Chapter Twenty-Eight
William Warrick, my hero, apparently.
Ruby
I bend, swiping my arms until they hit my cane. I snatch it up, pivot, and march out of the elevator, only to be greeted immediately by Clarise and Charlie speaking animatedly over one another. Frazzled as I am, it takes a minute to grab hold of their story.
“Mr. Warrick came down here,” Charlie proclaims, “and he had this woman with him. She looked like a fairy!”
“A fairy?” Clarise scoffs. “Please, that woman was totally a goth pixie princess. She looked like if an angel dipped itself in a well of ink.”
I scuttle past, and their bickering follows me down the hall, accompanied by Will’s jolly whistling. My eye twitches.
“Whatever she was, I think we can both agree she was eating up Liam’s speech just as much as we were. She had manic evil joy eyes.” Charlie sighs, apparently smittin.
Clarise snorts. “Who is ‘we’?” she asks. “You were shaking in your boots, terrified.”
“I was not!” he protests.
“You looked like you were four seconds away from bursting into tears,” Clarise laughs. “It was awesome.”
“What was Liam down here for?” Will asks as we near our bickering assistants’ desks. I beeline for my door.
“Oh, he was here for Ms. Vann!” Charlie exclaims.
I stop.
“Ruby?” Will asks.
I turn, “Do I need to go up?” What would Mr. Warrick want with me?
“Oh, no! Not you you. Just, you know, for you.” Charlie does not exactly clarify.
“You’re really bad at this,” Clarise says. “Let me do it.”
Charlie huffs.
“Well?” Will asks, impatience edging his words. “On with it.”
“It was so cool ,” Clarise gushes. “Mr. Warrick, he was totally like a big, dark hero swooping in to save the day on Friday. He came down here all ‘ show of hands’ and ‘ Ruby’s amazing. You guys suck. I don’t want you in my sight, and I’m jelly you were never in Ruby’s’ .”
Uh, what?
“That didn’t even make any sense,” Charlie pouts. “And you left out how she won the sticker thing.”
Uh…
What?
“How did I win the sticker thing?” I ask. “Isn’t the person with the least amount stuck on them supposed to be the winner?”
“Yeah, but Mr. Warrick was all ‘ if you don’t like it, leave ’ when he declared you the floor winner. It was awesome . He’s my hero,” Clarise rhapsodizes.
“Mr. Warrick did that?” I ask, bemused. “Why?”
“Because of the sticker meetings,” Charlie says. “He was livid. Came down here right after you left. We were packing up to go, and then there he was, stepping out of the elevator like an avenging angel. I’m telling you, it was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, then that little pixie-fairy followed him out. It was like something out of a movie!”
“Huh,” I mutter. “Well.”
I did not expect that. I expected more along the lines of some extra sensitivity training and, in the case of the HR guy, possibly a firing – but only because HR should already know better, even more so than the average worker should already know better. It’s literally in their job description.
Will starts whistling again.
“I’m going back to work,” I say, backing into my office. “I suggest you all do the same.”
“Rubble, if I could have a minute of your-”
“No,” I interrupt. “No, you absolutely may not.” And then I slam my blue, ooey-gooey, lovey-dovey, heart-covered door right in his face.
He laughs on the other side of it.
I click the lock.
“We have love potion brewing at three!” he yells. “I’ll pick you up here!”
I don’t respond. I’ll go to love potion brewing over my dead body.
Instead, I approach my desk, settling into the normalcy of my office, where there are no overly excited assistants, no confusing bosses, and not a single smooching friend. There is just my desk, my emails, and me. A beautiful trio.
Dear Ruby Vann:
Liam took care of it.
It was hot.
Significantly better assistant than the last loser (although the bar was low),
Amber
P.S. Nice to meet you. Hope you have a fantastic weekend.
Okay, so perhaps there is a bit of confusing boss in here too.
My brows furrow. Did she call Mr. Warrick hot?
I replay the message. She definitely called Mr. Warrick hot.
Is he? I know he’s tall – his voice comes from way up there – and Will has previously described him as “attractive in a Grim Reaper kind of way”, which I took to mean not that attractive at all, because the Grim Reaper is a creepy dude in a cloak ushering people in the afterlife. Grim Reaper does not exactly equal hot, if you ask me.
I guess Amber disagrees.
I send back a “good to meet you too, hope you aren’t an ableist idiot like the last one”, completely ignoring any and all mentions of our boss’ attraction levels.
I really hope this assistant is better than Teresa was. Or the one before her. Or the one before her , really. If the worst she does is make inappropriate comments about our CEOs hotness, though, then she’s already leagues above the ones who came before her.
Clicking off, I move on to other emails that are waiting for me after the weekend. There’s one from this morning from a coworker saying they emailed me three days ago and haven’t heard back. I check, and sure enough, they emailed me three days ago. At 4:58 p.m. on Friday. It’s 8:15 a.m. Monday morning. It has been seventeen working minutes since their first email.
I roll my eyes. What a moron. Their emails make their way to the bottom of my priority list, right above making love potions in a conference room “lab” with Will.
That’ll be a no, thanks.
? ? ?
“It smells like Lush blew up in here,” I grumble. “Who approved this?”
