Chapter Twenty-Nine
Literally chill. I’m not giving up.
Will
Silly string. Silly string everywhere . The lobby has never looked so good.
“Shark”, a massive megalodon painting by the artist Aubree Waltz, is covered in the stuff. Red, pink, and white coat the reception desk, the elevator doors, the floors, the walls. The people.
I’ve never seen Whirlwind Branding’s employees having so much fun . Even Ruby’s managed to crack a more-than-slightly evil grin as she blasts Brian with two blood-red silly string streams.
“Take that, you demented little winged maniac! How’s that for team building!”
On second thought, perhaps I should save the poor guy… Oh. Never mind. Liam’s got him.
“Nice save, twinsie!” I yell as an unsmiling Liam sweeps Brian out of Ruby’s shooting range, aiming his own silly string behind him, blasting it into the waves of her hair.
She howls, then turns on me. “And you! This is for the elevator!”
She shoots, missing me by a good foot, and I laugh, shooting her back. I do not miss.
Pink string makes its home over layers of color covering her shoulders, arms, and torso. She sputters, reaching up to wipe it away from her face.
Charlie races past behind her, chasing a giggling Clarise. Frank gets a good hit on Handsy Sally across the room. Liam protects Brian in the corner, scaring away anyone who would dare to shoot in their direction.
My eyes lock on them – on Liam’s pristine, silly-string-free suit – and I grin.
“I have to do something real quick!” I tell Ruby. “Stay here!”
“Here!” she protests. “I’m a prime target here!”
A glance around tells me that as scared as everyone is to hit Liam, they’re even more scared to get Ruby. While she does have mounds of silly string covering her, it’s been exclusively dealt by me and, for that one brief moment, Liam.
I guess nobody wants to get my twinsie mad again.
Good.
“You’ll be fine,” I assure my precious little love. “Just stay right there.”
I leave before she can protest, striding straight toward Liam’s corner. We make eye contact as I pass through the room, forging my path to him, my smile wide.
His eyes spark.
I hold my cans tighter. Shake them. Prep my index fingers to shoot.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t dodge.
He holds up his own can, and we fire at will.
? ? ?
“You fired silly string at William Warrick, CEO of Whirlwind Branding, katrillionaire, and certified Terrifying Boss?” Ruby asks, eyes wide.
I pull another string of pure silly out of her hair, tossing it in my office trash can. My condolences to the janitorial staff who have to gather the three little trash bags of string that I’ve already filled from Ruby alone, and I still have the rest of her hair and myself to de-silly.
I make a mental note to leave them a mondo tip before we leave for the day.
“Of course I did,” I answer. “What else was I going to do?”
“Uh, not risk your job?” she retorts. “And your life ?”
I snort, running my hands through her hair, getting any stragglers I missed. “He loved it. If anything, I’ll be declared employee of the year. They’ll give me a plaque. It’ll say ‘William Warrick’s Favorite Friend’.”
“Friend?” she chokes.
“Of course,” I hum. “What else would we be?”
“Employer and employee? Boss and minion? Bigwig and lackey? I could go on.”
I’m offended. “You think I walkie-talkie people who aren’t my friends?” I scoff. “You think Liam walkie-talkies people who aren’t his friends? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Her head shakes, dislodging my hands. I put them on my hips.
“Friends hang out . You know, do things together? And they know stuff about each other. And-”
“I know stuff about Liam,” I interrupt. “And we hang out all the time.”
“Your incredibly rare Tuesday lunch meetings do not count as hanging out,” she straight-up lies. “And knowing his widely known Taco Bell order does not count as ‘stuff’.”
Irritated, I start picking the silly string off myself. “They count,” I grumble. “Those meetings are very special to me, and to him as well. It would break his heart if he heard you say they didn’t count.”
“Uh-huh,” she mutters, lip twitching.
“And!” I continue. “I know his Panera order too.” So take that.
Obviously Liam and I are friends. Better than friends – we’re twinsies. And he feels the same. Obviously .
“Oh, well, I’m so sorry,” Ruby mocks. “I didn’t know you knew his Panera order too. That makes all the difference.”
