Chapter Twelve #2
“You were so great,” I tell him. “I think the blazer really made it.”
He tugs at the jacket, a smile lurking. “You like this, do you?”
Yes. I like it.
“So here he is, the famous Connor,” Carrie says, stepping forward, turning the attention of the whole group in the process. “We finally meet in real life.”
He accepts this compliment with a smile, and I watch in detached horror as his eyes quickly scan down her body and right back up again. “And you are?”
“Carrie,” she says, holding her hand out to Connor. “It’s me you talked to about Annie’s role transfer.”
“Of course,” he says, extending his own in return. “I thought I recognized your voice. Nice to meet you in person. You look just like your emails.”
Carrie is simply delighted that Connor’s aware of who she is, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear as she thanks him for smuggling me onto their team.
“It’s definitely you who did me the favor,” he says. “Thanks again for helping sort all that out.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she says. Highly suggestively, I might add. Her voice drops about four octaves.
There’s a martial light in her eye that fills me with misgiving, a feeling that only intensifies the longer she hangs around. Carrie is extremely good-looking, attractive in a way that defies classification. She appeals to everyone. Rarely, however, does anyone appeal to her.
My roommate Sam often jokes that she’s in Manhattan’s top 2 percent of singles, not just because she’s hot but also because she’s fun and smart and—most importantly—just a little bit rude.
If she sets her sights on Connor he won’t stand a chance.
My stomach lurches at the thought. She’s supposed to go out with Ben!
Alex from my old team summons me from across the room, and I move off reluctantly, leaving Carrie with the guys.
“Hey-o,” Alex says, giving me a high five. He’s so tall I practically have to jump to reach it.
“What’s the verdict from Product?” I ask him. “The dashboard’s pretty good, right?”
Andy joins the circle just as I say this. “Annie has truly crossed over to the dark side. You’re really drinking the data team Kool-Aid.”
“Are they the dark side? I wasn’t aware of it.”
“She’s lost to us,” Alex laughs, a hand on his heart. “Taskio claims another good woman.”
“Never,” I promise. “Jotter forever.”
But I look over at my new team when I say it, not ready to admit that secretly, I like it so much better in DatStrat than I ever did in Product, or at Jotter. It feels disloyal to even think it.
Connor is still in conversation with Carrie. Considering how hard I had to convince her just to attend this thing, she’s acting awfully interested in it now. While I watch them, Connor turns his head toward me. I point a thumb toward the door. He nods.
“I have to go,” I say. With a promise to Alex that I’ll crash the next Product stand-up, I start heading toward the elevators.
Carrie hangs back.
“You failed to mention how hot Connor is,” she says, sliding up beside me. “I thought you said he was a dork.”
I bristle. “He is a dork.”
“Your definition of dork and mine must be very different.”
There’s no time for anything else, since we catch up with the boys then, all piling into the elevator, riding together until we get to Carrie’s floor.
Connor tells Carrie it was nice to meet her. I tell her to hurry, that the elevator doors are closing. He raises an eyebrow at me as the five of us continue onward, which I do my best to ignore.
“Here’s one,” John says with a snap of his fingers. “Would you rather spend an hour alone at the bottom of the ocean, or an hour alone in deep space?”
—
I spend the rest of the day in a state of flustered agitation, confused about why the thought of Carrie prowling around Connor makes me want to scratch my best friend’s eyes out.
But having slept on it, I’ve mellowed considerably.
It was childish to assume they’d be interested in each other romantically.
Of course they’d be curious about one another: they’ve each heard stories of the other from me.
And wasn’t she flirting with Ben just as much yesterday, when I introduced them? I decide that she was.
See. Everything’s fine!
I’m feeling extra gracious by the time I arrive at work, going so far as to get a coffee for Connor to make up for my unexplained grouchiness yesterday. I slide the cup across from my desk to his as he slings his jacket over the back of his chair.
He eyes it with suspicion. “This feels like a trick.”
“I get you a coffee and you automatically assume I’m up to something?”
“Yes,” he says frankly.
“Fine, I’ll give it to Ben then,” I say, reaching for the mug.
He swats my hand away and quickly takes a huge gulp. “No way. No take backs.”
A minute later he admits he burned the roof of his mouth, and I laugh.
—
I slowly become aware that Connor is amused by something; the telltale call and response of typing quickly, pause, typing quickly, pause is what gives it away.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as his face splits into a big grin, his fingers flying across the keyboard in reply to what he’s seen.
