Chapter 2 #2
No, it’s my friend’s dog. I need people to know that animals love me.
But do you love animals is the question.
I smiled, then typed: It depends on the animal. That specific dog in that specific picture… no.
Ha! Well, being adored is much better than adoring. And that dog adores you.
Truth. The potted plant on the corner of my desk looked sad, drooping leaves with brown edges. I picked up my water bottle and drizzled some water into the parched dirt.
How are you? was his next message.
You know… still here trying my luck with these impersonal torture devices.
He responded: Same. I thought you worked during the day. Did you change jobs?
No. I’m at work right this second , I replied. Working away. You still coding?
My phone buzzed with his response: I started my own business, actually, so I work from home now. But yes, lots of coding involved.
Do you make fonts?
Please don’t remind me of my oration on fonts. It’s a low point in my life.
But I can’t look at a menu without thinking about it.
You need to know the consequences of your actions.
This was actually a true statement. There’d been many times I had unwillingly remembered our first date.
It had been such an odd juxtaposition of incredibly boring followed by incredibly sensual that left me more irritated than anything.
A message appeared on my screen: Sleeping with your boss kept you doting and horny.
The message made me physically recoil before I realized it was Sloane responding to my getting ahead text. I spun my chair away from the front door so I was facing the back wall.
I thought that was from this guy I was messaging , I texted back.
She replied: And I take it he wouldn’t use doting and horny in the same sentence?
That is the main problem.
A message from Oliver buzzed through at the top of my screen: Which font would you like me to draft an apology letter in?
I laughed, then pressed the phone icon next to Sloane’s name before I confused message threads and responded to the wrong person.
She picked up after three rings. “Your fingers too tired to text?”
“I wanted to hear your beautiful voice,” I said.
“Valid,” she responded.
“Do you remember me mentioning an Oliver? I went out with him once three years ago and have matched with him off and on ever since.”
“Best-car-makeout-you’ve-ever-had guy?”
“Yes!” Best makeout period.
“But he was otherwise painfully boring and inconsiderate.”
I cringed. I had probably said that too.
“Not painfully . Okay, painfully. And yes, was rude to the waitress and didn’t ask me any questions about myself, but instead talked about something completely irrelevant.
We had absolutely nothing in common.” I liked artists and filmmakers and writers.
They were easier for me to relate to because we had shared interests and oftentimes shared goals.
Plus, people outside the creative field didn’t understand the sometimes all-consuming nature of the job.
“We are not meant for talking,” I said. “Only making out, apparently.” That combination hadn’t happened to me before or since.
“I wonder if he still has your underwear.”
Speaking of something I hadn’t done before or since. “I’d be offended if he didn’t.” I thought about the shocked look on his face when I’d done that. He’d probably thrown them away immediately.
“It was pretty badass. Anyway… what about him?”
“He’s the one I was chatting with when you sent me that text.”
“You’re going for a round two? He could probably use a matching bra. Make it a set.”
I snorted. “No. And considering how many times we’ve matched over the years, this would be a round ten.”
“Round ten’s the charm?”
“Not happening.”
“Probably a good call. I have to go. The office phone is ringing. Wait, are you at work?”
“Yes, I’m working.”
She laughed and hung up.
I really did need to work. I sighed, spun back toward my computer, and started reading through emails sent by writers hoping Rob would represent their books.
An hour or so into reading, my eyes starting to sting from staring at the computer screen for so long, I got curious and reached for my phone again.
A couple messages were waiting from Oliver. The first read: I didn’t mean to shame you into going back to work. You should definitely message on company time.
The second one read: If we’re going to ghost each other again, let’s give a warning this time.
Ghost was a strong word, reserved for someone you were interested in. Oliver and I were not that. We had established on day two of knowing each other that we would never be that. I typed: Is it considered ghosting if a warning is involved?
We’ll call it a haunting , he responded.
Did you have that word ready to go? That was fast.
No, I’m just really clever.
I narrowed my eyes. You had that word. You’re reusing banter on me? Recycled banter is unacceptable.
For the record, this is the first time I’ve used it, but I guarantee fifty percent or more of my banter will be unoriginal. If that is a dealbreaker, haunt me now.
That wasn’t on my dealbreaker list before but I’m going to add it now.
What else is on this list?
Oh you know, the usual: doesn’t know the difference between their, there, and they’re, hits the snooze button fewer than three times, has never seen Dirty Dancing, thinks the earth is flat.
Right… the usual.
As I was about to respond, asking him what his were, the front door to the office opened and Rob came in holding a Styrofoam box and some sort of iced coffee.
“You look…” He paused just inside the door.
“What?” I asked when he didn’t finish. I looked down at my shirt to make sure another button hadn’t come undone or anything.
“Happy,” he finally said.
I could feel the leftover smile on my face from the chat I’d been having with Oliver. I slipped my phone back into my purse by my feet and cleared my throat, trying to channel some seriousness. “I’m good. Fine. I thought you were out for the rest of the day.”
“You seemed so angry when I left, I thought I’d bring you some lunch and a chai.” He set the offerings on the desk in front of me.
My eyes shot between the food and him. Did he really think a bribe would work? It did mean he was thinking about me in his meeting. I felt my resolve melting. Maybe it would work. I managed to keep my face neutral. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, not feeling the need to keep a smile off his face. He sat on the edge of my desk, one of his strong hands picking up the rake in my desktop garden and dragging a pattern in the sand.
“How did the meeting go?” I asked.
“It went well. She wants me to send over Sarah’s full manuscript. Can you do that before you leave today?”
“That’s great. And yes, of course.”
He stood.
“But Rob?”
He stopped before he’d even taken a step. “Yes?” He gave me the smoldering stare that had gotten me into trouble more than once.
It was not going to work on me today. Especially if I stopped looking at his eyes. I focused on a dark freckle on his cheekbone. “I’ve been here four years. It’s time for me to make the jump to full-time agent.”
“You’re right,” he said with a nod. “We’ll talk about what the path to agent looks like soon.”
“Right,” I said, somewhat shocked he didn’t push back. I could feel the surprised look on my face and I smoothed it to confident (another C). “Right. Thank you.”
As he walked out the door for the second time that day, my chest expanded with excited anticipation. Things were happening. Maybe I was finally going to take some steps forward in my life.
I opened the Styrofoam box, ready to dig into whatever lunch he had brought me. It was a few bites of soggy salad and a quarter of a chicken breast smothered in barbecue sauce.
His leftovers.