Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Excellent.” He nods, as though the matter is settled. “I look forward to working together, Mac.”
“And I look forward to working with you, Thomas,” I say, matching his formality with just the tiniest bit of mockery that I’m pretty sure he notices and chooses to ignore.
He glances down at his list of new team members to meet. “Since I don’t know where anyone sits yet, would you mind sending in Margaret Bleeker?”
“Love to,” I say, meaning it. Margaret is the newest hire on the team, a very junior copyeditor fresh out of college, who is sweet and bubbly and never stops talking. She’s going to drive Thomas nuts, and I almost wish I could stay to watch it.
I hesitate in the doorway, then turn back. “So, I promise, the moment I walk out this door, we’ll never mention it again. But before we strike Friday from the record, can I ask one tiny question?”
“Sure,” he replies after an infinitesimal pause.
There. That beat of hesitation, the flash of wariness is all I need to know that I’m not the only one thrown off by this strange twist of fate.
I ask my question in a rush. “Why didn’t you tap on me? On the app? I don’t care, I’m just curious.”
Thomas sighs. “Mac—”
“Let me guess. You prefer brunettes.”
“It’s not—”
“Or,” I interrupt. “You’ve got a thing for tall women.”
I’m only 5'2.
“It’s nothing that specific,” he says, sounding annoyed. “It’s just . . .” He breaks off, then shrugs. “It was just a no chemistry thing.”
“Oh. Right, gotcha,” I say, feeling stung, even as I try to remember that I’d had the same thought when I saw his picture.
I mime zipping my lips. “Okay, I have all the closure I need. Our lack of chemistry is to be mentioned never again.”
“Good to know,” he says with the slightest of eye rolls.
I exit the conference room, feeling mostly relieved, because uncomfortable as that whole thing was, it could have gone so much worse given the circumstances.
But then I turn my head slightly towards the conference room door, and our eyes lock through the glass.
Relief goes out the window, because for a strange moment, my stomach seems to turn over on itself.
I jerk my gaze away, telling myself it’s irritation, not butterflies.
And yet, as I walk back to my desk, I can’t shake the suspicion that Thomas might be terribly, horribly wrong about our lack of chemistry.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday, September 12
“Duuuuuuuude,” my coworker says a couple hours later, draping herself dramatically over my desk. Her curly black hair blocks the screen of my Mac—yes, I too love that my nickname matches my Apple computer—as she fans herself. “Is it just me or is the new boss really hot?”
I use my pen to push her hip off my trackpad so her butt quits wreaking havoc on my attempts to digitally place an engagement ring on top of a tulip in a way that doesn’t look completely ridiculous.
Sadie Washington started at Elodie a year after me, as a UX designer. Her job is to ensure that things make sense as well as look pretty. She’s also my closest friend on the team—my work wife, so to speak.
Sadie is loyal, irreverent, and funny as heck, with a thing for emo guys from Brooklyn. She actually has a points system for men; for example, guys get bonus points if they pair skinny jeans and thick black-rim glasses and have some sort of botanical tattoo.
Like me, she’s got a type, and like me, that type is not Thomas Decker, so I’m genuinely surprised by her proclamation of his hotness.
I’m genuinely surprised by her interest in our new boss.
“Really?” I ask her, wrinkling my nose. “Did you put your contacts in today?”
“Oh, come on. You don’t see it?” she demands. “I just had my one-on-one with him, and I have no idea what he said, because oh my god, those eyes!”
“They’re very . . . intense,” I agree.
“Um, yeah. Intense in the way where you can just imagine him lifting you up and taking you on the—”
“Nope. Nope, nope, nope and eeew, Sade. Since when have uptight preppy guys done it for you? The last guy you dated had a French braid and wore velvet pants unironically.”
“Arkin,” she says with a dreamy sigh. “He filled out those pants nicely.”
“See, there you go. Trust me, you’re much better lusting after Velvet Pants than our new boss.”
Sadie flicks her fingers as though shaking off powdered sugar from a doughnut. “Arkin’s old news. He developed a crush on his new neighbor, some little waif of a thing who probably has a lot more patience for listening to his terrible poems than I did.”
“I thought you liked poetry.”
“Me too.” She picks up my stapler and studies it. “Apparently I only like the idea of poetry.”
Sadie sets the stapler aside and crosses her feet at the ankle, settling all the way on my desk. “Okay, your turn. How’d it go on Friday night? With the Kyle guy from the gym.”