Good Pet

“I don’t know,” I say, following her out. Even now, she has a slight hold on part of my suit jacket. “Never had it.”

“Well!” This one word carries across the executive floor a little too happily. “You’re in luck today, then, Tommy! It will be your first taste of one of my favorite cuisines.”

As we start strolling past the coffee bar, I think I hear her say something else. Something like “One of many firsts,” but I can’t be sure. I don’t want to be sure.

I stop by the executive secretaries’ office, having decided that I want to thank Melissa for her help, without Vanacore waiting on me or waiting for me.

“I need to leave a message before we go,” I say. “Want to make sure your calls are handled properly while we’re out,” I add off-the-cuff.

“No need to wait for me. If you want, you can get the car, and I’ll come to meet you,” I tell Vanacore

I pause, looking at Isabella, the only secretary at the helm, out of the corner of my eye.

“We don’t have all day for lunch, after all, and I want to be able to savor my first taste of Cajun.”

I don’t know why I say what I say here, or what is up with the slightly over-the-top sweetness in my voice, but it comes out.

Interestingly, it seems to have an extremely positive effect on my boss. She appears more than happy to hear my suggestion.

“Good thinking, son! Savoring is the best thing to do when you eat Cajun!”

With that, she turns on her heels and heads toward the second set of elevators.

“I’ll get the car and bring it up to the curb for you! Save time that way!”

“Okay,” I call after her, not sure how to feel about this. Whether to feel loved and looked after, or slightly insulted. As the man, I probably shouldn’t be having women drive up to the curb to pick me up. But the roles are very reversed in this situation, and I can tell that Vanacore is used to being in the position of power.

I count down the seconds it takes for her to disappear completely.

When she’s gone, Isabella pipes up and says, “Look at you, working for a big bad southern lawyer!”

She raises her eyebrows and sits back in her office chair.

“Melissa told me she helped somebody get ready for an interview this morning! Must’ve been you!” She studies me. “I think I saw Melissa and you bump into each other, actually.”

I blush.

“Yeah.”

I pause for a minute and then say, “Where is she, anyway? Melissa, I mean?”

As I speak, my eyes return to the picture on her desk — the one of the insanely-handsome man. I pull my eyes from the picture and back to Isabella.

“I wanted to tell her thank you for this morning. Without her, I might not have gotten the job.”

Isabella looks down sadly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Melissa just stepped out for her lunch break like three minutes ago! You just missed her!”

She frowns, running a hand through her thick, curly black hair. It’s particularly poufy today.

“Would you like to leave a message with me for her?”

I shake my head.

“No, that’s okay.”

“I can pass the message to her the minute she gets—”

“No,” I say again, “that’s okay.”

“You sure?”

She looks about as desperate as I feel, but she doesn’t understand. These kinds of things are better done in person. Not just with some note stuck on your computer.

“I’m sure.” I turn away from the desk. “I’ll just tell her later. Thanks.”

“All right then,” says Isabella. “Enjoy your lunch.”

I raise a hand wave to her and head to the elevators to get to the ground floor where my boss is waiting for me to take me to lunch. A lunch I’m sure will have less to do with business and more to do with some kind of pleasure. Though I just hope that that “pleasure” stays to drinks or conversation.

While there have been a lot of cases of people in this office falling for their superiors and vice versa, that’s not what I got hired for. That’s not on my agenda, no matter what it may be looking like to someone like Isabella.

Chapter Eleven

Melissa

Lunchtime brings calm, but only for my body, not for my mind. That is still wrapped around Dennis, and his behavior with me this morning. How bored he seemed with the idea of being connected with me longer than possible; how ready he seemed to complain about what kind of girlfriend I wasn’t being.

While I was able to get some respite from this depressing, anxiety-inducing train of thought by thinking about Tommy, the young lawyer I was able to help this morning with preparing for an interview, I’m not able to escape that dark cloud. Not completely.

I have tension everywhere in my body, every time I think about Dennis. Every time I even get the smallest glimpse of his portrait on my desk, I tighten. I feel like I can’t breathe.