Mister Fake Fiance

“Nope. No need.” My cheeks grow warm and a sudden urge to squirm crawls over my skin like little ants. I know it’s ridiculous, but I feel like I’ve been caught cheating on David or something. Except that the very idea is ludicrous because he and I aren’t like that. Must remember that the kiss from Saturday meant nothing.

I steal a glance at him. Nothing shows on his face.

“I think I’m going to throw them away.” That should banish this weird, uncomfortable sensation. Or so I hope.

“Nah, don’t do that. They look nice.” David says it like he means it as he turns to go into his office, but somehow I have a feeling he doesn’t. Not really.

Chapter Twelve

Erin

For the rest of the day, I try to work. It isn’t easy. The flowers are in the way. And my coworkers keep stopping by, ostensibly to drop something off or ask about the latest marketing campaign or offer candy from their stash. But what they’re really after is—who sent the roses?

“I mean, I didn’t even know you were seeing anybody,” Bev says. “No wonder you turned me down when I asked you to hang out. I would too if I had a man who was thoughtful enough to send me flowers like these.”

She forgets I have to carry my laptop bag, purse and now this giant travesty of a bouquet to my car and to my apartment. A thoughtful person would’ve sent them to my home address. I swallow the sarcastic words, though. They’ll only engage her in more gossip, and she’ll tell everyone what I said, sprinkling it with her own spice to liven it up at the water cooler.

It’s too bad California is so dry. In Virginia, I could just start a bonfire and burn the damn roses.

When five o’clock rolls around, I sigh with relief. People are leaving, a tide of humanity ebbing as evening approaches. I gather my things, then glance toward David’s office. He’s still working. I should check if he needs anything before going home. When I first started I’d wait until he was done, but David explicitly told me not to do that anymore.

I knock and stick my head in. “Hi… Just wanted to make sure you’re all set before I head out.”

He smiles. “I’m good.” His cell phone rings, and he picks it up. He mouths, Have a good evening.

“You too,” I whisper.

I grab my things, stick headphones into my ears and start a podcast interview with Dr. Richard Thaler that I’ve been planning to listen to for a while. Although David hasn’t asked me to, I want to study some economics theory in my spare time. Aside from just being interesting, it’ll be helpful in my career. I’m pretty sure I’m the least qualified person working at Sweet Darlings, Inc.

I hesitate at the sight of Warren’s roses. Carrying them home seems so daunting. On the other hand, I don’t want to leave them here and get unwanted attention from my coworkers tomorrow as well.

Sighing, I pick up the vase, holding it carefully so it doesn’t drip. I walk over to the elevator and hit the button for the lobby as Dr. Thaler explains the basic concepts behind behavioral economics. I want to get a sandwich from a Korean deli across the street from our office for dinner. Their bulgogi sub is to die for, with the most interesting texture of crunchy veggies and thinly sliced beef that melts in your mouth. For some reason I always crave it right before I’m about to start my period, and I never deny myself that treat.

But these damn roses. Do I want to go across the street with them? People are going to notice for sure.

On the other hand, I don’t feel like going back to the car to drop off the flowers. Is there a trash bin big enough for me to dump them?

But wait—there’s a homeless lady on the street corner at the crosswalk between the office and the deli. I can give her the flowers. She can keep them…or better yet, sell them. They’re nice roses; Warren was trying to make a statement. She can probably get at least a buck apiece for them.

Feeling good about my solution, I carry the vase in front of me and go. The enormous bouquet kind of blocks my view, but I don’t worry about running into someone much. Who’s going to miss bright red roses? And I’ll be rid of them soon enough.

The interviewer is asking Dr. Thaler why people are so irrational, even if their actions are against their self-interest. It’s a good question.

The Nobel Prize-winning economist says it’s because life is hard. People are doing the best that they can, despite the complexity of modern society.

Hmm. I didn’t even consider that.

Dr. Thaler elaborates on his answer. I listen more closely, thinking deeply about what he’s saying. He’s right, though. Life is hard, and we don’t all have perfect information.

My phone beeps, interrupting the podcast. I stick my hand into my purse to grab my phone, in case it’s David calling.

Using my back to push the door open and exit the building, I glance at the screen. It’s a text from Dad. No. Just no. I don’t have the energy to deal with him right now.

Somebody jostles me, and I almost fall down. The water in the vase sloshes, but doesn’t spill. I swing myself backward to maintain my balance, then peek over the bouquet to see who just bumped into me so rudely.

Oh shit. It isn’t just one person. Or even your ordinary everyday crowd. Reporters are shouting things, shoving recorders and microphones in my face. Flashes go off, blinding me. White spots form before my eyes, and a suffocating claustrophobia clutches my neck.

Someone pushes me hard, and the vase and my phone slip from my now-sweaty grip. My headphones tear from my ears. The phone hits the concrete with a sharp crack. Shit!