Chapter 6
JORDAN
I’m leaning against Paige’s desk when I finally spot her walking down the row of cubicles. She’s moving toward me with a big smile plastered on her face, but her eyes are red and splotchy. Something tells me she didn’t spend the past fifteen minutes in the women’s bathroom grinning like she is now.
Paige is a crier. If her body feels any excess of emotion, it pours straight from her eyes. If she hears an especially good line in a rap song, she cries. If she sees more than five hot-air balloons in the sky at once, she cries. And when she has a particularly bad day at work, she cries. But she really doesn’t like the crying when it draws attention to her, so I grab the box of tissues from her middle drawer and place it on her desk for when she needs it.
I follow her lead and mirror her smile. “Top ten worst days?” I ask when she’s beside me.
“Top five.” She attempts another smile, but this one barely moves her lips.
She doesn’t give me more than that, so I know she’s not ready to talk about what happened in that conference room. I segue into a safer, easier topic. “You look really nice.”
I mean it. Despite the large coffee stain, the tan suit and white blouse and the way her long brown curls frame her bright-green eyes are all something to see.
Paige gurgles out a laugh and runs a hand down her suit jacket, emphasizing the brown liquid splattered across her clothing. “You mean this piece of couture?”
I pretend to put a phone to my ear. “Paige, Paris Fashion Week is on the line, and they said they want their design back.”
Paige arches an eyebrow. “How much are they willing to pay?”
“She wants to know what the payout is,” I say then listen to my pretend phone. “They want to know if you’ll accept a prepaid shopping trip on Fifth Avenue.”
Paige’s nose wrinkles.
“An all-expense paid Caribbean cruise?” I try.
“Meh.” She looks bored.
“A sugar cookie?”
Paige’s eyes light up, and she nods.
“You’ve got a deal,” I say into the fake phone and hang up. I love how Paige dives head-long into the ridiculous things I do. Everything is more fun when she’s around.
From behind my back, I produce a thin square box big enough to fit a small pizza and place it in her hands. Paige bites her lip and looks up at me, then she opens the box, revealing a giant frosted sugar cookie with purple lettering scrawled across the top.
Paige reads the frosted words aloud. “Those jerks! They don’t know talent when they see it.” She coughs out a laugh, then her eyebrows furrow. She peeks around my back. “What did the other cookie say?”
“What other cookie?” I block her gaze, standing in front of the other box.
“The identical one right behind you.” She puts out an arm to reach around me, but I lean to the side, cutting her off. Then she quickly shifts directions and nabs the second box, flipping it open and reading the second sugar cookie before I can stop her.
“Congrats, Paige!” she reads. “I knew you could do it!” She punches me in the arm, but her laughter immediately counteracts any effect it has. “You’re such a punk.”
I raise both hands innocently. “I’m no fortune teller.”
She closes the lid and stacks it on the other box. “I’m going to eat both of those.”
“You better,” I say.
“Thank you.” Her smile is brief, and as it fades, the mood around us shifts.
I finally address the elephant in the room. “Did you get hurt?”
Paige looks at me quizzically, and I point to her blazer, where the majority of her friend’s drink got dumped on her.
“I mean, did you get burned at all?” I add. I’ve never had hot coffee spill all over me before, but I can imagine the pain would be up there with paper cuts under fingernails.
“Luckily, it was cold brew, so I was spared the third-degree burns. But I’m pretty sure my pride went up in flames.” Paige smirks, but it quickly melts into a frown.
“Hey.” I tug on the sleeve of her blazer, and she looks up at me. “Michael Jordan was cut from the varsity basketball team in high school. And J.K. Rowling was turned down by twelve different publishers before the first Harry Potter was picked up.”
“Don’t forget the owl who took three whole licks to get to the center of his Tootsie Pop.”
“You’re a brat, Devons,” I say, shaking my head.
A smile curls the corner of her mouth, making her dimple appear.
