12. Brooke
Brooke
It's so easy to fall back into this affectionate… friendship? I guess? With Dustin. I mean, he did fuck me ten ways to Sunday, but that's not relevant. I just feel so good around him—especially when we're not at each other's throats. I was fully prepared to fight him every step of the Atmosphere acquisition way, but… it's Dustin .
I even think we're doing a very good job of keeping this under extremely professional wraps. After our first handful of meetings, we don't see each other at work very often. I make a point to stop by Conference Room B every so often to say hi, ask how things are going, all that good stuff. My team isn't on edge anymore, either. They're acting like their normal, relaxed selves—if a little mischievous.
Dustin stops by our cluster of desks and raps on the wall again. "Hey, happy hump day."
"Oh, hey." I smile and wave. "Same to you. How's it going? "
"Good, good. Listen, I wanted to get your opinion on something—do you think you'll have time later this afternoon?"
"Yeah, sure. Send me the meeting invite. My calendar is pretty open today." I look down at my coffee mug and frown at how empty it is.
"Oh, you need a fill-up?" Dustin walks over and grabs my mug. "Do they have brown sugar here? I haven't checked."
"Yeah, Helen—the office manager, you've met—stocks it for me. It's on the bottom shelf in the cabinet to the left of the sink. Thanks!" I smile, and he salutes me before walking away.
"So…" Darrell pipes up. "He knows how you like your coffee? That's interesting. Don't you think that's interesting, Andrea?"
"Extremely." She nods. "Felicity?"
"Just so very interesting."
"Oh my god." I drop my head into my hands. "You guys are impossible."
"I think it's very normal for us to make observations based on the evidence presented." Darrell grins. "And the evidence shows that he likes you."
"Jesus, God. He's being kind. Wouldn't you prefer that to the alternative?" I throw my hands up. "Honestly, you're being absurd. You should be happy and showering me with praise. Wow, thanks, Brooke! Our jobs are so safe! You're an amazing manager!"
"I've also heard you're the best dancer on the planet, but that remains to be seen." Dustin reappears with a fresh cup of coffee at the worst time.
My teammates gasp and collectively whip their heads around to stare at me. He has the worst timing. My cheeks flush a tomato-red (I'm sure), and I drop my head down to my desk with a groan. Felicity's already typing up a storm—her acrylics clack against the keyboard in a very satisfying way—and I hear the messenger ping across Andrea's and Darrell's laptops.
"Did I, uh… say something wrong?" Dustin asks as he gently sets down the coffee cup right next to where I'm hiding my face.
"No," I grumble. "The team is getting a little carried away with their conspiracy theories."
"Is it because I didn't get anyone else coffee?" he whispers.
"Now that I think about it," Darrell interjects. "I could do with a refill."
Tilting my head up from my desk, I shoot Darrell a glare. He smiles innocently and offers his empty mug to Dustin, who chuckles and takes it. Felicity and Andrea are not-so-subtly messaging up a storm. Maybe Dustin and I should pretend we hate each other again. Although, now that the team's seen him being nice, they would probably have theories about that as well.
A few hours later, my meeting reminder dings at me, and I pop up from my desk like a pogo stick. I unplug my laptop and attempt to disappear unnoticed, but Darrell's polite fake-cough stops me.
"Gonna go see your boyfriend?" he asks with a shit-eating grin.
"Oh, yeah," I reply sarcastically. "We're gonna make out super hard. Right up against the glass and everything. Want me to invite Nora from HR, really start a party?"
He raises his hands in defeat. "Sorry, sorry. It just seems like there's something going on there."
"Like I said." I flash him a sickeningly sweet smile. "I'm the best manager ever, and you are so lucky to have me."
"Point taken, boss-lady."
The walk to Dustin's conference room is short. He's deep in concentration with a crease between his brows. I linger in the hallway and watch as he exhales heavily and brings his arms back behind his head. Even through his button-down shirt and Patagonia vest, it looks like he's been working out .
Woof, I need to calm myself down. This is my work . A place of business .
"Hey, hey!" I sing out as I sweep into the room.
"Oh, thank god." He rubs his eyes and huffs out an exasperated sigh. "First, hi. Second, are you still good with pivot tables?"
