3. Chapter 3
“Please, don’t let him recognize me from yesterday.” My voice was low enough so that only Anna and, hopefully, a higher power could hear. “I pray to the old gods and the new,” I said as we walked from my coconut-scented cubicle to the conference room.
“Is that from . . . Game of Thrones?” Anna asked, scratching the tight bump under her blouse.
“It covers all the deities, doesn’t it?” I clutched my notebook and laptop to my chest, shielding myself from the coming embarrassment.
“It doesn’t matter if he recognizes you. He was the ass. You have no reason to be embarrassed.”
She’d obviously taken my side when I told her what happened. I appreciated her fierce loyalty, but I gave her a look, because, really? Can you fall in a waterway outside your place of work—reaching for a sticky note—without feeling embarrassed?
“Okay,” she conceded. “You don’t have as much to be embarrassed about. I’d rather slip into Lake Woodlands than be a jerk to a new coworker.”
“Keep your voice down,” I said out of the corner of my mouth as we approached the nearly full conference room.
The team gushed over a Shipley’s box in the middle of the table. I hated that I zeroed in on Beck. Also annoying, he wore an equally nice shirt as the one from yesterday, this one a forest green—it paired well with the browns of his hair and eyes. His stern brows furrowed at our entrance.
Damn it.He definitely recognizes me.
Susan turned the box of kolaches our way. “Beckett brought these.” I noticed Beck wince at the full use of his name. Like garlic to a freaking vampire. Noted. “Here, Anna, there’s a jalapeno one.”
Anna craved all things spicy. Any time we ate out for lunch, she ordered the item on the menu with the most little red peppers next to its name. She’d recently told me if a meal didn’t make her sweat, it wasn’t worth her time.
But instead of grabbing for the kolache, she searched my face as if to ask, Are we accepting gifts from the enemy? A true testament to her loyalty.
I responded by picking up a sausage and cheese pastry. I was petty but not on a level where I’d turn down food to make a point. I sank my teeth into doughy heaven.
Beck approached, and I froze mid-bite. “Hey,” he said, hushed. “Can I talk to you for a sec—”
Thankfully, Wesley interrupted with an overly enthusiastic entrance. “I would say I hope you all had your Wheaties this morning, but it looks like someone took it a step further,” he said, plucking a kolache from the rapidly emptying box.
“Maybe later,” Beck offered as we all took our seats. I nodded politely but hoped not. I could do without circling back to one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I’d already done plenty of ruminating the night before.
“Today,” Wesley continued. “We start the convergence of family office with corporate, which will be a doozie.”
I used to love new beginnings, but now I felt slightly sick at the prospect of starting over. While Wesley prattled about efficiency, deadlines, and workflows, I pulled out my phone, checking for approximately the seven hundred thousandth time to see if Hailey had responded to the message I’d left last night.
I furiously typed out another one.
I swear to God, if you don’t call me back by the end of the day, I’m assuming you are dead, and I’m launching a full-blown investigation. We’re talking the FBI. Liam Neeson’s character from the Taken movies. The whole nine yards.
“Who can I count on to compile meeting minutes?” Wesley asked, pulling my attention back to the conference room.
I averted my eyes. It was gorilla rules in the conference room—no eye contact. He would sense my weakness, and I’d get suckered in. Just like I always did.
I looked up just enough to see him use a kolache as a pointer, swiveling to each of the faces at the table. No one offered because, to my knowledge, none of us are masochists who would like to add an extra hour to the workday by sifting through everyone else’s meeting notes and then typing them up in a clear and consistent order, especially with this new project on the rise.
“No takers?” Wesley asked. Then, “Sorry Beck. The new recruit is honored with meeting-minute duty.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I pictured Beck and the disgusted look he wore yesterday after pulling me out of the water, all too easily imagining him with that look as he painstakingly compiled notes from today’s meeting. I pretended to be very interested in one of the daisy-shaped buttons on my cardigan until I could get a grip on my smile and force it back to a neutral position. I guess all that glitters is not gold.
“That is, if no one else volunteers as tribute.” Wesley waited for someone to chime in and then chuckled at his joke.
No one else joined. I might have participated a couple of days ago, but my ass-kissing days were done now that he’d given my position to Beck.
“No problem,” Beck answered.
I thought about how late he’d stayed the night before and wondered if he’d had a chance to finish the videos for orientation training. If not, he’d have quite the workload.
Not my problem,I thought, capping my pen as if to snap that empathy closed.
“Great,” Wesley said, thumbing through his notebook. “Next order of business—Ow!” He yanked his hand back and shook it, but then looked at me, amusement sparkling as he held the paper cut close to his body. “Can’t let Emily see. Wouldn’t want her passing out again.”
Wesley looked at Ted, and the two started snickering.
