Greek (Palm South University)

“Define easily,” she says, grabbing her frozen meal from the microwave once it dings and sitting across from me. “Because someone had to cook that salmon and those veggies, and I can tell you that after a long day here?” She shakes her head, peeling the plastic wrapper back from her container. “It ain’t me.”

I cringe at the sight of the rubbery-looking pasta she’s unveiled. “I think I’d stay up until two in the morning meal prepping if it meant I didn’t have to eat that.”

She sighs again, stabbing the noodles with her plastic fork and twirling until she has a bite prepped. “It’s awful,” she admits. “But it’s worth every savory minute I had on my couch last night.”

I chuckle, and we hold our forks up in a sort of cheers before both taking a bite.

Giselle is a few years older than me, and though she’s joking about being lazy, I know for a fact that she’s not. For one, she’s too toned and slim to not be active and watching what she eats, and for two, I’ve seen her bust her ass day in and day out in this office since my first day three weeks ago.

She’s the youngest account manager in the agency.

And it doesn’t take more than three days of working with her to understand why.

As if her boldly colored skirt-suits and matching high — high — heels don’t command enough of a presence when she walks into a room, her light brown skin, cat-lined eyes and painted lips certainly do the trick. I’ve never seen her onyx hair down, it’s always pulled back in a slick, tight bun, and the way she holds her shoulders square and back straight told me long before I ever talked to her that she took no shit from anyone.

The first time I was in a meeting with her, she single-handedly saved us from losing a client the agency had been working with for three years. Not only that, but she ran through a list of reasons it was their fault that their content was under-performing, and by the end of the meeting, convinced the client to invest double what they were before in the advertising efforts.

All without breaking a sweat.

So, while I could understand why she might not have the energy to meal prep every night, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe she didn’t work just as hard outside of this office as she did inside it.

“How are you feeling now that you’re a little more settled in?” she asks when she’s done chewing.

“Great,” I say with a smile I hope is more convincing than it feels. “I’m excited to be here. I just hope my work is up to standard for the agency.”

“You know it is,” she says instantly. “Don’t fish for a compliment when you already know.”

I gape. “I… I wasn’t—”

“Confidence, Mr. Pennington. That’s what turns me on. You walked in here with it on the day of your interview and every day since. I understand you wanting to taper that down a bit, be modest around someone in a higher position than you, but I’ll tell you right now that you’ll get farther here — and everywhere in this field — by owning your talent and reminding every single person every single chance you get that they can’t find that same talent anywhere else. If you’re not demanding a raise in six months’ time, you might as well quit and find a new job. Because unless you demand the respect and the pay you deserve in this career, you’ll never get it.”

I swallow, not sure if I should be flattered or scared.

But Giselle just lifts one eyebrow, nods, and continues eating. “Did I see you walking into BlackSheep last night?”

I pause with my next bite mid-air at the mention of my CrossFit gym. “Yes…”

She chuckles. “I’m not stalking you. I go to the yoga studio two doors down.” She pauses. “I’ve always been curious about CrossFit though. Think I would like it?”

I take a breath, thankful for the subject change and the way my balls relax a little now that she’s not grilling me. “Depends. I think if you’re athletic and like a challenge, absolutely. But it’s a little harder on the body than yoga.” I pause. “No offense. I just mean you’ll bulk up a little more, and get callouses.”

Giselle takes a sip of her water with a slick smile on those painted lips of hers. “Oh, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

My phone pings on the table, the vibration of it loud enough that both our eyes slip to the screen where Erin’s bright, beautiful smile reflects back — along with a text that asks how my day is going.

I smile, feeling more like a little boy with a crush than a grown man with a serious girlfriend. Even though I know Erin better than probably anyone, and she knows me better than anyone, everything between us feels fresh and new now. Every night I spend with her is a new discovery, every conversation one I want to commit to memory, every kiss one that leaves its own permanent brand.