dragging their feet, and I can’t get ahold of the department head.
Around three o’clock, I call Margot to see if she can help. It’s not the conversation I want to have with her after our night together, but I’ll be home tomorrow. We can talk then.
Margot answers on the second ring. The sound of her voice immediately soothes away the tension I’ve been feeling since this whole acquisition went sideways on Monday morning.
“Hey, I need to talk to Stacia in design, but no one in her department seems to be answering their phones. Can you go down to the fourth floor and track her down for me?”
“Sure,” Margot says. “Want me to relay a message, or just have her call you?”
“Have her call me. I need the mockups for Ridgeway’s legacy line before I leave here tomorrow morning.
Last I heard, they were basically done with the design, but it worries me that I haven’t seen it yet.
If you’re staying late tonight, would you mind staying on top of them to finish it up and send it over before the team leaves for the day? ”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
Maybe it’s presumptuous of me to assume that Margot is staying late, but that’s pretty much the norm for both of us.
“I was planning to leave by six tonight,” she says, a hint of apology in her voice.
“Hot date?” I joke.
It takes a few seconds for her to answer. “Actually, yeah… sort of.”
The words hit me straight in the chest. Not like a punch, more like a weird, slow churn that spreads outward. My fingers tighten around the phone, and my mouth goes dry.
“A date,” I repeat. The words sound more like an accusation than I intend.
Another beat of hesitation. “Yeah, just someone I matched with online. He seems nice.”
I should say something—wish her luck, gently tease her, something. But only one word comes to mind: No.
Obviously, I can’t say that. This is what we both agreed to. One night. No strings. No expectations. No complications.
So why does my chest feel like it’s having a major medical complication over this situation?
My heart is doing this irritating, uneven thing.
I decide it’s a heart attack before finally relenting and calling it what it really is: jealousy.
It’s plain, simple, ugly jealousy that’s twisting my chest into knots.
The emotion is as unfamiliar as it is unwelcome.
I wonder who this guy is. Where he’s taking her. If he’ll touch her the way that I did. If she’ll let him…
“Right. Well. I hope that goes… well.” My tone is oddly combative with an inexplicable British accent that comes out of nowhere. I’ve never even been to England.
“Are you okay?” Margot asks after a few seconds.
“Of course.”
Damn. British again. What the hell is wrong with me?
Margot’s voice is quieter than usual when she speaks again.
I can picture her sitting at her desk, dropping her head slightly and cupping her hand around the receiver to muffle her words from the rest of the office.
I wonder what she’s wearing today. If her hair is up in a bun or loose around her shoulders.
“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. You just caught me off guard with the hot date comment, and we agreed—”
“Margot, it’s fine,” I reassure her. “You don’t owe me an apology or an explanation.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice tense. “I’ll go check on the design group and ask Stacia to call you.”
“Thanks. Have fun tonight.”
She hesitates. “Okay, I will.”
We hang up. Try as I might to mean the words I just said, there’s still just one word stuck in my throat. Actually, two words: abso-fucking-lutely not.