Chapter 11 Linc
LINC
Coach can put me through a series of ten-pass chaos drills, and I won’t so much as raise an objection. I leave nothing but sweat on the ice.
But put me behind a desk all day, and I want to take a nap.
I admit, I’ve dozed off more than once in the last couple of weeks since taking on the title Executive Curatorial Officer.
It’s a junior position even though it’s part of the executive department, meaning it’s pending until my father decides I’m not COO or CEO material, like he hopes.
In addition to the search for the letters, his team sends assignments to me on the inter-office app. Because I have no interest, I pass them off to Juliana.
Yes, it’s inconsiderate and unprofessional.
No, I’m not entirely clueless about the operations around here.
But being in this building instead of taking a summer break after a grueling hockey season makes my brain feel like it was soaked in gasoline and lit on fire. Dramatic, I know. However, I have zero interest in filling my father’s shoes—they’re the kind that only go in one direction.
Away.
Plus, my assistant is competent and seems to enjoy art history, and if I’m entirely honest, I enjoy her even—especially when—she’s self-righteous and sassy.
Why do I keep having these thoughts?
I’m probably more useful at home. Where I have a couch. Can put on the ceiling fan. Wear athletic shorts, no shoes, and close my eyes.
I exit my office into the reception area, where Juliana studies something on her computer screen. Her long, shiny hair cascades over her shoulders. She tilts her head as if considering a chess move and then bites her lip before clicking her mouse to move the cursor.
Deceptively innocent. I swallow thickly.
As if sensing me watching like a creep, she snaps those sugar eyes of hers my way. I’ve noticed her watching me … also like a creep. She thinks I’m attractive even if she claims to despise me. Takes one to know one.
Gaze straying to me as if she’s deciding between two painfully boring options, she returns to her work.
Voice sleepier than it should be, I say, “I’ve decided there are two kinds of people in this world. People who take naps and those who consume vast amounts of coffee in order to get through the day.”
Her eyes flit to the thermos on her desk and then at me as if I just confessed that I’m an alien from outer space. “Is that a problem?”
If it wasn’t clear, she’s the latter. I’m the former—a napper.
I want to tell her it’s not an indictment of her character.
I was just making an observation. Talking to her the same way I would to anyone when I realize that I let my Mr. Executive mask slip.
Since setting foot in this building, I’ve played the role of hard-nosed administrative manager and now I’ve revealed my human side.
My lips quirk with a smile.
Her expression darkens. “Well, Mr. Sullivan, thank you for illuminating me with your theories.”
We got off on the wrong foot. I admit that. I’m afraid it’s too late to change course. At least with the way she’s staring daggers at me. Hockey stick in hand, I’d double down. Here, I’m on thin ice.
Her cute kitten looks make me want to soften, to scratch her belly. But I know better. She has claws hidden under those painted nails.
“Don’t let me distract you. Have those reports done by the end of the day, Hoolia.”
“Going to find somewhere more comfortable to nap?” she mutters, apparently having abandoned her attempt to correct me when I use the wrong version of her name. “And for the fifty-seventh time, it’s Juliana.” She makes a note on a Post-it, gets up, and sticks it on my chest.
My hand traps hers before she can pull it away.
She stifles a gasp as she looks up and peels her hand away while I remove the note.
It says Juliana.
It’s like she’s marking me.
She glares at me with fire in her eyes.
Or not.
With a snort, I head toward the elevator.
As I ride down, having left my assistant with the run of the office, I imagine her propping her feet up on my desk like Bīri?? did when he made an unannounced visit.
Actually, she’ll probably booby-trap it.
I’ll have to check for whoopee cushions and thumbtacks in the morning.
It’s probably not good for us to be together in the same small space. We’re like fire and ice.
After almost twenty minutes in midday traffic, by the time I get back to my condo and loosen my tie, I realize Juliana has occupied my mind the entire time.
My jaw aches from clenching it because after I talk to her, I feel like I’ve just chowed down on a dump truck full of gravel painted to look like a bowl of ice cream.
She somehow brings out the worst in me and I kind of hate myself for it. My muscles tingle with restless energy. So much for a nap. I change into running clothes to burn off whatever it is she does to me.
For the rest of the week, I remain in the office all day like a good little worker drone. On Friday, the summer sun gleams off the tower, promising heat as I park underground.
Just outside the office door on the thirty-ninth floor, an older woman with a floral shirt stops me in the hall. Peering up at me through thick glasses, she says, “Linc? I thought that was you. My, you’ve grown up.”
Unfortunately, I don’t recognize her, but I assume she’s been here since I was a kid and would tag along with Mom.
I offer a standard reply. “Like a plant, if you give kids water, they tend to grow.”
With a sweet smile, she says, “You’ve turned into a fine young man. Your mother would be so proud.”
That twists the little acorn of grief inside that I fear will never go away. “Did you know her?”
The woman’s grin shifts into one of apology on my behalf. “I’m Nancy Dowds. Your mother and I met in junior college. She was still Mary Sullivan back then. We were both broke, so we’d share lunch. Kept us trim.” She pats her ample belly and smiles. “Times have changed.”
This woman’s identity still isn’t ringing a bell, but my mother made best friends every time she went to the grocery store, so it’s no surprise that she’d know long-term Meridian employees. However, we’re not advertising that I’m the chief executive officer’s son, so I hope she doesn’t call it out.
The door to the office is cracked open and more than likely, Juliana is already at her desk. I sniff the air and detect her telltale cherry blossom and almond scent. Then again, it somehow fills the office even when she’s not here.
Nancy goes on to tell me about the time Mom brought everyone little chocolate acorn treats. She bounces as if she can still taste them.
I’d help make the little peanut butter cookie balls, shape them like an acorn, dip them in chocolate, then add another chocolate “cap,” and roll them in chopped peanuts, topped with a little pretzel stick stem.
“Acorns were her thing,” I mumble.
Nancy shakes her head with regret. “It goes without saying, but I’m sorry for your loss. You were so young. She was, too. It’s a shame.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That means a lot.” And I mean it sincerely. I gobble up whatever stories about my mother I can, like cookie crumbs.
She gazes upward slightly and adds, “And your father was never the same.”
She’s got that right, but it’s time for this conversation to be over.
Instead, she launches into another tale about how, when I’d visit the office with my mom, I’d wear a little suit to match my dad. “I bet he’s proud to have you here, preparing to take over the Meridian empire.”
And that’s the nail in the coffin.
Ending the conversation as gracefully as I can, I say, “I’m not too sure about that. But thanks for remembering my mother. I hope you have a good day and a great weekend.”
Placing a pudgy hand on my arm, she gives it a tap and then totters down the hall.
Taking a lungful of air, I smooth my tie and enter the office, complete with a coffee for my assistant because I’m … trying not to be a total jerk and make up for what she thought was an insult last week. It’s just not in me to be so mean. At least, off the ice.