I try again. “What I’m saying is you’ve got the talent, and it’s only a matter of time before someone scoops you up.”
My words have the opposite effect I intended—her chin starts to quiver, and her eyes go misty. She reaches for a tissue, then another. Paige goes through several more tissues, and each one makes me feel more and more useless as I watch her cry out her bad day. I keep my arms at my side, willing them not to move, to encircle her. Then my eyes flick to her blazer, which is the site of the biggest stain. Oddly, it seems to be shaped like Michigan—and nearly the size of it too.
Paige muffles a sob, and I’m just about ready to unbutton my shirt and let her wear it just to take away one of her problems today. I might not be allowed back on her work campus ever again, but hey, I would do anything to turn this day around for her. That’s when I think of a less-scandalous solution.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Paige, and she nods into her tissue.
I jog out of the building and to my car. When I open my trunk, I see more of Paige’s belongings than my own. Suddenly I’m grateful my mom doesn’t make a habit of looking in the back of my car, because the accumulation of Paige’s stuff in here is giving off strong couple vibes. She’s left a pair of running shorts in a Target bag meant to be returned two months ago, a copy of Sense and Sensibility , and two pairs of shoes, just to name a few.
My phone pings in my pocket, and I take it out, looking at the text.
Colton: Change of plans. I’ll be home for a few weeks before school starts back up. Count me in for rafting.
Jordan: That’s awesome, man. How’d you work that one?
Colton: My dad’s having knee surgery, so I have a couple of weeks of freedom. When Dad said he wanted to help me network in DC this summer, he conveniently forgot to mention the choke hold he’d have on my schedule. I’m so burnt out.
Jordan: Sounds like rafting will be just the thing.
Colton: You have no idea.
Jordan: We’ll count you in.
I pocket the phone. Colton Downing is the son of US Senator Downing and—if his dad has any say—his dad’s protégé. Colton and I have been part of the same friend group since I moved to Colorado in high school, and he’s one of my closest friends. But since he’s getting his law degree at Yale during the school year and has been networking in DC over the summer, we rarely see each other in person. It will be nice to have him on the rafting trip with me, Paige, Ji, and Missy. If only our friend Miles could make it, then the old gang would be back together again. But Miles is in Ecuador for the summer, doing humanitarian aid.
I scoot my camera bag over and rummage through my trunk until I grab Paige’s light-blue jacket, which is soft and still smells like her, something warm with a hint of coconut. I close the trunk before jogging back upstairs with it in tow.
When I reach Paige’s row of cubicles, I’m surprised to see Zia standing next to Paige. I’d almost forgotten about my literal run-in with Zia—not that she’s easy to forget. Zia is beautiful and has this confidence that just drew me in, but after watching Paige flip over her chair in the conference room, I got so worried about her that everything else seemed to vanish into the gray space of my mind.
Seeing Zia again, I’m reminded of how easy our back-and-forth was in the hallway. She’s flirty and has that mythical “it” factor. I know that if we were to go out, and I hope we will, the best part wouldn’t be the dinner or the movie but the conversations, the kind where even mundane topics seem exciting and no matter how long you talk, you’re left wanting more.
I mean, I’m not getting on one knee anytime soon—I just met the woman. But she’s the type a guy puts into the you-better-not-mess-this-up category before even getting her number.
When I get closer to Paige and Zia, I notice Zia is handing Paige paper towels from the stack in her hand. “I’m so sorry about your spill in the conference room,” Zia is saying. “When Vanessa told me, I came running.”
A slight blush tinges Paige’s cheeks, but her tears are gone. “Thanks, Zia,” Paige says as she takes another paper towel from her.
Paige’s outfit is nearly dry, and whatever would come out was probably dabbed out in the bathroom earlier, but Paige still presses the paper towels to her clothes as if they’re helping her in a big way.
When I step in front of the cubicle, both sets of eyes look up at me. I smile at the two of them before handing Paige her blue jacket. “I thought this might be better than the stain.”