"Am I still good with pivot tables?" I scoff and slide into the chair on his right. "Is that a real question?"
"Honestly? Yes. I finally got all the libraries and repositories and licensing information from all of the teams, right? And I'm trying to compare it against the closest matches with Atmosphere—nothing is exactly one-to-one parity, but close enough, and it's just not fucking working." He slaps the table and lets out a hissing breath. "Sorry. I'm just… frustrated."
"I can think of something to work off your frustration," I mumble under my breath. He cocks a half-smile but massages his temples. I shake my head and smile. "Yes, I'm still good with pivot tables. Give it here."
He spins the laptop around to me and leans back in his chair again. I tap into the spreadsheet, fully ready to dog walk that motherfucker, but I stop in my tracks.
He didn't need my help. God, he's a good actor. He's created a questionnaire form. Right there on the screen, he's listed several date ideas and provided drop-down menus for each so I can rank them according to my level of interest .
"You massive dork." I try to hold back my laughter, but it doesn't work. A shrill giggle forces its way from my throat, and suddenly, I can't wipe away the tears rolling down my cheeks fast enough.
"Think you can help make sense of all that?" He raises his eyebrows with a cheeky smile.
Once I manage to catch my breath, I nod. "Yes, yes, I can."
I have to hand it to him: he's really put together a nice list of things we both would enjoy. Walking on the High Line, going to the Met, looking at the celestial art on the ceiling of Grand Central station, ice skating (he'd be terrible ), eating at any of the sushi places I never felt up to going to alone… any of these would be fantastic.
However, I still dutifully rank them according to personal taste—and he's even allowed for a text field for notes, which is thoughtful. As soon as I lift my hands from the keyboard with an expectant smile, he whips the laptop around and studies my responses. He lets out an interested hum and shoots me a delighted grin.
"So, the High Line on Friday?"
"Oh, that sounds lovely, Mr. Sanders," I ooze with fake Southern charm. Wait, hang on. Darrell's daughter's party. "Actually, I can't. It's Fiona—Darrell's daughter. Her birthday is on Sunday, and I'm supposed to bring cupcakes. And the amount they need? It's going to be a two-day preparation frenzy. "
"Ah, right." He types out a note on his computer. "Maybe next weekend then."
A connection fizzes to life in my mind, and my eyes widen in surprise. "Uh, Dustin? Is this… on Atmosphere devices? On their servers?"
"Nope," he chuckles. "I'll explain later. Speaking of later, I really did want to ask for your help with some data optimization."
"Really? Okay—shit, it's almost five." I grimace. "Are you really going to make me stay late again?"
"No, no." He waves his hand. "I was thinking you could walk with me to the apartment Atmosphere put me up in. I mean, unless that's too much? Please, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"Oh, Dustin. You could never." Excitement and joy fill my chest, beaming out of my smiling face. "I'd like that very much, actually."
"Great. It's settled, then."
Floating through the (very short) rest of my day, I pack up my laptop at four fifty-eight and wave goodbye to the team. Darrell gives me a knowing look that I pointedly ignore .
Somehow, though, I manage to miss the five o'clock stampede and find Dustin already waiting on the busy sidewalk. He's buried in his phone until I walk up and tap him gently on the shoulder.
"Shit—hey," he recovers smoothly. "Sorry about that. Alicia—you remember my sister, right?—her older kid, Orion, got ahold of her phone, and I was trying to decipher toddler texts."
"Older kid? Jesus, I've missed so much. Alicia has kids? Multiple children?" I'm gobsmacked. Alicia is only a year younger than Dustin and me. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised. We're thirty-two, thirty-one is a very normal age for people to have children. But I always feel weird when my friends announce their pregnancies. Are we excited? Are we upset? I just have to wait for the social cues before I offer anything other than a wow .
"She sure does." He smiles, but a look of concern crosses his face. "She's got two. Orion is four, and Nova is almost two. Their dad, uh, passed."
"Shit." This is a whirlwind of emotions. Baby sister Alicia has kids? And a… partner, I guess, who died? My heart hurts for her. I want to reach out, but maybe that would be weird. Like, hi Alicia, I'm fucking your brother again. Heard your kids' dad died. What have you been up to?
