Chapter 15 – Anna
FIFTEEN
ANNA
Empirically, she knew what fun was. She just didn’t know how to get there.
“This is so much fun!” Claire announced.
We’d gotten our food from Javier and were just sitting down at an open table. Another salad for me, because that’s what Claire had ordered and I wanted her to think I was just like her.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m glad we did this.”
“I kind of thought you were one of those types of girls.”
“What type is that?” I asked, curious.
“You know. Stick to yourself. Mind your own business. An introvert.”
“A little,” I admitted. It was like so many other things I was discovering about myself. Now that I could go out to a restaurant or spend a day shopping, did I prefer that, or vegging on the couch with snacks by myself?
Unfortunately, I preferred the latter. Less noise, fewer people, less chaos. Less having to smile for no reason, less chit chat about nothing in particular. I’d grown up in a room with three other girls.
Not the same three. They were interchangeable over the years, which was why I never got really close to any of them.
I liked the space. The privacy. The quiet.
But I didn’t know if that was me, or a circumstance of my upbringing. Which meant I needed to push the boundaries. I needed to explore, not just the Houston area, but myself.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Claire assured me. “My cousin, Harley, oh my gosh, she’s like all the way an INTJ, if you know what I mean.”
Zero clue.
“How do you like working for your agency?” I asked her instead.
“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “Like I have to talk to people all day, which can be so draining.”
“Sure,” I nodded. Except she was a receptionist, which was what she basically got paid for.
It was crazy to think what might have happened if I hadn’t inverted the suite number.
I might never have met him…
“So, you work for Evan Grant Allen?” Claire said with a pitch in her voice. It didn’t occur to me that people outside the business world might know who he was. “He’s like sort of famous. At least here in Houston. You know, for like a business person. And he’s so hot.”
“Hot?” I questioned. “Would you call him hot?”
“Totally. He’s got that sort of nerdy Clarke Kent vibe, where if you just take off his glasses, he’s Superman. Have you ever seen eyes like his? That green?”
I laughed softly. “You checking out my boss, Claire?”
“No! Are you crazy? I would never get close to him. He’s too scary.
Any time I see him in the hallway, I try to duck into the bathroom.
I don’t know how anyone could work for him.
You know what my boss said about him? He said that when he introduced himself to Mr. Allen in the elevator one time, Mr. Allen’s response was to apologize, but he didn’t engage in casual small talk. Like, who does that?”
That actually sounded like a pretty E.G. thing to say.
“Is he as scary as he seems?”
I considered how to answer that. In some regards, yes, he was as scary as he might seem. He was abrupt, aloof and he never pulled any punches.
“He doesn’t scare me,” I said, which was the truth. “But he can be intimidating, I suppose.”
“I read an article about how everything changed for him after his wife died. Did you know that he’d been driving the car when they got into the accident?”
I knew enough. Had seen the headlines anyway when I’d Googled him, but I’d never dug any further or looked into the details. It was too intrusive.
Also, something twisted in my gut when I thought about E.G.’s late wife.
Guilt? Which made no sense.
Quickly, I had to steer this conversation in another direction. I didn’t want to know anything else. Gossiping about something so personal to him with someone else felt wrong. Like a violation of his trust.
“Yeah. What do you do for fun? When you’re not working, I mean. I’m trying to figure out a life outside my job.”
She blinked a few times like she was trying to catch up with me. Finally, she did.
“Oh, absolutely. Work life balance. It’s a thing. Call me an old-fashioned girly, but I still love clubbing. Actually, a new one just opened a week ago, we should totally go. Although, I hear it’s almost impossible to get in, still we should try.”
A club. Dancing. Another something in a long line of somethings I’d never done. An activity that only belonged in movies.
What if I couldn’t dance? What if I looked stupid and awkward? Dancing, to me, seemed a lot like being funny.
Sure, everyone thought they could dance, but could everyone really dance?
Still, the whole point of this new life was to branch out and make friends. Build life experiences that were mine. So I could find out what kind of person I was.
