Chapter Two
If you’re thinking of doing something embarrassing, don’t.
Ruby
Silence.
Dead silence.
Loaded silence.
I gulp.
Will inhales like he’s going to speak, and I kick him.
“Ow!” he cries out.
“Sorry, sir,” I squawk in the direction of our very silent boss. “So, so sorry to bother you! We’ll just be going now!”
Why did I think this was a good idea? That it would work out in my favor?
Will’s lack of brain cells must be rubbing off on me. Liam Warrick, king of grumps, getting interrupted in the middle of his workday to deal with a squabble between two high-ranking members of his staff – a squabble they should be able to handle on their own, considering they’re both grown adults.
Yeah, I definitely did not think this through. Getting Will fired? I’ll be lucky if I haven’t gotten us both kicked to the curb.
“The next time the two of you get the urge to behave like children,” Mr. Warrick says, eliciting another gulp from me. “Don’t.”
I nod. Of course. No childish behavior from me ever again.
“Liam!” Will protests. Because of course he does. “I can’t work under such strict conditions!”
I hold my breath through another bout of silence. I imagine Mr. Warrick is glaring. Will is probably doing something childish just to make his point.
Idiot.
“Liam is glaring at me, Rubble. No love for his twinsie, a total shame. I am standing adorably at your side, giving him my very best pleading look, complete with begging hands. It’s not reducing his glare at all .”
What is he doing ?
“What are you doing?” Mr. Warrick gives voice to my question, sounding just as bemusedly annoyed as I am.
“I’m interpreting for Ruby!” Will explains. “It’s very important for one to know everything going on in their environment. I watched a video about it. I’ll email it to you once I’m at my desk. Super enlightening stuff! We could implement what we learn to make this the best workplace it could be for all our staff. We coul– oof!”
He cuts off as I whack him with my cane.
“That won’t be necessary!” I say, louder than I intended, but the very last thing I want or need is for any changes to be made around the office for me. I’ve worked here for years. I’m used to the way things are. I don’t need Will’s, or anyone’s, “help”.
“Get back to work,” Mr. Warrick sighs.
I nod, grab Will by the forearm, and twist us toward the door.
“Have a nice day, twinsie!” Will calls as I drag him out of the office and to the elevators, giving Teresa a wave as we pass her desk.
I don’t let go of Will’s arm until we’ve safely made it onto the elevator.
“That went well!” he proclaims, pushing the button for our floor before I can find it. Irritating.
“That was an embarrassing disaster,” I tell him. “I can’t believe I let you annoy me into it. We’re both lucky we aren’t looking for new jobs right now.”
A snort.
“Liam would never fire us. We’re his best employees.”
Spoken like a true idiot.
“Anyone is replaceable,” I let him know. “This is a job. If we become more of a liability than an asset, it’s bye-bye cushy office job at a successful firm, and hello tax accounting downtown.”
“There’s nothing wrong with tax accountants,” he retorts. “Not that it matters, because we’re not about to become them. Liam loves us.”
Loves us. Right. Of course. How silly of me.
“Love doesn’t run companies, Will.”
“You used to call me something else. I liked that better.”
Against my will, my chest warms. The heat spreads like wildfire over my shoulders, up my neck and to my face, covering every inch from my chin to my cheeks to my ears. Even my traitorous forehead burns.
“I think we should go back to it,” he says, voice moving closer. His hand lands on the safety rail next to mine, and rough skin presses against my pinky. I slide my hand away, and his follows.
I consider moving away from him — to the other side of the small space — but ultimately decide it’s not worth it to let the railing go. I’m not sure my hold will do anything should the elevator fall the thirty or so stories to the ground, but I’m not not sure either, and that’s enough to keep me put.
“Stop touching me,” I order. He does, his hand moving off of mine instantly. Great. And now my pinky is cold. Why can’t he ever just leave things alone?
“Come on, Rubble. Just once?” he pleads. Actually pleads.
My nose wrinkles.
“If I do, will you give me the report?” I’d much rather call him by the stupid name, even if it does make my face roughly the temperature of lava, than have to come up with something – shudder – nice about him to say.
“I’ll give you the report,” he agrees.
Okay.