I passed out once at the office two years ago, and they still wouldn’t let me live it down. It had happened when Ted showed an X-ray of his jammed thumb and explained how the doctor had to yank it back into place. Feeling nauseous, I”d stood—planning an escape for the hallway—but immediately blacked out. They’d called an ambulance. It was a whole thing.
I’d tried to get them to stop fussing over me, telling them I was fine. Because it had happened before. I was a fainter.
It usually only occurred after I gave blood. In fact, it had happened so many times at blood drives that they told me to stop coming back. Like, my fainting spells were such an issue they’d rather pass on healthy blood than deal with the literal fallout.
Telling my officemates that bit of information had saved me an ambulance ride, but it was ultimately a mistake. The next day, Wesley sent an email to the team with the words Employee of the Month and, under it, a fainting goat gif. It had been a running joke since.
“Har, har,” I said, wishing I could keep my cheeks from reddening.
I risked a glance at Beck, who seemed to be making a mental note of the exchange. Redhead that likes to dive into questionable bodies of water also blacks out at the slightest mention of blood. Got it.
Kill me now, I prayed to those gods of old and new. But a lightning bolt never obliged.
My phone vibrated just as Wesley wrapped up the meeting. Hailey’s picture popped up on the illuminated screen. I packed up quickly and rushed to a stairwell a few doors from the conference room.
Before I could even utter a greeting, Hailey started rambling, “Okay. So I know I should have told you about starting a calligraphy business, and I was going to, but I wanted it to be more established when I asked you.”
“Asked me what?” I demanded.
“To join me,” she said like duh, keep up.
My mind reeled, picturing the calligraphy in Hailey’s room, her business, and trying to see where I landed in all this.
“Like . . . as your business partner?”
“I know you hate your job, and you’ve always been so in love with calligraphy. It just makes sense.”
None of it made sense. No part of this week made sense. At that point, I felt like I’d stumbled into The Upside Down in Stranger Things.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What I don’t understand is how it makes sense for you?” My voice sounded angrier than I intended. “Since when has calligraphy been your thing?”
“Well.” A pause. In the silence, I imagined her plotting the safest course for this conversation. “It started out as a relaxation thing. You always seem so Zen when doing calligraphy.” Her voice rolled out softly as if we walked on eggshells here. And we did. “But then I got good at it and started to wonder if it could be more for me. I started up my business, and things were going well.” The soft edges crested to something more robust, her voice swelling with pride.
“How well?”
“Well enough that I quit bookkeeping a few months ago.”
I gaped. Calligraphy was an art. And just like any other art, it was subjective, a luxury, which made the industry incredibly flaky. And yet Hailey had decided to lean wholeheartedly on it. Let it feed her. Shelter her. The whole idea made me sweat.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, not able to help myself.
“I made more from calligraphy last year than I did bookkeeping. Not by much, but my business is just starting.”
I wanted to protest further and mention that bookkeeping was the secure choice, but I realized I’d sound just as jealous as I felt. So instead, I ground out a “That’s great, Hailey.”
I couldn’t make my tone match the words, though. Instead, it sounded hollow, like the feeling in the pit of my stomach. The one that came with figuring out my sibling had whimsically decided to try something I’d been perfecting for decades only to be some fucking prodigy at it.
The universe wasn’t even trying to hide the Texas-sized middle finger it was shooting at me. I’d worked my ass off at my job. I practiced drills and perfected my lettering. But none of that mattered. People like Beckett and Hailey were just cosmically blessed.
“I never meant to hurt you, Emily. I swear. I was going to tell you when the business got bigger—gained more traction. I know you need stability—”
I exhaled through my nose. “You act like I’m paranoid for wanting solid ground to stand on. Everyone wants stability.”
“I know, I know. And you should, especially after the summer we lived out of Mom’s van.”
Precisely. That summer had jaded me, shattered my sense of security—like someone had turned my life upside down and rattled all its contents loose.
“But all of this is coming to light at a good time,” she continued. I didn’t like the overly cheery tone her voice had taken. “Because.” She took a deep breath. “I’m moving to Florida with Braxton.”
I gripped the railing, dizzied by Hailey’s words. “What?”
“I’m staying in Florida. Braxton has been speaking with the owner of the venue he DJ’d at. This wedding was a test of sorts, and he passed with flying colors. They want to hire him full-time. He’ll be working exclusively for the venue instead of having to find individual clients. It’s a huge step for his career. And he wants me to move in with him. I really like it here.”
“Everyone likes Florida, Hailey. That’s why you visit. You don’t live there permanently. Have you ever watched the news? It almost always starts with ‘Florida man . . .’”
“Emily—” I could hear the eye-roll in her tone.
“You were supposed to be just visiting.”
