Chapter 5
A month in, Connor felt like he was starting to mostly figure out Nate’s idiosyncracies. Not that he was the easiest man to work with.
He'd walk into the office at his usual time, only to find a flurry of IMs from Nate, a sign he'd been up far later than was decent while trying to catch up on upcoming meetings and planned deliverables.
So his little quiet hour in the morning hardly ever amounted to that when he was putting out Nate's fires.
And then once Nate actually arrived to the office, it was nonstop.
The questions, the comments, the bids for small talk that he didn't know how to reciprocate, because they were supposed to be working.
Except, Nate was–somehow, he managed to do both at once, something that confounded Connor.
Not to mention being assuaged hourly by his array of alarms, each with a specific purpose, each keeping him on track in some way or another.
“What the hell is that even for?” Connor had asked one day, frustration getting the better of him.
“I just need them,” Nate answered. “They keep me on task.”
Connor didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but he also knew he wasn’t going to ask Nate to put his phone on silent. So he bore it in silent, resentful irritation.
And for all that Nate liked to project competence day in and day out, it didn't take much for his confidence to waver.
During their usual executive monthly round up in the main conference room that week, Nate clearly saw something he liked in Elle Thornton, Junie's boss.
Perhaps it was her candor, or the way she carried herself while standing nearly a head and a half shorter than the men in the room. Who couldn't admire that?
But Nate didn't know what Connor knew. Elle Thornton was a woman better admired from a distance.
“You gave a killer presentation on your department's metrics,” Nate said to her, Connor wishing the earth would just open up to swallow him whole while Junie only gave them both a puzzled look from over Thornton's shoulder. “Think you'd ever wanna get together and trade templates?”
“My assistant handles that, as should yours,” Thornton replied without softening her tone, and Nate's expression crumpled like a used tissue.
“That's embarrassing,” Junie commented that afternoon. They’d managed to steal a shared moment for themselves in the break room as he made another espresso for Nate.
“He's, what, five weeks in? Trying to hit on her? I know he’s cute and all, but he’s not hot shit.
If he tries that again, she could literally eat him like a spider.
Does your guy even know that, or does he have that my-dick-is-too-big-for-my-brain-to-work disease? ”
Connor had only shaken his head at the time, not wanting to further rile-up Junie. Nor did he want to consider anything to do with his… well. Confidence.
Still, he couldn’t let that go without saying something. It was for Nate’s own good, Connor reasoned.
“You need to own your role,” he said before leaving that day, frowning at Nate. “You can’t let other execs intimidate you. You’ll never end up holding a board position that way.”
Nate winced.
“I don’t know how you think I’m supposed to do that. I mean, I can’t talk to them like they’re my peers.”
“They are,” Connor said flatly, tucking his laptop into his work bag. As much as he loathed it, he would need to finish some work that evening, probably while he was sitting in bed, his smart lights cutting out before he was ready to stop.
Nate sucked in his cheek as he watched Connor.
“They know so much more than I do. I’m worried they’ll find me out, you know? They’ll see that I’m an imposter.”
I have an idea, crowed a spiteful voice in Connor’s head. Try not being an imposter.
But he didn’t say that.
It wouldn’t help anything even if he did.
How frustrating it was to know his success was tied so strongly to Nate doing well.
Somehow, Connor just sighed.
“Then act like you do. And if you’re going to try to be friends with any of the directors, Thornton is a pretty awful choice. Try someone more tapped out with their department.” And Connor checked his watch, letting out a little sigh. Just after five.
“Who would you recommend?”
What kind of question was that?
“I don’t know. Simmons? Maybe the CEO’s daughter if you’re feeling lucky. I can’t help you there. But I’ll see you Monday.”
And Connor didn’t give Nate an opportunity to respond before he was left.
Fine. Most days were easy enough, working with Nate, but he found himself wishing for a break from the man.
Just two days where he didn’t have to think about him.
But Connor could never find himself so lucky.
He woke early that Saturday to hit the beach, trying to take advantage of spring surfing conditions. Of course, that sentiment was shared by nearly every surfer in Orange County.
Still, the crisp water bit through his wetsuit so pleasantly that morning, and by noon, he’d had enough of getting thrashed against the sandbar out near the Wedge. He carried his board under his arm as he returned to his RAV4, deciding he deserved a coffee stop on the way back to his apartment.
