Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Dread is too mild a word for what I’m going through when I round the corner toward DatStrat, clinging to my Krumes box like a life raft.
The top of Ben’s head is the first thing that comes into view, his bright red hair leading me to my doom like a beacon.
He’s standing beside his desk—hanging around, really—while Martin drums a pencil against the arm of his chair. John hovers beside him.
Connor is not there.
Is this feeling relief, or despair? I’m glad not to have to face him, but the realization that he’s avoiding me too is a wrench.
“Good morning, Annie,” Ben says when I reach the desks, prompting an instant chorus of Hi Annies from both Martin and John. All three stare at me expectantly. What do they know?
“Everything OK?” I ask, looking from Martin, to John, to Ben.
They all hesitate just a beat too long.
John recovers first with an extra cheerful, “Definitely!”
It is clear to me: they know everything. I will never live down my shame.
“Is that box what I think it is?” John asks.
“No,” I deadpan.
“Too late, already saw it,” John says.
“Please tell me there’s white chocolate in there,” Martin pleads.
I feign confusion. “Oh shit, you wanted white chocolate? I thought you said no white chocolate.”
“I know you’re joking and it’s still not funny,” he says.
“Time to go,” Ben says, marshaling us into order.
I look around. No sign of Connor. Where is he?
As if he’s heard my thoughts, Ben falls into step beside me and says quietly, “Connor had to talk to Brad. He’ll see us there.”
Whatever. Don’t care!
—
Connor arrives to the stand-up fourteen minutes later.
He’s already looking at me when he walks into the room.
I can tell he wants my attention, but he can’t get near me.
I’m stationed between Martin and John, and there’s actual work to be getting on with; Martin is in the middle of discussing the proposed roadmap for some new dashboard features.
The box of cookies sits untouched in the middle of the table.
“How did it go?” Ben asks when Connor takes his seat.
“Later,” is all he says.
I can withstand a split second of eye contact before my stomach flips violently and I’m back to inspecting my nails.
Martin finishes presenting his findings, the guys bat a few questions back and forth, and then the conversation goes dead.
“Annie, I think we should probably address the elephant in the room?” John says a moment later.
I look up. They are all watching me. Oh god, please no. Are we all going to discuss me kissing Connor? Speech is totally beyond me. The only confirmation I can give John that I’ve heard them is a strangled hmm?
He looks at me quizzically. “The cookies?”
I blow out a breath. “Of course. The cookies. Go for it,” I tell them.
He’s on it like a predator to its prey.
Tearing through a box of gourmet cookies does a lot to release the tension in the room, though not all of it, since not a single person has ribbed me for losing the wager or made me present the box to Connor on one knee as part of my punishment.
Connor has stayed mostly quiet. When Ben slides the box toward him he simply says, Annie first. I retrieve my cookie of choice (chocolate chip—the one I know Connor will want) without making eye contact.
If he thinks he’s going to give me the let’s pretend this never happened speech he can save his breath. I am already pretending. I have gone fully method in my new role of woman who never kissed the boss. I am about to win an Oscar for it.
While the boys chatter around me, I chance another look at him. His eyes jump to mine immediately, as if by looking in his direction I set off some sort of trip wire that alerted him to my presence. This time he gives me a real look. One that I am at a complete loss as to how to interpret.
I’m seized with a new, even more embarrassing dread than the one I’ve been feeling since yesterday afternoon. Does Connor feel sorry for me, like he knows I like him, and knows I feel stupid about it? Does he want to make me feel less bad?
No. Absolutely not. Nope, no way. I would sooner lie down and let a pigeon pluck my eyes out before I allow Connor to let me down gently. So glad we never had this talk!
With the cookies mostly demolished, conversation turns to the product department’s uptake of the dashboard. Or lack thereof.
Mostly, I pay no attention whatsoever, and instead torture myself with a moment-by-moment replay of the day out with Connor yesterday, growing steadily more desperate and indignant with each remembered moment.
If he didn’t want me getting the wrong idea, then pray tell, why did he put his arm around me?
Why did he say we would come up with ideas for Shannon’s visit—which he probably won’t even help me with now, that jerk.
Why did he even show up there in the first place?
Why did he kiss me back? I didn’t imagine that; I know I didn’t.
If he wants to pretend he was only kissing me back because he was surprised, then I will tell him he is a liar!
He can only write off the first 1–2 seconds to surprise. The rest was intent.
“…something we could potentially look into further, but I’m not really sure. Do you have any opinions on that, Annie?”
Shit. I only came back into my body partway through John’s question and have no idea what he’s talking about.
“A few,” I say, acting as if I’ve been paying attention this whole time. “But I suppose it depends.”
“That’s true,” John agrees.
“We could ask,” Ben says, his tone suggesting he has very much thrown a cat among the pigeons here. “After all, at least one person at this table has a pretty good line into that squad.”
I take it he means me.
“I don’t want to open that can of worms,” Connor says.
I’ll bet you don’t, Connor. I’ll bet you don’t. Well, too bad. “I’ll do it. Who do you want me to speak to?”
“Andy, ideally,” Ben says. “If we could get a better handle on why they think the dashboard isn’t matching the metrics on the other reporting tool, we might be able to fix it.”
Ah. This again.
“OK. I will try. Actually, I’ll go now,” I say, taking this golden opportunity to slip out of the meeting before I get stuck talking to Connor.
He tries to stop me. “You don’t need to—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, resolutely avoiding his eye and addressing the whole room. “Andy and I are really good friends. He’ll tell me what’s up.”
—
Andy, as it turns out, is more than happy to unburden himself on the subject of the new dashboard and its bullshit metrics when I swing by his desk.
The way that Jotter tracked user engagement was a lot different from how Taskio does it with the dashboard—the end result being that a lot of features, like the template library, now show really poor performance.
Andy is convinced this is a conspiracy, and after a morning spent back in my old stomping grounds, the product department, I’m chagrined to learn he is far from the only one.
The product leads—especially the Jotter product leads—still do not like this dashboard.
They think it’s being used to squeeze them out.
Since my only real objective today is avoid Connor at all costs, I stay downstairs and talk to every product lead I can find.
Considering it’s mostly a time-wasting exercise on my part, it’s also surprisingly fruitful.
By the time I’m done, I’ve taken pages of notes on what the average product manager likes about the dashboard (nothing) and doesn’t like (the entire dashboard) and have a few ideas of my own about how we can implement some changes to get them onside and keep Andy happy.
“I’ll talk to the guys,” I promise Andy. “There’s got to be a way to get some better metrics.”
“You’re our only hope,” he says, pressing his hands together in prayer.
I instinctively know if I don’t go back soon it will look like I’m hiding, so with huge trepidation, I make my way back to DatStrat to face the music.
Connor and Martin are both on a call when I get there, giving me the perfect excuse not to talk to him. Or so I think.
CONNOR: have you had lunch
ANNIE: Yes
I actually haven’t.
CONNOR: Coffee then
CONNOR: I’ll be off this call in five
ANNIE: Can’t. I’m sitting in on the marketing update
Another lie, but needs must. If he thinks I am going to have a coffee with him while he tells me that it’s best we never kiss again in a kind, managerial way, he can forget it. I log off before he can suggest anything else.