Chasing Love (Dark Love 1)

Lately, I’ve kept myself busy by listening to podcasts to try to nurture my brain. That, and I have been single for a year straight. According to many of my close friends, a year is the slippery slope to crazy cat lady syndrome. So, I have one cat, Coco. She’s a great cat—obedient, cuddly, and doesn’t leave dead mice in my apartment.

I do, however, feel sorry for having to leave her alone for several hours and often contemplate getting another cat so they can chill and have cat-type fun.

My phone sits on the boardroom table in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I text back Julian. He messaged me late last night, a day after my embarrassing stint at the gym. We texted for hours about trivial topics, but nevertheless, I really enjoyed his online company and equally witty banter.

So, I’m seizing the day. According to this podcast, if I don’t act, I won’t receive good things in my life.

And I don’t want to become a crazy cat lady.

The temptation to check my phone to see if he responds is too great, so I place it face down on the table and stare at my surroundings, waiting for our meeting to start. My train of thought has so easily gone from cats to an episode of Grey’s Anatomy where George died, and I sobbed like a baby.

“Monday, can you believe it?”

The voices enter the room, my colleagues looking less than pleased by the early Monday morning meeting. After quickly taking a seat, all heads are down, fingers busily typing away on their phones. In a room full of people, there’s nothing but the sounds of tapping and the constant ping or chirp followed by more tapping.

Aside from loving Mondays, I also love my job. If I could, I’d never leave this place. Some call me a workaholic. I prefer the word ‘passionate.’ It helps that I adore my co-workers. Over time, they have become good friends, and our office has become like a close-knit family.

While waiting for the last person to arrive, I focus my attention on my new shoes. Okay, so I have a problem, and I have no doubt in my mind I’m a shoe addict. These new Louboutins are fresh off the fall line, and I’m a woman possessed by my need for shiny new patent leather and a heel that could poke your worst enemy’s eye out. As I cross my legs admiring my new guilty pleasure, I catch sight of Eric taking a photograph with his phone.

“Absolutely gorgeous, Charlie. Let’s hashtag this.” Fingers busily typing away, Eric smiles. Moments later, he flashes me the picture.

“How nice of you, Eric. Did that interrupt your busy Candy Crush schedule? You have a problem, you know that, right? I’d like to see you live one day… actually, no… make that half a day without your phone.”

“I did, remember?”

“Taking it back to the shop and getting a loaner phone does not count.”

“Well, for your information, I’m now using my phone to order lunch.”

Now that catches my attention. Lunch, and it’s only eight fifty-five in the morning. Please be the sushi rolls from the Japanese place that just opened around the corner. My stomach rumbles at the thought, and, embarrassed, I let out a loose cough and make a mental note to eat more breakfast in the morning. Clearly, my stomach and I aren’t in harmony with this let’s-just-have-a- cup-of-coffee diet, which has become a terrible lazy habit.

“Charlie, the people all the way in Africa can hear your thoughts as well as your belly. And yes, I’m ordering from that new Japanese place. And no, you aren’t eating those salmon rolls that make you puke up more than Linda Blair in The Exorcist.”

“Disgusting, but you do have a point.”

Suddenly, I feel queasy. That was one hell of a bad salmon roll. How is it possible that I’m not scarred enough that my body still craves it? The problem is, I remember how mouth-watering it was when I took the first bite and failed to remember the aftermath. I shudder at the thought, and mentally scold myself for craving it again. I’m so weak.

“Of course, I have a point,” Eric continues, confidently. “I’m your personal assistant and BFF. It’s my job to steer you away from danger, and that includes bad sushi rolls.”

He buries himself in his phone again, looking up for only a moment to show me some picture of a dog wearing a Halloween costume. I have to chuckle because it’s beyond pathetic someone’s gone to these lengths, yet cute at the same time.

Eric always makes me laugh. He brings out the fun in everyone, plus he reminds me every day that we’re Generation Y, living in a world that can no longer function without social media and ridiculous abbreviations such as BFF, LOL, and YOLO.

Like a whirlwind, Nikki, who’s my partner at the firm, throws her stuff on the large mahogany table creating a loud bang, startling the others. Her usual perfect copper hair looks disheveled as she blows it out of her face, annoyed it strayed. Her bright blue eyes have dark circles underneath them. I can’t help but worry as I take in her appearance.

“Nikki, are you okay?” I ask quietly, trying not to attract attention.

“No, not really. I spent most of the night sick from that Italian place we love to order the seafood marinara from. My new Dior dress is ruined because Rocky couldn’t wait to reach the toilet or basin. It was the most disastrous anniversary in the history of bad anniversaries like a scene from one of those cheesy movies.”

“The ruby-colored Dior dress?”

“Yes, Eric. The ruby-colored Dior dress, which is at the dry cleaners being cleaned of any traces of projectile seafood marinara,” she answers in a huff.

“Thank God, Nikki. That dress is to die for.”

It’s totally Eric to worry about the dress more than the person. He’s fashion-obsessed, and if you’re his best friend, it’s impossible not to feel the same. It is the main reason why I designated him as my personal shopper when I don’t have time to shop for myself. We’re a lethal combination, but American Express seems to love us.

“Okay, seriously, let’s get this meeting underway before I projectile vomit over all of you,” she quickly interjects.