Something like panic gripped my chest. I was already losing Anna. I couldn’t lose Hailey, too. Her boyfriend of two whole months couldn’t just steal her away from me. I wanted to reach through the phone and yank her back home. And the worst part about it—I’d been the reason Hailey had gone to Florida with Braxton, the reason they’d started dating. If work hadn’t stopped me from going on my trip, we would have had a great time visiting Florida, not setting down roots.
“I know, Emily, but I like it here. I love it,” she amended. “The water here is blue—you can see all the way to the bottom like a swimming pool.” My mind immediately drew up the brown waters of the gulf we grew up swimming in, muddied by river sediment. “And it’s more than that. I can picture my life with Braxton here.”
I was losing my footing in this argument. She’d already made up her mind, but I decided to throw one more punch. “You don’t even know him! You just met. He could sell whale organs or make wigs out of pubes for a living—”
She laughed. “He’s a DJ!”
“But that could just be a front. You wouldn’t know because you just met him. Seriously, Hailey. I don’t like this. Going on a fling vacation is one thing. Moving to a different state with someone—who probably doesn’t even know your middle name—is crazy. I’m just going to say it. This is crazy, even for you.”
An icy silence fell on the other end. I swallowed. But her retaliation came out quiet, calm. “Well, I would rather take risks than live like you. Hating life because you are too scared of change.”
That comment stung even more than her secret calligraphy career. “That’s not true.”
“Emily, please. You won’t even look for a different job, and you hate it there.”
“So what? Everyone hates their job.”
“No, they don’t. But even if they did, you are like that even with your relationships.”
I scoffed.
“Just look at your last boyfriend, Chad?” I rolled my eyes. Of course, she just had to bring up Chad. “He’d been hanging out with his best friend—” I didn’t have to see her to know she used air quotes. “—Mia, the whole time. You tried so hard to make it seem fine until you found them fucking on his couch.”
“Yeah. I was cheated on. Way to victim blame.”
“I’m not! I’m just saying that you tend to try and force things to work when there is obviously a problem. So, excuse me for passing on your relationship advice. I have to go. Braxton is taking me to his favorite bakery.”
“Hailey, wait.”
“I just wish you could be happy for me,” she said before hanging up.
I looked at the disconnected phone, resisting the urge to lob it down the stairwell. Judging by the jumble of thoughts in my head and the tight feeling in my chest, a breakdown was impending. But I took some steadying breaths, gripping the rails until my palms ached. I didn’t want to cry at work, and more importantly, I didn’t have the time. The tears would have to wait. I allowed myself one long shuddering exhale before heading back into the building. But before I could, the door to the stairwell swung open, and I had to back up to keep from being hit.
“Oh, sorry,” Beck said, realizing he’d nearly smacked me with the door. “Anna said she saw you go this w—” He stopped. His brows furrowed into what looked like concern. “Are you okay?” His voice rumbled so deep, so quiet, I could have imagined it.
I might not have allowed myself to shed a tear, but he was probably asking because my traitorous eyes were red-rimmed. And knowing my pale complexion, the argument had more than likely left red blotches on my chest. Why was it that I couldn’t act normal around him?
“I’m fine,” I said way too quickly to be believable.
He looked at me, obviously skeptical. For someone with sharp brows, he had soft—almost sleepy—eyes, and they searched mine. It was like he expected to read what had happened in my irises.
“You were looking for me?” I asked.
My tone came out harsher than I’d intended. Yeah, he’d been a jerk yesterday, but I’d planned to be civil with him. At this point, though, he was at the wrong place at the wrong time—just a casualty in the falling out with my sister.
“Uh—yes. I need your notes to compile them for the meeting minutes.”
I ripped the pages out of my notebook with all the grace of a second grader tearing pages from a workbook. The edges were as jagged as I felt. “Anything else?” It took great effort to keep the trembling out of my voice.
“No,” he said quietly, but the look on his face contradicted him.
Before he could ask me again if I was okay or, worse, bring up what happened yesterday, I made for my exit.
“Then I’d better get back to work,” I said, brushing past him.
Back in my cubicle, I inhaled the coconut aroma from the new wallflower, trying—and failing—to get my mind off Hailey so I could work. If I didn’t get busy soon, I’d be working late enough for the custodial staff to kick me out. Finally, I decided to pull up another IT ticket. Distracted working would be more efficient than not working at all.
I didn’t surface until hours later. I’d declined to get lunch with Anna. Declined to refill my water when my throat got parched. Just forced myself to keep plowing ahead. It wasn’t until my bladder threatened to unleash on my swivel chair that I relented. For the journey there and back, I kept my head down. I couldn’t afford to have someone stop me for casual conversation. I needed to trudge through these tickets as quickly as possible before we started tackling the first phases of the convergence project.
