She stares. “How could you say such a hateful thing?”
It’s so ridiculous that I can’t even laugh. Before I can think of another cutting remark, she adds, “I came here alone. I thought we could reconnect.”
She looks up at me, wide eyes pleading and lower lip trembling, and I realize she’s serious. She simply won’t accept that I’m not into her anymore unless I produce the woman I just made up.
Well, there’s no way I’m going to suffer through Shelly stalking me for the rest of the night to “reconnect.” I’d rather strip naked, put a string of fish over my private parts and run a marathon through starving feral cats.
She’s probably going back to Seattle after the evening’s over, so whatever. I’ll show her the love of my life she’s so desperate to meet. If she tells her mom and her mom tells mine, I’ll just say Shelly was high on something and misunderstood the situation.
“Stick ar
ound if you want, then,” I say coolly. “I’ll introduce you if she feels like meeting you.”
Shelly’s mien changes and she crosses her arms. “Why? She not confident enough to meet an old girlfriend?”
“No. She just doesn’t like to waste her time with trash.”
Crimson colors her face as she sputters. Before she can recover, I make my way to the bathroom, keeping my pace steady and calm. I need to think in silence, someplace away from her. She’s a shameless bitch, but not shameless enough to follow me into the men’s room.
The bathroom is empty. I go into one of the stalls and lock the door. Then I pull out my phone and scroll down my contact list.
Since Charlotte’s out of the question, who’s left? None of my hookups, obviously. I don’t even remember most of their names, and I’m not sure they could play the role right, even if I was desperate enough to risk a “misunderstanding.”
Erin.
I pause when I see my assistant’s name. She’s nice, pretty and quick. A fast learner. And she’s likable, sweet…everything Shelly isn’t.
But it’s Saturday night. My mom already interrupted Erin’s weekend once. Do I want to bug her again?
The answer is no, so I start thumbing past her name. But it quickly becomes obvious that there’s nobody else. I haven’t been in California long enough to make a lot of friends who could help in a situation like this. If this were Virginia, any of my female cousins would be able to hook me up with one of their friends, but…
I scroll back up to Erin’s name. Hopefully she isn’t out on a date or something. There’s a special kind of hell for bosses who screw up a hot date.
On the other hand, why would she be out on a date? She’s not interested in anyone that I know of.
Crossing my fingers, I press the button, then clear my throat.
“Hi, David,” she says chirpily.
“Hi, Erin.” A finger stuck in my other ear, I listen carefully. No laughter or loud music. So she’s probably not at a restaurant or a club. On the other hand, she could be inside a theater, just before the movie is about to begin. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“No. I was just going through that storyboarding training. I’m almost finished, too.”
What? “Almost finished? There are, like, a dozen videos in that series.”
Not to mention, I only brought it up yesterday when she asked me what she could do to make herself more valuable to me and the company. She nodded and jotted it down on her legal pad, so I’m ninety-nine percent certain she didn’t know about the training before then. And she didn’t really need to watch it, because it’s more useful for analysts who do a lot of presentations than an assistant. But she’s done almost all other online training we have, so it was the best pick out of what was left.
“Actually, only nine,” Erin says. “And they go fast. I’m already on video number six. I can finish the entire program by tomorrow at the rate things are going.”
I want to ask, Don’t you have a life? But that would be rude. Besides, she might’ve misunderstood what I said and thought I wanted her to complete it over the weekend. I should talk to her on Monday, clarify my expectations so she doesn’t blow a weekend like this again. I’m a firm believer in working hard, but then you have to play hard, too. Otherwise you burn out.
“Aren’t you at the charity auction?” she asks, as though she just realized. “Why are you calling? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I say quickly.
Someone comes in, opening the door loudly, then pees in one of the urinals. The sound is like a deafening waterfall. How much did he drink?
I cup a hand over the mic and my mouth, hoping she doesn’t catch the noise. “I need you to come here.”