“I’m great,” I lie, knowing he’s about to ask me about the lunchroom. So far no one else has. I think someone is waiting for an opening. I’m sure that everyone is in shock that Mr. O’Hare hasn’t fired me yet. I’ve resorted to calling him that instead of Finn because I need to have some kind of boundaries when it comes to that man.
“That’s interesting. I thought your keyboard did something to you.” I look down at it, lifting my hands. “Are all the buttons still there?”
“Sorry.” Cesar only laughs. “Ask me. I know you want to.”
“I don’t know. I’m having fun coming up with different scenarios in my head of why you’d dump drinks over bossman’s head.”
“What’s winning?”
“Since you’re new here there aren’t many options. Otherwise I would have guessed he put you on Mrs. Roberts’ detail but you don’t know who that is so it wouldn’t have made you mad. The only thing I can think of is he stole the last brownie? People fight over those things a lot more than you would think, but Finn started ordering extra a few months ago and things have calmed down in the breakroom.”
“He gave me the last brownie.”
“Well, I’m back to square one and I did not see that plot twist coming. Did I mention Finn is the one who always started these lunchroom fights about the brownies?”
I snort a laugh. I don’t know if he’s teasing or not. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ah yeah, cause I know it’s going to get me more details on whatever is happening cause this is clearly linked.” I bite my lip, thinking it over. I shouldn’t gossip but I can’t help myself at this point. There are things I need to know or I’m going to go crazy. You mean obsess, a little voice in the back of my head says, sounding a lot like B.J. I shove it right to the back of my mind.
“You’ve worked here a long time.”
“Yep.” He leans closer, waiting for me to ask him my question.
“Finn. I mean Mr. O’Hare. Is he a good guy?”
“Yes.” There is not an ounce of hesitation. “Why do you think everyone is dying to know why you dumped soda on his head? He’s really good to all of the employees here so I think everyone is confused.” Great. Now everyone in the office is probably going to think I’m crazy. They all think he’s an angel but I know better. He’s not innocent.
“And slapped him,” I mumble.
“Slapped him?” Cesar half shouts. I look around. A few people turn to look our way. I motion with my hand for Cesar to lower his voice.
“Slapped who?” He narrows his eyes on me. I remain quiet because I’ve already said too much. “You said slapped him?” I think he’s dumbfounded by my admission. “In the cafeteria? I’m going to need to get a new gossip source because mine is lacking in the juicy details they relay to me.”
“I didn’t slap him,” I defend myself. “Today,” I toss in there so it’s not a lie.
“You’re an odd girl.” Cesar leans back in his chair. “I like it. Things will certainly be interesting with you here.” He turns back to his computer, going back to work. I try to do the same. It’s hard when Mr. O’Hare seems to walk by my desk for one reason or another every thirty minutes. I pretend not to notice, but my eyes keep drifting toward him with each pass that he makes. A wave of guilt washes over me when I see that he’s changed his clothes. It solidifies the fact that I need to stay away from him.
How can he be both annoying and oddly endearing at the same time? It has to be his good looks. It’s playing with my mind. I’m a judgmental asshole. All these years I wondered how women could fall for these men that were so sure of themselves. But here I am doing the exact same thing like the hypocrite I’ve become. This is all Mr. O’Hare’s fault. If he weren’t so attractive this wouldn’t be happening. I now realize that I’d never seen someone that appealed so much to me. I wasn’t prepared to deal with the effect it would have on me.
I keep obsessing over what it is about him that has me acting so unlike myself. My mind starts racing with all the crazy reasons why I’m so attracted to him. Maybe it’s that weird art thing that people are always going on about. The one where someone’s face is perfectly symmetrical. It can’t be that. He only has one dimple. That might be because I smacked the other one off though. Oh, and a small scar on his jaw. It’s old and faded. I’m guessing from his childhood. Since I know that none of these thoughts are rational, I decide to stop driving myself crazy. Maybe it’s me that’s the problem.