Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth
“Conscience doth make cowards of us all.”
Hamlet
The university library at the crack of eight was sleepy, but not deserted.
I scanned my immediate environment at the younger students, garbed in the uniform of loose sweatpants, orange-and-blue rugby shirts, and baseball caps pulled low.
Chelsea was right to keep pushing me out of my comfort zone because I wasn’t going to meet Mr. Right buried in a book.
Even if her methods caused me to flame out before I could ever reach liftoff.
So many strangers. The whole world was populated by people who might as well have been characters in books I’d never read. How weird was it that our lives intersected with a handful of souls, like we were fated to connect, and then wherever they were, they’d occupy a place in our hearts and minds?
Before I got lost in thought, I turned on a focus playlist and with a yawn read the quote at the top of the chapter on Proust I was editing: Love, ever unsatisfied, lives always in the moment that is about to come.
I muttered, “That’s what she said,” sad that Chelsea wasn’t around to snort at the inappropriate humor.
But the meaning of that quote left me melancholy. Love always felt just out of reach, and like a fool, I kept believing it was a heartbeat away. Somewhere out there, some perfect guy was walking around. Maybe one day we’d meet, and our lives would twine together perfectly.
But right now, I was so lonely, I couldn’t imagine love heading my way. I kept buying lottery tickets like a sucker, but my number never came up.
When I finished the chapter, I checked the time with a low-grade panic. I needed to get home, inhale a late lunch, then get to the station. I turned on my wifi to email the final document to Kate, then bolted, hoping I might catch the free trolley downtown and shave off valuable minutes.
I hadn’t counted on the cognitive load of learning a new skill set, of sucking at something for ten hours straight. Even without the bartending job, I was burning the candle at both ends to stay on top of everything.
I reached the station fifteen minutes late and rushed to my desk, hoping nobody had noticed my absence. Lauren would eat me alive if I didn’t already have a page-long list of news items to pick from.
“She isn’t here,” Gigi said from under a nearby desk. “She left about ten minutes ago with the new guy.”
Relief replaced the churning dread. I had time. “Why are you always on the floor, Gigi?” Then her meaning hit. “What new guy?”
“The new talent.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I heard they offered him a huge signing bonus on top of a massive salary, and that’s why they’ve been having trouble filling all these other open positions. There’s nothing left to pay the rest of us what we’re worth.”
“Figures.” I rolled my eyes. Not that I could complain. “I guess that explains why I’m here.”
Gigi snorted. “Don’t sell yourself short. If you really put your mind to it, you could be on your hands and knees in no time.”
I cackled. “And they say sex sells.”
She finished duct taping an electrical cord to the floor and stood. “Only if you’re in front of the camera.”
“Oh, hey.” Speaking of cameras… I clapped my hands. “I won’t be new guy anymore.”
The door opened, and I panicked that it might be Lauren, so I quickly flicked the monitor on and looked busy, but it was just one of the reporters.
Still, I’d found ways to disappoint the producer each day this week, and I wanted to crawl back out of the pit I’d somehow dug for myself.
I’d come to appreciate the simplicity of being yelled at by drunk patrons at the bar.
At least they didn’t make me feel stupid.
I scanned the news sources, making a note of a protest shaping up at the university. Maybe we could send a camera crew out to get some footage before air time.
After an hour or two, Lauren breezed in. “Oh, Elizabeth, come with me. There’s someone you need to meet.”
I met Gigi’s eyes, and she mouthed, “The talent.”
I stood, excitedly following her through the control room, eager to meet the new blood.
As we turned into the corridor that led to the meteorology center, a coppery taste filled my mouth, like my subconscious already knew what was around that corner, but I blithely followed Lauren in, freezing in the doorway when I saw the all-too-familiar man typing at one of the computers.
Before Evan looked up, I spun on my heel and ducked into the corridor, my heart beating a million times a second. The reality of him was so much more overwhelming than my imagination.
How was he here? He’d said he’d gotten a job, but I’d just assumed… And Bob was still right there.
Lauren tilted her head. “Elizabeth?”
Thinking fast, I said the first plausible thing I could think of. “My shoe fell off.”
She looked down at my feet, lip curling at the obvious lie. “Hurry up and come meet Evan.”
Fuck.
I clenched my fists and resolved to get this over with. As I stepped through the door, Lauren announced, “Evan Spurlock, meet Elizabeth Wright, my associate producer.” She turned to me. “Evan will be taking over for Bob on weather now that he’s retiring.”
When Evan’s eyes met mine, he stood and straightened his tie. He looked un-fucking-believable in a suit coat. The guy I’d met at the rooftop bar had been cute, like unapproachably pretty, and I thought that was his maximum effort. Who knew his beauty could dial up beyond eleven?
His gaze traveled down my body, and my heart thundered in my chest. I imagined literal lightning sparking between us and let loose a very inappropriate hysterical giggle.
I pressed my lips into a smile approximating sanity and nearly said, “Hi,” flirtatiously when I remembered how he’d spurned me, and I forced my face into a scowl. He hadn’t so much as texted me since our phone call, and now here he was. In my workplace.
How was this remotely fair?
His expression darkened, his eyes growing distant and drifting away from me like I was invisible.
A telltale blush creeping up his neck was the only sign he’d even recognized me.
As if his radio silence hadn’t been enough of a “fuck you,” he had the gall to physically shut me out without so much as a how-do-you-do.
I swallowed down my initial reaction, which would have been to scream at the top of my lungs, but I was too busy fighting back very inconvenient tears to speak a word.
Lauren said, “Well, okay then. You two can become better acquainted soon enough. Come on, Elizabeth. We need to play catch up.”
I glanced once more at Evan and noticed the shadow of a beard covering his jaw and his black framed glasses slightly askew on his face. How dare he be so frustratingly hot?
And more importantly how dare he act as if he’d never seen me before?
Just like that, a cold front rolled in.
Evan focused resolutely on his computer monitor, but I glared at him anyway.
Fuck him. I turned around with a head flip and stormed out without a word.
I stomped through the news studio until both Sandra and Kent looked my way, then slowed my steps.
The last thing I needed was for everyone to think me a petulant baby.
Although what did it matter? I had to quit this job. I couldn’t possibly work in the same building as that man. That motherfucking man and his goddamn sexy fake glasses.
I needed a drink. I could walk out right now, call Chelsea, and meet her for a bottle of wine.
But as we walked to the newsroom, Lauren said, “Never mind Evan. He’s been very standoffish.” She turned and winked. “But talk about hot. I had the same reaction as you when I first saw him. Hot, but frosty.” She laughed at what I assumed was her poor attempt at a weather pun.
I could have topped that by telling her Evan and I had a tempestuous relationship that had stalled.
But I didn’t want to rain on her parade.
I snickered at my stupid internal puns and nearly forgot that we were headed directly into the eye of the hurricane.
At least she was talking to me without disdain for once.
Lauren must have taken my reaction as encouragement. “Too bad he’s gay.”
I stumbled and caught myself. “These damn shoes.”