Just the kind of pick-me-up to get him through the errands he’d need to run that afternoon. Grocery pickup, dry cleaning pickup, that typical drudgery of weekend life.
But as Connor found himself stepping into his favorite coffee shop in Balboa, he found himself running into someone he never expected to see.
“Oh, shit. Connor?”
It was Nate.
Dressed down in a white tee and blue jeans, but he knew that face anywhere.
And Connor could not have been in a worse state by his boss.
Still shaking salt from his hair, still wearing his wetsuit and an old pair of slide-on sandals, no doubt just a little sunburnt at his forehead and cheeks despite his best efforts.
And Nate looked him up and down, taking in Connor as he really was–not hidden under one of his suits, not as clean-cut and polished as he tried to make himself at work. Connor just crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.
“It’s crazy seeing you here. I was out exploring and heard they had good coffee here.”
“They do,” Connor said, not rudely, but certainly not comfortable with this conversation that was playing out against his will.
“What brings you out here?” Nate asked, and Connor wished he didn’t have to answer. But he did.
“Surfing,” he said with a shrug. “Conditions are good out near the Wedge today.”
They were most weekends, but he didn’t tell Nate that.
“You surf? Really? Wow, I never would have expected that. I was thinking of going down and watching some of the surfers over there. Think it’s worth my time?”
“It could be, if you like that kind of thing,” Connor said, feeling himself loosen up a little. He didn’t know why, just that something about Nate was melting his shell despite his best efforts. “There’s a sandwich shop on the beach that’s good, if you go. Italian-style grinders.”
“That’s tempting. But, you know, I’m kinda from the capital of Italian sub shops.”
“Sounds like you’ll be able to give an expert review, then.”
“Or I could sound like Gordon Ramsey, just picking at soggy lettuce and rotten tomatoes,” Nate teased. “I can be a pretty harsh food critic.”
Connor’s lip curled.
This wasn’t a side of Nate he saw much of while in the office, and he had to admit, it was pretty entertaining.
“Maybe. But you could end up having more of a spiritual experience, like Bourdain. Finding a taste of home away from home,” Connor said, raising his eyebrows.
Nate’s expression turned wistful.
“Yeah, that’d be nice, I’ve been–”
“316, quint shot on ice!” called the barista, setting a large cup and paper straw down on the counter.
“That’s me,” Nate said, giving Connor a small smile. “I’m gonna go check out that sub shop. See you Monday, Connor.”
And as he turned to get his coffee, Connor slipped into the line of patrons waiting to order.
So much for his Nate-free weekend.
Monday rolled around far too quickly, as it always did, with Connor dreading having to face Nate after that awkward encounter.
He paid extra care to his appearance before leaving his apartment that morning, steaming his suit twice and slicking back his hair with a bit of pomade. Of course, it didn’t occur to him until he was walking into their office that he should have given his loafers a bit of a shine.
But nothing he could do about that now.
There was plenty of work to be done, and that was what Connor had his nose buried in by the time Nate arrived an hour later, silently praying that the universe might grant him a bit of a reprieve.
But the universe seemed to flip a coin, deciding not today.
“It was cool, seeing you on Saturday,” Nate said out of the blue. Connor only grimaced, his face hidden by his monitor while Nate continued. “I never imagined you being a surfer, that’s crazy.”
Connor only responded with a noncommittal, “Yep.”
But Nate didn’t get the hint. He never did.
“Did you grow up surfing out here? I mean, you seem Californian, through-and-through.”
Any other time, any other person, maybe Connor would have taken it as a compliment. He’d spent his entire adolescence dreaming about California.
But from Nate, it just annoyed him.
“I’m from Ohio,” he said without inflection, not inviting further questions.
Yes, he was from Ohio. Yes, neither of his parents had any desire to leave the state. Yes, he was aware he didn’t look like he was from Ohio, whatever that meant.
But Nate just kept on rolling through.
“Actually? Well, I get why you surf. I heard Balboa was nice. Maybe worth my time. Can’t believe how pretty it is down there. I even went down to the Wedge and grabbed a sandwich from that place you told me about.”
“How was it?” Connor asked, not because he cared, but because he knew that was the polite thing to do. Pretend to at least show interest when someone else is talking.
Not that Nate would ever stop at this rate.
“Good. Really good. I mean, it wasn’t anything like home, but you can’t beat a sandwich on the beach.”
“Guess not.”