“Exactly,” I sniff, ignoring her tone. She still thinks I’m not in love with her, even after I kissed her in the elevator. An expert on relationships, she is not.
I scrape more string off of me and flick it into the trash to mingle with Ruby’s.
Lackey. I scoff.
Minion . I sputter.
I mean. It’s ridiculous.
Do not friends talk to each other on matching bedazzled walkie-talkies? I think not.
Scraping off a piece of particularly stubborn string, I make a mental note to make his Valentine cards extra special. You know. Just to show off my already well-established love and friendship with him. Not to prove anything. Because I have nothing to prove.
“Do you need help?” Ruby asks. “You sound like you’re fighting off a bull, not cleaning up- what is silly string made of? Plastic? Plant matter? Alien chemicals from Mars?”
“The aliens are from Neptune, actually. And no, I’m almost done.”
“Am I good to go? I have some stuff from the marketing department to go over, and I wanted to be done before lunch.”
I drag my attention from my knees, where the alien goop appears to have melded with the material of my pants, and look at Ruby. Gaze, more accurately.
Is she good? What a silly question. My Rubble is always good.
Marigold waves brush her shoulders, mussed from my hands this morning and then further tousled by today’s mandated Valentine activity. The freckles on her shoulders sing to me, constellations uncovered by a discarded, possibly ruined suit jacket. They dust her skin, only to disappear beneath the straps of her shirt – a silky, lacey, enticingly pink thing tucked into her skirt. The skirt alone would scream I’m boring on anyone else, but on Ruby, paired with that shirt? She’s an office Aphrodite sent to war against my heart.
You win, my love. Take it. It has always been yours.
Impatience tightens her jaw, drawing my eyes to the slope of her lips. Downturned. Plush. Delicious.
I should kiss her again.
“Rubble?” I ask, not at all surprised when the words grate against my throat as they tumble out, raw.
The air changes in their wake. Mutates. Becomes an entity between us.
Her jaw loosens. Plush lips part. Her tongue darts out to wet them. In my periphery, her hand twitches, but does not grab her cane.
Looks like consent to me.
My fists clench at my sides, staying firmly out of her could-be-more-tousled hair.
“Will?” she whispers.
“Do you want to kiss me, Ruby?” I whisper back.
Inhale. Sharp. I wonder if her heart beats as fast as mine.
“I-” she mutters. “What?”
“Because I’d like to kiss you,” I tell her. “It’s an ache in my chest. A burn beneath my skin. You look…” I sigh. “Perfect. And perfectly kissable. I’d start at your nose, I think. A peck for every freckle that teases me with its existence. I could follow them down your neck to your shoulders. Make my way down your arms. Lay my face in your palms.”
Her breaths come quick, chest rising and falling in rapid succession.
Yeah. That’s how I feel too, precious girl.
“In my fantasies, you hold me there. Yours to keep. You slide your hands into my hair. You guide me up, to lips that haunt my dreams.” I allow my right hand to rise, my finger to reach out. It slides across her upper lip, warmed by the puffs of her breathing.
“I’d kiss you here.” I skim her lower lip. “And here.” Her cheek. “And here.” Her jaw. “And here.” Her chin. “And here.”
My hand falls.
“I’m not joking, Ruby. I’m not playing. I’m not teasing. Not about my feelings for you. Not about how much I want you – how much I love you. I don’t-” I groan. “I don’t know how else to tell you. How else to show you. How to make you see .”
“That’s insensitive,” she mutters, and frustration sparks.
“Ruby, these are my feelings , not a joke,” I snap, stepping back. “I- I just-” My hands rise to grip my hair, squishing silly string into the locks, probably staining my hair to a tie-dye of reds and pinks. I can’t find that I care.
“Will?” she asks, hesitant.
I sigh. Drop my hands. Shake my head.
This isn’t working.
Is anything ever going to freaking work on this woman?
“I need… a few, I think.” I tell her. “Go deal with your stuff from marketing. I’m going to take an early lunch. I’ll see you at the Secret Cupid meeting later.”
I don’t wait for a response. I grab my coat and make my escape, dragging my heart behind me.