Paige sighs with relief. “You’re the best.”
Zia’s eyes narrow and her bright lips part as if she’s doing math in her head. Then she seems to solve the problem. “You’re Paige’s Jordan!”
I open my mouth to respond, but Paige cuts me off like a motorcycle in rush hour traffic.
“No, no, he’s not mine. He’s his. He’s just Jordan. We’re just friends,” she says, making her feelings on our relationship clear as day.
“Well, that’s perfect, because I’ve been meaning to set you up on a date with my cousin.” Zia beams at Paige. “I was talking to him the other day about his type, and he pretty much described you. I just knew I had to get you two together.”
Paige blanches, and her nervous gaze shifts over to me as if she’s suddenly uncomfortable with my presence.
Squirminess works its way up my body.
Paige and I have been through a lot, and we know quite a bit about each other, but one thing we’ve steered clear of these past months is discussing our dating lives in front of each other. The night of high school graduation, Paige told me she loved me, and I didn't react well. What was supposed to be one of the most fun nights of our lives turned out to be the night that nearly broke our friendship for good. And even though Paige and I are clearly just friends now, somehow, the idea of discussing love and all its intricacies pokes at a tender spot in our friendship.
“He’s been living abroad for several years and even did a stint in the Peace Corps. He’s just moved here to get his company established in the States,” Zia continues, completely oblivious to the fact that Paige and I are about as comfortable as ice cubes on hot pavement. “His company helps make water more accessible to villages in third-world countries. He’s awesome.” She smiles at Paige. “And looks-wise, he’s a ten.”
Zia’s eyes spark as if she’s been struck by an idea, and she grabs hold of my arm. I flinch at the suddenness of her touch, and my arm muscles shift. Suddenly, Zia’s hand squeezes my bicep several times, and she raises her eyebrows, suggesting that she likes what’s there. I’m not one to blush, but an unexpected heat works its way up my neck.
Zia grins then looks from me to Paige. “We have to go on a double date,” she says excitedly. “We can totally plan it.” She looks at me, and I realize I’m part of the “we” in her idea. “And Paige can go with my cousin. Oh, you two would just be so cute together. Wait,” Zia says, “I have a picture of him on—”
“Paige, I forgot to tell you. Colton texted and said he’s in for the rafting trip.” I know I’m being rude to Zia, but a double date with Paige? We need to derail that train of thought before it gains traction. I reach up to my collar, half expecting there to be a tie I can loosen, but I’m not wearing one. Instead, I pop the button nearest my neck.
“Oh, that’s great.” Paige turns to Zia, trying to make up for my lapse in social etiquette and include Zia after I basically boxed her out. “We have this rafting trip we’re doing this year with some friends from high school, and it sounds like our friend Colton can make it now.”
“Oh, fun,” Zia says. She doesn’t press for more information, but her deflated smile tells me she wants to say more.
Well, I’ve been a total jerk. I remind myself that Zia’s a you-better-not-mess-this-up kind of woman. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. Messed it up. I cup Zia’s elbow. “Can I call you later tonight?” I ask, hoping I can repair some of the damage I’ve caused when I’m not stuck in an eight-by-eight cubicle with my best friend and my hopefully future date.
Zia’s confident smile returns. “You better, or I’ll have to run into you again some other time.”
I smile at her before turning back to Paige, who’s taken to straightening random knick-knacks on her desk. “See you, Paige.”
“See ya. Thanks again for the cookies,” Paige says, barely looking at me.
I want to stay and talk with Paige, listen as she tells me more about her morning meeting, find out what she’s thinking. I want to leave her without the residue of recent tears on her cheeks. And I want to pretend the words “double” and “date” were never mentioned around us. But something tells me we’re not going to get there with Zia in this cubicle.
So instead, I wave goodbye to Zia and Paige and hope that the next time I see them together, it’s not on a double date.