“Read it. Tell me what you think, and if you think it’s good enough, convince Bodi to read it without telling him it’s Charlotte’s,” she explains, her voice laced with victory.
“Fine. Send it over.” I give in. “But don’t tell Charlotte I read it if I think it’s shit.”
“Deal.
“I gotta go now. Talk later.” Without waiting for another reply, I hang up and saunter out of the elevator, waving at the woman sitting behind the desk across from mine.
“Good morning, Agnes!” She smiles at me from under her glasses before her eyes rake up and down my body. We’ve clicked over the last few days. She might be forty years my senior, but the woman is fun to be around.
“Good morning, honey. You look nice today.” I glance down at my denim skirt, combined with a white t-shirt tucked into my waist, all finished off by my denim jacket.
“Thank you. You look dashing yourself.” When I’m sixty, I want to look like Agnes. She might be old enough to be my mother, but I swear I could have fun in her wardrobe. The other day, she wore a stylish leather jacket like she was born in it, and she rocks sneakers every day. Who does that when you’re above fifty? Wearing them, sure, but rocking them is a whole different story.
“Where did you leave the boss?” Her gaze darts back to the elevator, expecting Bodi to follow behind me like he normally does.
“He had somewhere to be. I walked here.”
“Walked? Isn’t that a bit far?”
I raise a foot up in the air. “I got my Nikes on. I can walk miles with these babies,” I tell her, bringing my foot back down. “It was a nice way to start my day, actually. I think I might do it more often.”
Agnes scoffs, and I give her a questioning look.
“I doubt Mr. McKay will agree to that.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to have his car all to himself again. I’m chatty in the morning.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Heads up, he’s not.”
Agnes laughs before I walk toward my desk in front of hers.
“Besides, he can’t tell me what to do,” I explain. I sit down on my chair and start my computer. “Just like no one can tell him what to do. He’s pretty stubborn.”
“Yet you seem to be telling him what to do all the time.”
I peek my head above the screen. “Me?”
She nods with a knowing look on her face.
“Ha! That may look like that, but trust me, he doesn’t listen to a word I’m saying.”
“I think you’re underestimating your influence on Mr. McKay.”
I purse my lips, glancing at his office door, then throw my head beside my desktop to look at Agnes. “Maybe, but I don’t have enough persuasion for him to tell me where he’s off to every Wednesday morning.” I give her a questioning look that she matches with one of her own.
“What are you talking about?”
“He told me that I have to get to work without him every Wednesday morning. He has some kind of thing.”
“Ah,” she says, tilting her head a little, “and now you want to know what it is?”
“Desperately,” I breathe out without shame, shooting her my most endearing smile with fluttering lashes.
“Don’t look at me, girl. I have no clue. He still arrives between nine and ten every morning, so I never thought to ask.”
“Oh, come on, Agnes! You must have some clue?” I whine.
“No idea.”
Dammit.
***
I’m sitting on the couch with my legs spread out in front of me, the remote sitting on my lap while I watch Love Is Blind. Bodi dropped me off after work, telling me he was going to grab us some food, and I’ve been waiting for him with a roaring stomach ever since. When I hear the key in the lock and the front door opens, my nose instantly registers the smell of a delicious amount of grease and my neck stretches with an expecting smile.
“What did you bring?” I ask, feeling hopeful. His gaze lands on mine and a mischievous grin raises the corner of his mouth. Slogging toward me, he holds up the bag and I clap like a seal when I notice the red and white Wendy’s bag while I pull myself a bit up to sit cross-legged.
“You brought Wendy’s?” I question as a weird feeling moves through my stomach.
He sits down beside me, kicking off his shoes. “Yeah.”
“But you hate Wendy’s.”