“They’re pretty straightforward. I can help you out.”
“Name the time and place.”
“The sports bar on Federal? Tonight, seven o’clock?”
“Sounds great. Here, I’ll give you my number.” Our fingers graze when he gives it to me. My, my. What a nice boy. Where on earth has he been all this time?
“See you tonight. Bring, um, blueprints.” I weave back through the cubicles and climb the stairs back to the top floor, mentally dusting my hands.
Time to work. I drop back into my seat and begin work on the proposal outlining our desire to run a team-building activity. I put two signature spaces at the bottom, sign my name, and dump it into his in-tray. He takes a full two hours to even pick it up. When he does, he reads it in about four seconds. He slashes his signature onto it and flicks it into his out-tray without a glance. He has been in a weird mood this afternoon.
I steeple my fingers and commence the Staring Game. It takes about three minutes but he eventually heaves a sigh and locks his screen. We stare so deep into each other’s eyes we join each other in a dark 3-D computer realm; nothing but green gridlines and silence.
“So. Nervous?”
“Why would I be?”
“Your big date, Shortcake. You haven’t had one in a while. As long as I’ve known you, I think.” He indicates quotation marks with his fingers at big date. He’s positive it’s all a lie.
“I’m way too picky.”
He steeples his fingers so hard it looks painful. “Really.”
“Such a complete drought of eligible men here.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re searching for your own eligible bachelor?”
“I—no—shut up.”
“You’re right.” I drop my eyes to his mouth for a split second. “I’ve finally found someone in this godforsaken place. The man of my dreams.” I raise my eyebrow meaningfully.
He makes the connection to our early-morning conversation seamlessly. “So your dream was definitely about someone you work with.”
“Yes. He’s leaving B&G very soon, so maybe I need to make a move.”
“You’re sure about it.”
“Yes.” I can’t remember the last time he has blinked his eyes. They are black and scary.
“You’ve got your serial killer eyes on again.” I stand and take my proposal from him. “I’ll get you a copy for Fat Little Dick. Don’t screw this up for me, Joshua. You’ve got no concept of how to build a team. Leave this to the expert.”
When I return he’s a little less dark looking, but his hair is messed up. He takes the document, which I have stamped COPY.
He looks at the document, and I can see the exact moment he has his idea. It’s the sharp pause that a fox makes as it mooches past the unlatched gate of a henhouse. He looks up at me, his eyes glittering. He bites his bottom lip and hesitates.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
He takes a pen and writes something across the bottom. I try to see, but he stands and holds it so high a corner touches the ceiling. I can’t risk standing on tiptoes in this dress.
“How could I possibly resist?” He rounds his desk and touches his thumb under my chin as he brushes past.
“What have you done?” I say to his back as he walks into Mr. Bexley’s office. I scuttle into Helene’s, rubbing my chin.
“I agree,” she says, laying the document aside. “This is a good idea. Did you see how the Gamins and Bexleys sat apart in the team meeting? I’m tired of it. We haven’t done anything as a team since the merger-planning day. I’m impressed that you and Joshua came together.”
I hope my weird brain doesn’t file away her last filthy-sounding sentence.