First Comes Love (Love Comes To Town)

“Don’t be nervous,” Hannah says, as I race for the door. “They’ll love you.”

“I’m not nervous.” I hike my messenger bag higher on my shoulder. “Even though they don’t love me.”

“Huh?”

“Half the women give me the evil eye, while the others pretend they can’t see me at all,” I admit.

“They’re just shy?”

“Hannah.” I frown at her. “That’s what you said about Mallory Robinson, right up until she dumped that coke on my head.”

“Well, her boyfriend was hitting on you.”

“Yes, even after I told him that I could only ever view him as a turtle and nothing more.”

We giggle.

“Well, they just don’t know you yet,” Hannah assures me. “As soon as they do, they’ll love you.”

“Hopefully. Worse comes to worst, I can print out a life-size picture of you and keep it in my office at all times.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll do that.”

We laugh, and I glance at my phone. “Shit! I really am going to be late—byeee.”

The drive there is thankfully fast and warm. With the windows down and the radio playing—“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid…”—and glancing at Greyson’s morning text—Can’t wait to see you—I’m feeling pretty good.

By the time I get to my desk, I’m gasping for air, having run up the stairs once it was clear the elevator wasn’t coming any time soon. I collapse in the chair and mutter “woo-hoo” under my breath, since I’m either not at all late or hardly late.

“Oh.” The clack of high heels and then a woman with an unimpressed heart-shaped face stops by to eye me critically. I’m pretty sure it’s Greyson’s secretary, Madeline. “You decided to join us. I should let you know that we take our jobs very seriously here at Storm Inc. Tardiness is not tolerated. At all.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry,” I say, but her shoes are already clacking away.

I take out my phone and gape. One minute late, seriously?!?

This is your dream job, I remind myself. Your dreamy dream job.

It would’ve been nice, too, if Miss Manners Madeline had also graced me with the knowledge of what exactly I’m supposed to do today. According to my schedule on the computer, there’s a big fat load of nothing.

Still, at some point, I’m bound to see Greyson…

Even thinking his name gets my heart hopping. Our quick text exchange last night got me hot and excited. And he did invite me over for tonight, too. Better that than another office encounter. Yes, it was crazy hot and totally worth it. But way too risky. Better to do it in his bed, or mine… or ours.

Ours… Where did that thought come from?

I set it aside as another series of clomps announces another presence.

It’s Samantha, striding by with her gaze fixed so firmly ahead that I’d almost guess she was paid to assume that position.

I sigh. Well, here goes my day.

The rest of the morning isn’t completely uneventful. A feisty young fly escapes my attempts to kill him no less than eight times. I manage to organize my entire email folder. I text Hannah a picture of some whale socks I’ll probably be buying my mom for Christmas. I resist the urge to text Greyson—he’s probably busy with work.

Lunchtime I escape to wander the nearby neighborhood, finally finding a nice tree to sit under and dig in. As I do, I spot some familiar faces at a picnic table nearby. Lucky me: I’ve had the good fortune to sit in full view of Madeline, Samantha and the rest of the Harley-does-not-exist crew, which makes up most of the office. One icy look my way, one unreturned wave I attempt, and they’re finished with me.

“Jerks,” I grumble, wandering off to find a better lunch spot. Not that I don’t enjoy being iced out and all.

I finally find a nice grassy hill that I plonk down on and get eating.

I check my phone to find a text from Hannah:

—You OK?

Not really, I reply. No one will even look at me, let alone say hello.

—You think they know about you and Greyson?

Maybe.

—Maybe just give work your 1000%.

I would, except there’s literally nothing to do! I’m sure it’ll get better though.

—Fuck those bitches. We’ll sic Anchovy on them.

Somehow I don’t think that’ll improve my reception, I text, grinning.

—Well, you know I love you. Legally Blonde tomorrow tonight?

Third time’s the charm!

Since the last two times we’ve had to reschedule.

I finish my sandwich quickly enough, then return to my desk. Greyson has texted me by now, too:

—Where are you?

Was outside. Am back now. You?

—Outside. Figured you’d be outside with everyone else—Madeline planned a sporadic Staff Picnic outside. Must’ve just missed you. I’ll try to get away.

Don’t worry about it.

I bite at my lip. There’s probably no point in mentioning my reception to Greyson yet. Maybe the other employees really do just need to get used to me.