Chapter 17
Monday morning at the office, my “focus time” is anything but focused. Our month-over-month growth projections are sliding. If this trend continues, we’ll miss our mid-year goal, and Adam—especially Adam—will throw a fit.
I also keep losing my train of thought, replaying the kiss I stole at his party.
Dani is a magnet for my impulsivity and a welcome distraction from these spreadsheets.
Instead of taking that kiss, I should have asked for her number.
That would have been the practical thing to do.
Am I really going to ask her out over email?
I swivel my chair. Fuck it. Email, it is.
Subject: Dinner Thursday?
I’d like to take the girl to dinner.
You’re a fucking loser. You can’t send that. I delete the body of the email and send it blank with the subject line: “Dinner Thursday?”
Less is definitely more in this situation.
My phone buzzes a few minutes later. It’s a Wisconsin phone number that displays, “Maybe Dani Sommer.”
“Morning,” I answer.
“Some free PR advice. Don’t put anything in writing from your corporate email address you wouldn’t want read aloud in court.”
“Noted. How did you get my number?”
“Your email signature.” Her tone is playful, how dumb are you?
Dani’s number would already be in our CRM. Why didn’t I think to look there? Jessica adds everyone who emails me to it. With the combination of Dani on my mind and these quarterly financials, my brain isn’t even working through the simplest ideas.
“So, Thursday?” I ask.
“Is this a business dinner?”
“Date.”
I hear her breathe heavily as though she’s conflicted.
“Give me one date,” I plead.
There’s silence on the other end, then a firm reply. “One date.”
“I’ll pick you up at six thirty. You live in the Wolf building, right?”
“Are you going to tell me where we are going?”
“No. Wear jeans.”
She giggles, and I should shut off my computer and call it a day. There’s no way I’m going to get anything done after hearing that intoxicating sound. Opening my desk drawer, I take out my Adderall and dry-swallow a pill.