It goes back and forth like this for another ten minutes.
It’s not one of the guys: their keyboards are mostly silent.
The mystery is solved when, a little later on, I look up and see Carrie walking toward us. She smiles at me, but before I can say anything, turns her attention to Connor. “Ready to go?”
Excuse me. What?
He locks his screen, pushes out from his desk, and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair without so much as a look in my direction.
I watch in openmouthed horror as the two of them walk toward the elevators. The last thing I see before they disappear from view is Carrie playfully squeezing Connor’s arm.
“Interesting,” Ben drawls. I’m not the only one whose attention has been captured by this unusual series of events, it seems.
“What’d I miss?” Martin asks, his head poking up from behind his monitors.
Ben just shakes his head like don’t worry about it, but then seconds later I hear the clack of his keyboard.
Then Martin’s. Then Ben’s. WHAT ARE YOU ALL TALKING ABOUT WITHOUT ME, I want to scream, but don’t. I pretend I don’t notice at all.
—
It takes Connor seventy-two minutes to reappear. I feel both hungry and left out and have spent the last hour letting my rage grow steadily, ready to unleash it on him. I glower at him as he sits back down.
“Nice lunch?”
His whole body stills at my tone. He swivels his head toward me in slow motion.
“It was,” he says.
“Where did you two lovebirds go?”
His eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Lovebirds?”
I have nothing to add, so say nothing, opting instead to be very absorbed in the spreadsheet in front of me.
“We went to Lola’s,” he says eventually.
“You’re only supposed to take an hour for lunch,” I reply, as if it matters, or anyone cares. They don’t.
“Oh my god.” He laughs under his breath.
“What?”
“Are you jealous I went for lunch with your friend?”
My face is on fire. “No.”
“You are,” he says, his tone one of obvious delight. “You’re jealous.”
“That’s not it at all.”
“What is it then? Are you mad I didn’t bring you back a sandwich?”
This has backfired badly. I stare resolutely at my screen. “I have work to do.”
“So do I,” he says, preparing to put his headphones on. “I just had a long lunch.”
—
The more I try and focus on my work, the less I succeed in doing any.
Every time I see Connor’s hands move over the keyboard out of the corner of my eye, I imagine he’s busy flirting with his new girlfriend Carrie.
Anger and embarrassment war within me for top billing.
When I can take it no longer, I go upstairs to steal some snacks and sulk in private.
As it turns out, two packs of Oreos can do a lot to restore your inner calm. I swallow the last of my feelings back down with a full-fat Coke and return to my desk determined to ignore Connor for the rest of the day.
It takes him less than sixty seconds to message.
CONNOR: Would you forgive me if I promise never to have lunch with anyone else ever again
ANNIE: Fuck off please I’m very busy
His laugh filters through my headphones. He types again.
CONNOR: This is so surprising
CONNOR: I never pegged you as the jealous type
ANNIE: I’m not!
The exclamation might have been a little much there. Too late now. I click out of the chat box and return to my spreadsheet. He messages again.
CONNOR: It wasn’t a date
And then:
CONNOR: If that’s what you’re assuming.
ANNIE: Ok Connor
The clack of his keyboard becomes more pronounced.
CONNOR: Carrie had some questions about a report she wants to set up
I guffaw so loudly that Martin pokes his head above my screen. “Nothing, sorry,” I say to him, and he pops back down. To Connor I type:
ANNIE: SURE she did
ANNIE: Boys are so fucking dumb
CONNOR: …?
ANNIE: Carrie has never thought of reporting in her LIFE
ANNIE: That was obviously just her excuse to talk to you
CONNOR: She said this to you?
ANNIE: She doesn’t need to! This is how girls work
CONNOR: Really??
ANNIE: Yes
A minute passes. Then two.
CONNOR: What do you use as your excuse to talk to me
I want to die.
ANNIE: I am exiting this conversation now
CONNOR: Are all these dashboard questions made up just to spend time with me?
ANNIE: No
CONNOR: But you just said…
ANNIE: That’s different! I actually have to work with you
CONNOR: So does Carrie
ANNIE: I give up
The events of the workday continue to unfold around us. We don’t talk in person or online for the rest of the day, but every time we make eye contact he gives me the most satisfied, shit-eating grin of his life.