The Hating Game

Maybe Josh’s strategy involves major workforce cuts and she was called in to consult.

When she left, she paused by my desk, and looked at me, and laughed. It was the kind of laugh tinged by hysteria, like she’s just heard the funniest thing.

“Good luck,” she tells me. “You’re going to need it. This is beyond HR.”

We’ve been found out. Someone has seen me and Josh together, and we’re busted. Danny has told someone. It’s out. This scenario wasn’t in the mix. I lean down and press my cheekbone against my knee. Breathe in, breathe out.

“Darling!” Helene is alarmed when she walks to my desk. My vision is gray. I try to stand and weave on the spot. She makes me sit back down and hands me my water bottle.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m going to faint. What’s going on in there?”

“They’re talking about the interviews. Josh’s idea for the future doesn’t quite align with Bexley’s.”

She pulls over a chair and sits beside me. I’m about to be fired. I begin wheezing.

“Am I in trouble? Is he doing some kind of pre-interview? Why aren’t I doing one? And why was HR involved? I kept hearing shouting. And Jeanette said something spooky. About how I was going to need luck. Am I in trouble?” I end on the same pitiful note I began.

“Of course not. It’s a bad argument they’re having in there, darling. They have disagreements all the time. I thought it best to bring Jeanette up to remind them of professional etiquette. Nothing worse than two men barking at each other like dogs.”

Helene is looking at me strangely. I must look terrible.

“Is he . . .” I bite off the words, but she won’t let me get away with it.

“Is he what?”

“Is he okay? Is . . . Josh okay?” She nods, but the thing is, I know he’s not. The last two days have been exhausting. Josh has been nothing but grave civility, but I can now read the nuances of his face better than ever. He’s worn out. Sad. Stressed. He can’t decide what’s worse; eye contact, or none.

And I understand. I really do.

I find if I keep my eyes off him, and fixed on my computer screen, there’s less chance of feeling my stomach flip. I can keep the butterflies out of my system if I can avoid seeing the blue of his eyes or the shape of his mouth. The mouth I have kissed, over and over. No one can kiss me like he does, and it’s more proof the world is unfair.

The hurt over his comment, I’m not going to need any help beating her, has dulled into a callus I can’t stop pressing. What a shitty thing he said. But if the roles had been reversed, and it was Helene out there tormenting us, who’s to say I wouldn’t have said the exact same thing? I’m not the blameless little victim in our private war.

We’re like this because we’ve found someone who can take it as good as they can dish it out. And I’ll guarantee one thing. I’m going to dish it out at the interview. Even in my dreams, I know the answer I’ll give to any question they ask. He sure will need help beating me. Helene is watching me, her eyes soft with empathy.

“It’s sweet you’re concerned for him, darling, but Josh is a big boy. You should be more concerned about Bexley. I know who I’d put my money on.”

“But why is Mr. Bexley—”

“I can’t say. It’s their confidential business. Let’s talk about your interview. How did the meeting with Danny go?”

“It’s going well. He’s going to do that old thriller Bloodsummer in ebook for me. It was my dad’s favorite book. He’s doing it over the weekend, and gave me an incredible rate.”

“Well, that’s good of him. If the presentation impresses the panel, maybe he’ll end up getting some consulting work out of us. How is your dad? When are you going to go home, darling? Your parents must be missing you.”

“The long weekend that’s coming up. That’s when I need to go. Actually, I’d like to take a week.” In the pause that follows, I realize that my usual caveat of if that’s okay didn’t attach itself to that statement. The old me is shaking her head in disbelief.

I look at my lovely, generous friend and like I knew she would, she nods. “That’s fine. Take a break before the new job begins.” Her faith in me has never wavered.

My newfound assertiveness doesn’t help me shake the feeling something bad is going on. I look at Mr. Bexley’s closed door again.

“Go home, darling. No one should ring this late on a Friday anyway. It should be illegal. What are you up to this weekend?” I have the weirdest feeling that she’s testing me.

Unless it’s to Josh, I can’t lie properly. “I think I’m going on a road trip with a . . . friend. Actually, not a friend. But I can’t quite decide if I should.”

The word friend feels like a foreign word I’ve mispronounced. Frand. She catches the pause, and smiles.