All right.
For the report.
I take a deep breath.
“For the record, a professional would just give me the report like he’s supposed to.” I sniff.
“Not this professional,” he retorts.
My eyes roll.
He presses closer to my back, his face hovering over my shoulder, and his breath ghosts against my cheek. “Say it, Ruby,” he murmurs as his head turns, nose bumping my ear. “One time?” he asks.
“This is harassment, I’m pretty sure.”
“Report me, then,” he says, unrepentant. “But do it after you give me what I need.”
What he needs. Sure.
“Needs and wants are different.”
He sighs. “I love it when you argue with me.”
My mouth snaps shut, and my teeth come dangerously close to cracking off, I grind them so hard.
I loosen my jaw, internally curse the world’s slowest elevator, and clear my throat. Twice.
Will inhales, and the hair behind my ear is brushed back. Sniffing my hair? Really?
I swat his face away from me.
“This is bad enough,” I snap. “Don’t make it worse by acting weird.”
He moves back, laughing.
I scowl. “And stay there, Candy .”
He heaves a dreamy sigh.
“Like poetry on your lips,” he says. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to say it again?”
His voice is far too hopeful for my liking.
“That word will never be crossing these lips ever again,” I tell him. “I wish it never had in the first place.”
“Oh, come on, Ruby Red,” he cajoles as a pleasant ding lets us know we’ve arrived on our floor. Finally. “It’s a reminder of days gone by! Of our honeymoon phase!”
I step into the hallway, shoulders relaxing once I’m on solid ground.
“For the last time, puberty was not our ‘honeymoon phase’. Stop calling it that.”
“But it’s when we fell in love!” he proclaims. I grimace.
It is not when we fell in love. It’s when I fell in love, only to be swiftly hit with a big ole dose of reality that brought me out of that particular bout of delusion. But not before I could give him that mortifying nickname: Candy, because he’s “so sweet”, as my pre-teen self wrote in the note I passed to him in the hallway of our small middle school. On Valentine’s Day. Because I was asking him to be my valentine. Because I had the world’s largest crush on him.
Puberty brain cells are not well.
Thank the heavens for Muffy Goodman. One year older than me, she was in Will and Roman’s class at school, and could often be seen hanging around with them, particularly Will. As such, she got a front row seat to the unveiling of my note, complete with proclamations of eternal love.
Muffy, as the wise eighth grader she was, pulled me aside at the next passing period to let me know, with kind but firm words, that my love for Will was not then, nor would it ever be returned.
I was crushed. I avoided Will for weeks, at school and at home. And let me tell you, that was no easy task. He was always at our house, or hovering by my locker, or sitting next to Roman in the seat behind mine on the bus.
You’d think he’d have the decency to avoid me as I’m avoiding him, clearly heartbroken. But what did he do instead?
He showed up.
Everywhere. All the time.
Taunting me.
“Rubble, what’s going on? I thought you wanted to hang out more. I thought- I thought we could hold hands?”
“Ruby, did I do something wrong? You said that- you called me Candy. I loved that. You can keep calling me Candy. Please?”
“Are we okay? I thought we might… but then you… are we okay?”
It was awful. I couldn’t get away from him, and he wouldn’t stop reminding me of the most heartbreaking – and mortifying – thing I’ve ever done.
He never let me forget it. Not for the rest of that year, or for the entirety of high school, or even when we got to college. Or now, apparently, at our job.
I really can’t say why I expected any different.
I should’ve known the first time a girl asked him out – Muffy, when they were in tenth grade – and he told her, “Sorry, I can’t. I’m in a very exclusive relationship with Ruby Vann. She’s the love of my life, you know. Spread the word.”
Then, in his freshman year of college, I went to visit Roman, which meant visiting Will, since they were roommates. When I got there, all their friends referred to me as “Will’s girl”. Will’s girl.
He’s spent his whole life making a mockery of my one, silly, hormone-driven mistake.
I totally should’ve hit him harder with my cane.
I veer right toward my office when Will’s steps start heading left toward his.
“I expect the report in my inbox in the next hour,” I call behind me, stepping through my door. I kick it closed on whatever reply he might have.
I’ve had enough of William Hart for one day.