Did I like to go clubbing? How would I know, if I didn’t do it?
I took a deep breath, nodded, and said, “Yes. That sounds fun. We should go. How about Saturday?”
“Have you ever been to a club?” I asked E.G later that evening.
“Golf club?”
“Dance club,” I clarified.
It was past six and we were winding down for the day. He was checking on some data he received from one of his sources. I was setting up his schedule for tomorrow, which I usually did with him in his office because it was just easier.
He sighed and turned away from his monitors. I could see him reaching for a memory.
He scowled and started to shut down his applications. “Once. It was loud, crowded and annoying because everyone was drunk. I left almost immediately.”
“Do you think you can dance?”
“I’m very certain I cannot. I’ve danced once. At my wedding. It was torture and I’ll never do it again.”
“That’s what I assumed,” I said.
For a second he looked offended. “Why? Do I look uncoordinated?”
“Are you really getting offended because I didn’t think you were a dancer?”
He took a second to think about it. “No.”
“Claire and I are going to try and get in at this club on Saturday, and it occurs to me I don’t know if I can dance or not.”
“What they do at those clubs is not dancing. It’s mostly jumping around with intermittent thrusting. Why would you want to participate in that?”
“Because I’m young and I want to live.”
“Your favorite activity is eating Pirate’s Booty and watching Netflix.”
“I think I confide in you too much.”
“Then stop,” he drawled. “Are you looking for my permission to tell you, you don’t have to go?”
“No, I’m going. It’s going to be fun.”
“It’s not,” he assured me.
I scowled at him over my laptop. “You’re such a negative Nelly.”
He scowled back. “Do not ever refer to me as a…Nelly.”
“Negative Nancy?”
“What is the name of the club?”
“Angel’s,” I told him.
“You know how to behave in a place like that, right?” he asked me.
“Well, according to you, it’s all about jumping and thrusting at song appropriate moments.”
“I’m serious, Flowers. You have to be careful in an environment like that. You’ve got to watch your drink at all times. Never put it down and walk away. Always make sure a bartender or waitress is the one to hand it to you. And you and this…what’s her name again?”
“Claire,” I supplied.
“Yes. Claire. You watch each other’s back. You don’t get stupid drunk and you leave together.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “E.G.! I can’t agree to that! What if she meets a guy? What if I meet a guy?”
“Then he gets your number and calls you sometime for a date at a future time. At a public place where you can arrange to meet. Welcome to 21st century dating.”
“Like you would know,” I grumbled, and immediately regretted it.
Looking up over my laptop’s monitor, I winced a little when I saw he was staring at me with his thoughtful expression. Not his grumpy face, or angry face. Or even his don’t-waste-my-time face.
This expression meant he was serious.
“I mean it, Flowers. You have to be careful.”
“This is supposed to be fun,” I said, and could hear a trace of whining in my tone. I had to stop that. I didn’t do whining.
“Cautious fun.”
“Yes, Dad,” I teased.
He was not amused. “I’m not your fucking father,” he snapped.
I straightened in the chair I was sitting in.
“I know that.”
“Good.”
“I emailed you your schedule,” I said, trying to put some distance between us.
I shut down my laptop and stood. “Not that you’ll look at it before Monday.
You know, it’s not like you really have to worry about anything.
Apparently, this place is crazy hard to get into.
We’ll most likely spend the night waiting on a line outside. ”
“Hmm,” he mumbled. “Get your stuff, Flowers. We’re done for the day.”
I closed up my office and we met in the lobby to make our nightly walk to the elevators.
E.G. locked the outside office door, and once we got to the elevators, he hit the down button.
“I want you to have fun,” he said abruptly, as we waited side by side. “I get it. You’re young. You’ve had a difficult childhood. You should have some fun. There’s just so much out there you have to be diligent against.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, E.G. I’m pretty sure it’s not in your job description.”
“No, it isn’t,” he said. “But I do.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened.
We stepped inside without another word.