“Just… don’t move,” Will says. “Let me… let me figure out what we’re going to do here. There’s a lot of glass. Beakers. Tubes. Potions bubbling. I need a moment to find a path where you aren’t at risk of knocking something over and getting potion all over you.”
“Great,” I grunt. “Another harrowing Valentine torture escapade. I hope Brian’s happy. He should enjoy it while he can, because if a single drop of one of these stupid potions gets on me, I’m suing him.”
“Nothing is going to get on you,” Will assures me. “I see a free table in the back. Here, hold my hand and I’ll lead you there.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” I shake my head. “Emphatically no. No more touching. Forever.”
He snorts. “Affected you that much, huh?” he asks. “Tell me, how long did it take to get your heart rate back to normal?”
Thirty-two minutes. Not that I’m telling him that.
“Tell me which direction to go, and I’ll manage,” I say. “You said it’s in the back?”
I sweep my cane to find a path around Will. He steps into it.
“Rubble, I know you’re capable. You know you’re capable. However, there are roughly a hundred sciency things littered around this room. It’s a mad Cupid’s dream, and a blind girl’s worst nightmare. A single wrong move and you’ll be the one smelling like a Lush blew up on you. Please, let me help.”
I scowl. At him. At the room. At this whole stupid situation.
“Fine,” I hiss. “But I’m not holding your hand. Turn around. I’ll hold your shirt back.”
He puffs a relieved breath, then turns, feet shuffling on the low carpet. “Okay,” he says, “I’m ready.”
I reach out slowly, not putting it past him to try some sort of funny business. My caution isn’t necessary, though. My hand hits only the crisp material of his dress shirt, warm from the heat of his body. I pinch it and ignore the way my heart pinches too.
Stupid thing. One kiss and it thinks it can just behave however it wants to. Yeah, well, not on my watch.
“It’s actually pretty cool in here,” Will comments, moving forward. I trail behind, careful to stay directly behind his looming shadow. “It’s chaos, but it’s… cute chaos. Lots of pinks and reds, even some yellows and purples. The cups to drink the potions out of are adorable. Tiny little goblet things.”
We turn, and Will helps to settle me on a stool at our station. I smack his hands away.
“What do we do?” I ask. The sooner we start, the sooner we’re done and I can get back to my desk to ignore that email from this morning – and the subsequent four reminder emails they’ve sent since.
The stool beside me groans as Will takes his seat. “There are flavors.” Glass and plastic shuffle on the table. “Powdered and liquid. Let’s see… lemon for lust, strawberry for passion, cherry for eternity. It might be easier if you tell me what flavor you want, then we can see if the magic lines up with your goals.”
“Will, these are made of Kool-Aid packets and flavored syrups. There is no magic.”
“Not with that attitude,” he murmurs. “I’m going with black cherry, chocolate, and butterscotch.”
Ew. Ew, ew, ew. “That sounds disgusting.”
“Irresistible, handsome, and funny,” he retorts. “The perfect combination.”
Uh-huh.
“Is there anything for ‘leave me alone’ or ‘Valentine’s day is stupid’?”
“There is,” he hums. “But they’re both olive flavored. How sad. Here, I’ll make you a cherry lemonade.”
My eyes narrow. “Eternal lust? You’re making me an eternal lust potion?”
“You’re right,” he mutters. “I’ll add some pea blossom.”
“What’s that?”
“Love.”
“Eternal lust and love? Seriously?”
“What’s it matter?” he taunts. “It’s only Kool-Aid and flavored syrup, right?”
My jaw clenches. “Give me the stupid potion so we can leave.”
He presses my little cup into my hand.
“On the count of three,” he says. “One-”
I swig.
He curses, then follows my lead, gulping obnoxiously, then gagging.
“I told you that was going to be gross,” I snort. “You’re an idiot.”
“An irresistible idiot,” he counters.
“Yeah, I’m sure cherry chocolate butterscotch breath is something everyone wants to be around,” I scoff.
“If the elevator’s free, we could test it,” he offers. “Who knows, maybe you’re more of a cherry chocolate butterscotch fan than you thought. Maybe cherry chocolate butterscotch is actually your favorite flavor combination.”
“Or maybe I lost my mind and tried it once,” I suggest. “Maybe that was more than enough for me, and I’d like nothing more than to never repeat the experience ever again?”
“Hmm,” he considers. “Must be an acquired taste. Requires lots of exposure. An onerous task, to be sure, but I believe I’m up to it.”
I’m so sure he is.
“Are we done here? I have things to do.”
He sighs. “I’ll show you to the elevator,” he says. “I’ve got more to do on this floor.”
More slacking off to do, he means, considering the only things currently on this floor are Cupid potion stations.
Whatever. Not my job, not my problem.
“Just show me out of the room. I can find the elevator on my own.” You know, like I have a million other times.
“I know you can, Ruby,” he replies, softly. “I’d still like to walk you there.”
I sniff. Well then.
“Fine,” I concede with all the grace of a herd of elephants. “You may walk me, but if you touch me, you’re getting whacked.”
He laughs, not nearly as threatened as he should be.
His laughter ends with a quick snap of my cane, and my lip twitches. That’s much better.