"Okay, what I'm about to say sounds horrible. But it's honestly better that way. He was a horrendous person, but he left her an insane amount of money from life insurance. The kids are taken care of. Their great-grandkids will be taken care of." He smiles sadly. "I just wish he never put her through any of the strife before setting her up."
"You guys are still here?" Felicity bounces up to us, her dark curls swaying with every step. "I thought you both left—before five, I might add."
"Oh, hi!" I swivel and force a cheery smile. "We were just discussing some data optimization."
"Data optimization? Maybe you should date a girl!" A group of teens rush past us, cackling loudly at their joke.
Dustin mumbles something that sounds like I'm trying to .
"Jesus, God." I groan. "Dustin, shall we?"
"Yeah."
Felicity gives both of us a hard stare before turning and making her way to the train. I don't think she suspects anything, not really. I think she likes cooking up conspiracy theories with Darrell and getting carried away. But still, maybe it'd be for the best if Dustin and I put some distance between us at work.
Still, I follow him down a few blocks until he turns into the lobby of one of those disgustingly luxe condo buildings. A doorman nods at him and smiles at me. Bewildered, I return the smile and hustle to the elevators behind Dustin. He punches in the sixth floor, and the elevator car doesn't even shudder. It just swoops upward. This is a very fancy building, and I feel slightly out of place with my bright green hair.
The feeling doesn't get better when Dustin ushers me into the apartment. It's a studio, but god, it's nicer than anywhere I've ever lived. New Jersey suburbs included. Marble countertops sparkle under the trendy hanging lights, complimented perfectly by the dark-stained hardwood floors. A few plush rugs—definitely designer—cover the center of the floor and lead to an absolutely massive bed.
I swallow involuntarily. Dustin doesn't seem phased as he sighs and drops his backpack on a wingback chair. Following suit, I gingerly place my laptop bag on the counter and quietly step toward the sectional couch. It's upholstered in millennial grey—because of course it is—but the overstuffed cushions feel heavenly compared to the cheap little loveseat I have in my bedroom.
"So, data optimization?" I ask.
"Yes, of course." He nods. "But do you mind if I take a quick moment to decompress before getting back into it?"
"Sure," I mumble. Jesus, this place is luxe. The stainless steel fridge catches my eye with the filtered water dispenser. "Do you mind if I get some water?"
"Oh, how unbelievably rude of me—yes, of course." He rubs his temples and sighs. "I'm so sorry, Brooke. Falling back into this… well, affectionate state with you has me fo rgetting my manners. Please, take whatever you want. There's some cheese in the fridge and crackers in the cabinet, too?"
"Don't mind if I do." I perk up. What a perfect little snack after work. Though it isn't the cheese that grabs my attention: it's the top-of-the-line gas stove and wall-mounted oven. Holy shit. It's all sleek stainless steel and perfectly clear glass. The range is spotless, and I can't find a speck of burnt-on crud in the oven. "You've been hiding this from me?"
"Huh?" He peeks over at me and cracks a grin. "Oh, you like it? It's nice, but I'm not really the baking sort. Or the cooking sort, beyond rice and chicken."
"Jesus, that's so boring," I reply teasingly. "Hey… actually, I have an idea on how we can keep our date this weekend."
"You want to use the Atmosphere corporate apartment's kitchen for non-sanctioned baking purposes?"
"Who says it's non-sanctioned?" I throw my hands up. "Why would they pay for this swanky-ass apartment if they didn't want it to be used?"
"Hmm." He feigns deep thought, tapping a finger to his chin. "Let's call it team-building. You can teach me how to be an integral part of the baked goods production process."
"Sure, but you're not getting any of the proceeds. Brooke's Cookies does not participate in profit-sharing. "
"Very capitalist of you."
I shudder. "No, I'm an owner-operator. A woman-owned small business that needs all the profit for such bougie expenses as my divorce lawyer."
"You've mentioned that." He frowns. "I don't want to pry, but… was it really all that expensive? I mean, what is your balance at this point?"
"Only a thousand left." I grimace.
"And how many cookies and cupcakes is that?"
"Approximately a shit-ton."