2. Katie
“Doyou have my fix for me?” Lacey asks, glancing toward Michael’s door. It’s firmly closed, which is unusual for him. Normally, he works with the door open.
He must be really focused on that contract.
I roll my eyes at Lacey. She and I became friends shortly after I started working at Alpha Defense Industries. She’s the only one here who knows about my stories. “I just finished the last chapter.”
She rubs her hands together in glee. “I can’t wait. You know you’re making me burn through batteries for Peter.”
Peter is Lacey’s nickname for the rabbit that apparently gets a workout every time she reads one of my drafts.
“Speaking of…how’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy?” I ask, using the nickname she has for Ryan. Ryan is her roommate. Or rather, her other roommate. She also lives with Eric, her older brother.
She glances around because Ryan works in the legal division and it’s not uncommon for him to bring paperwork up to Michael.
“He’s gorgeous as always,” she finally says when she’s certain we’re alone.
I chuckle at that. “You should take him to the masquerade.”
Something flickers across Lacey’s face. “I think he just puts up with me.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure.”
Although Ryan keeps his distance at work, I’ve seen the looks he sends Lacey’s way when he thinks no one is paying attention. The problem is she doesn’t realize it.
“I’m sure he already has one. Besides, I found a date for the masquerade anyway,” Lacey says, delight dancing in her eyes.
We chat for a few more minutes before I give her the latest installment in my series. It’s due to be published on Tuesday but other than the masquerade, my weekend is open.
A fact which will no doubt disappoint my mother. She doesn’t understand how I can spend hours in my room “writing those little romance stories of yours”.
I shrug the thought away and focus on my work for the next few hours. When I’m done, I knock on Michael’s door. “I’m leaving for the night.”
He blinks up at me from behind his computer screen. He gets lost in his projects for hours, often forgetting to eat or sleep. “I’ll walk you out.”
No matter how many times I’ve told him not to worry, he still insists on seeing me safely to my car each night.
“Do you have a hot date after this?” He asks as we wait for the elevator that will take us to the parking garage.
Not unless you count a double chocolate milkshake and plotting my next story about you.
“Not really.” I pause because we don’t normally ask each other about our personal lives. “How about you?”
He snorts. “I’ll be on the paperwork for Jameson acquisition.”
When the doors open with a ding, he gestures for me to go first before following me inside. “Don’t you have a boyfriend waiting for you?”
I keep my gaze fixed on my vintage Mary Jane shoes. Something is strange tonight. Michael usually doesn’t show interest in anything that’s not directly related to the work we do. “No.”
Fortunately, the elevator opens before he can ask me more personal questions.
I gesture toward my car, the vintage Volkswagen Beetle that makes me smile every time I see it. “This is my ride.” Of course, he knows that. He’s only walked me out a million times.
He gives me a quick nod. “Be safe.”
I get into my car and watch Michael in the garage. He stands there for a long moment, waiting until my vehicle disappears from view before he goes back to his office.
On my way home, I stop at The Wicked Wench. It’s my favorite eatery here in Asheville.
Inside, the noisy restaurant, I spot Atlas. She rushes over, her blonde curls swept back into a ponytail. “You want your Friday night usual?”
I nod and wait for my order, pausing to check my phone. There are over half a dozen messages from Lacey about my latest chapters. Each one makes me giggle, especially her use of exclamation marks and dirty GIFs.
I respond to her messages then look up to see Eric coming in the door. It doesn’t seem like his kind of place but he’s always going to lunch with Michael.
He places an order for his food and retreats to a dark corner of the restaurant where he promptly buries his face in his phone.
His food comes up before mine and Atlas is the one that brings it to him. I don’t miss the flirty way she smiles at him, fluffs her hair, and keeps touching his arm.
For his part, Eric seems unaffected. He doesn’t even so much as smile at her. I’m almost convinced he doesn’t care about her until she bends over to help a crying child.
Then he totally checks out her ass. Not a quick peek either. This is a long appreciative glance that has him quickly adjusting his pants.
Busted.
For a second, I wonder if Michael knows. Then I remember the list of eligible guys that he’s putting together. He clearly doesn’t know that his daughter already has her eye on someone.
When Eric turns to leave the restaurant, I duck behind a display case filled with delicious desserts.
After another long few minutes, Atlas finally brings me my food. She gives me a flustered smile. “Thanks for waiting. I gave you the extra crispy fries you like.”
I eat my fries and shake in the car, so I don’t have to endure my mom’s arched eyebrow when she sees my unhealthy dinner choices.
If I’m lucky, she won’t even be home tonight. She’ll be at some club, dressed in the latest designer dress, and grinding it out with some guy half her age.
Unfortunately, I’m not that lucky.
My mom is home when I come in.
I brace myself for the usual onslaught. She isn’t easy to deal with on the best of days and it’s likely to be worse tonight since she’s tipsy.
I’ve just made it past the fireplace where she framed a six-foot portrait of herself on the cover of Playboy, wearing only earmuffs.
“What are you doing home so late?” She demands as if I’m a teenager that got caught sneaking in late and not a grown woman.
She’s lounging on the couch topless in just a pair of skimpy red underwear. She stares at the picture of herself, almost as if she studies it long enough she’ll be able to go back in time and recapture her youth. “Were you out being a slut with a man who took pity on you?”
Never mind that she brings home more men than a lonely cat lady brings home strays.
“No, Mom.” I use the word on purpose to punish her. She hates being reminded that she’s old enough to have a daughter. Apparently, it’s embarrassing. “I was dealing with contract changes at work.”
She laughs as if I’ve made a good joke. “I guess that’s more believable than thinking you were on a hot date.”
The words sting. Twenty-five years of living with her and I should be used to her barbs.
For once, my mom seems to be self-aware enough to realize she’s hurt me. She clears her throat and says, “You know I only joke about this, my little chunky monkey.”
Chunky monkey.
I’m pretty sure that Stella Hunter’s greatest disappointment is that she had a fat, plain daughter that didn’t want to follow in her footsteps and become a supermodel.
“I’m going to bed,” I mutter, retreating from the room.
My mom has never understood me, and I can’t expect her to start now. I remind myself of this as I kick off my shoes and crawl onto my bed.
I grab my trusty laptop and open the document, determined to lose myself in the feel of my fictional boyfriend’s arms.
I know it’s pathetic—to be writing about Michael like this. But it’s not as if he’d ever look at me and see anything more than what my mom does. Just a sad loser who writes stories about her boss.