“Hey, Emily. Real quick.” Beck waved me over. Apparently, I hadn’t mastered the unapproachable look I’d been aiming for. “Jordan from family office emailed me about this budgeting error.” He pointed to the screen. “Have you seen it before? I’d ask Anna, but she left early for a doctor’s appointment.”
I leaned in, noticing that he had a fresh scent, an I just stepped out of the shower smell. If I could bottle it up, I’d plug it into my wallflower. Trying to keep my breathing even, instead of taking the deep inhales I wanted, I checked the error. I didn’t recognize it. Could I figure out a solution? Sure. A quick Google search would do the trick. But it was his time versus mine; I wasn’t going to take on his workload along with my own, especially knowing my paycheck probably dwarfed compared to his. Part of me knew my resentment was childish. He probably didn’t know he ran me over to get the promotion. He was new and asking for my help. I should have obliged. Made him feel welcome.
But after all that happened yesterday and today with Hailey saying she wasn’t coming back home, I felt like the strings of a violin pulled too tight during tuning. You can only endure so much pressure before you snap.
“No. I don’t recognize the error. But then again, I’m not the senior analyst.”
Beck turned to face me, looking to see if I was teasing. When I held a level gaze, he gave a short laugh. “I was just seeing if you’d encountered it before. Sorry for asking,” he said, swiveling back to face the screen.
I retreated to my cubicle and tried to work until the guilt simmered in my chest, causing me to relent. I looked up the error. It was a simple fix. I decided to email Beck, afraid if I faced him again, I’d bite his head off for something else. I copied his email from a group message Wesley sent.
Most people would have opted for first initial then last name at The Arlow Group dot net. Not Beck. He was just Beck A. How professional. I couldn’t remember what Wesley said his last name was. I checked the signature of his previous email. But it was just Beck A. there, too.
I thought it must be a bad one, and I found myself curious, running through the last names that started with A. But I shut it down quickly, frustrated at the time I’d already wasted stopping at Beck’s cube. It didn’t matter what his last name was. I closed out the email I’d been about to compose. He was a big boy. He’d figure out the error.
By the time four o’clock rolled around, I’d plowed through all my IT requests and made some impressive headway on our next project. I wasn’t used to being done so early. It was liberating. I knew I had my acute anger and the laser focus that came with it to thank.
At four-fifteen, I watched Wesley make his exit. Same time he did every day. It must be nice to leave in your Bentley while the sun is still out because you are good at delegating to your lackeys.
I considered getting a head start on processing workflows, but my hand hovered over the mouse. I hadn’t eaten anything besides that kolache. My stomach rumbled. My eyes burned from staring at my computer and trying to keep from crying over my sister. My brain felt like it had turned to oatmeal in my skull. I needed a break.
I thought of Anna and her baby shower invites. In a snap decision, I logged out of my computer. My bamboo pajamas, calligraphy pens, a bowl of instant ramen noodles, and spending the rest of the evening braless called my name. I gathered my things, high on the idea of taking a break to work on something I enjoyed.
Leaving the office before five felt like breaking the law. But somehow, that little act of rebellion filled me with new life. Until Beck joined me on the elevator. His shoulders drooped as he looked up and noticed his ride buddy was me: Emily, who liked to jump into waterways, fainted at the mention of papercuts, cried in the stairwell, and demeaned you when you asked for help. Not my best couple of days.
The ride down was quiet, rigid. Standing close to him, I felt small. He wasn’t all-star tall, but he had my 5’ 5” beat by a head. The elevator had a mirror panel in it. I glanced over. He stared at his shoes with tight eyes, looking as tired as I felt.
When the elevator stopped, he motioned for me to leave first.
“Did you figure out the error?” I asked, surprising myself.
“Do you care?”
My head whipped in his direction. One corner of his mouth seemed on the verge of twitching upward, drawing my attention to his full lips.
I snapped my eyes back to his. “If you don’t figure it out, Jordan will email me next. So yes, I care.”
“It’s handled,” he said, holding the doors to the waterway open for me. “Have a nice swim home.”
I gaped. Well, I guess someone had to bring it up. I put my arms in akimbo. “I’m just impressed by your bravery,” I said, indicating his shirt. “Continuing to put your Banana Republic collection at risk after what happened to the other one.”
He sighed. “My reaction yesterday wasn’t about you. And it certainly wasn’t about a shirt.” I expected him to explain further, but he just nodded and tossed, “Night, Lane,” over his shoulder.
Not Emily. First names were for friends. If I had known his last name, I would have given him the same sendoff. Instead, I remembered how Beck had cringed in the morning meeting when Susan used his full first name. My goodbye would be even better.
“Night, Beckett,” I said, enjoying the way he halted briefly, letting me know I’d hit my mark.