The One I Want

“What about happy?”

“Huh?”

She bends her ankle slightly to the side, drawing my attention to the black patent leather heels she’s wearing. Fuck. Focus, Christiansen.

She says, “Try being happy that we’ve been given an opportunity. Like out of all the millions of people in New York City, divine intervention has played a part.”

Normally, I’d tune out this spiritual stuff, but there’s a part, a tiny part of me, that’s wondering if she’s right.

She adds, “The park. The coffee shop, and now right here in this office. What are the chances?”

“You forgot Friday night and how we ran into each other again outside my building.”

“Right.” She nods, pursing her lips to the side and looking away. “I almost forgot. Another act of the universe. Or the temp agency, but really it’s the universe that gave them the lead.”

The temp agency? I’ll ask Laurie about this next time we meet. As curious as I am today, I’m already late for my next meeting.

Motioning to the seat by my desk, I ask, “Will you sit and talk to me? I won’t keep you much longer.” I hate the taste of the words leaving my mouth. They’re not only bitter, but also not sweet.

Eyeing me for a few seconds, she finally comes closer and sits down. I say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’m not sure if the universe is messing with us, but I won’t be the one who drives you away. I’ve heard great things about the work you’re doing here. HR even mentioned bringing you on full-time.”

“They offered me a permanent position this morning.”

“After just one week, you have my team begging you to stay. What will it take to make that happen?”

Her body appears lighter with a lift of her mouth’s corners and a weight removed from her shoulders. “I was hired as a temp.”

“Is that what you’d like to continue doing?”

“I’d be okay with that. I like it here.”

I’m still confused, but I feel like we’re miles closer to an answer. “Then why were you leaving?”

“Because we’re friends,” she answers instantly.

The answer takes me by surprise, and as I study her expression, I try to riddle through the intensity of her eyes. “Is that a personal rule you have in place for your professional endeavors?”

“No, I just thought you wouldn’t like it.”

My mouth falls open, not gaping but enough to exhale my shock. “Why would our friendship make you think I wouldn’t want you working here?”

She pushes up and walks to the window. I know it’s impossible to see the street from this floor, but when she presses her forehead to the glass, I know she’s making the effort. Suddenly, she turns around, and says, “I don’t want you to think I’m stalking you. I’m not.”

“I don’t think that,” I confess with honesty. “I know we got off on the wrong foot when we met, but I shouldn’t have said that to you. I didn’t believe . . . Well, not entirely.”

I spy the crack of a smile forming on her lips. “An ex once called me a stalker, so I guess I’m a little sensitive to the term.” Her tone is upbeat despite what she’s sharing.

Not sure if I should go there, I ask myself, what would Juni do? She’d go there. “Were you stalking him?”

“I was absolutely stalking him.” When she laughs, I join in because I shouldn’t have doubted her for a minute. She sits back on the couch and crosses her ankles. My eyes trace the shape of her knees and down each curve of her legs, landing me on her shoes again. “In my defense, I was following him because I had found a note in his backpack. He told me to grab his graphing calculator from the front pocket. When I did, a note fell out. It was a time and a place. I showed up, he called me a stalker and psycho ex-girlfriend for everyone to hear, and then he walked off with the woman he married two years later.”

“So he was cheating?”

“Yeah, but rumors spread faster than the truth. I might as well have been wearing a giant S across my chest and had crazy eyes for all anyone cared.” Her gaze extends out the window as the memory appears to replay before her not-crazy eyes. “I didn’t date much after that.”

“Their loss.”

The joy returns to her eyes when she looks at me, and she smiles. “I’ve decided I’d like to stay.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

She slides forward on the leather. “Well, I should probably get back to the desk then.” Raising her hands up, she adds, “I can rip the hem of this skirt trying to get up, or you can help me.”

I stand and move around to the couch. “If you’re asking me which I prefer, that might be different than what’s appropriate for the office.”