“I’m serious,” she says. “This is the free pass for both of us. You can say pretty much whatever here and, as long as it’s not way too fucking overboard, it’ll slide.”
“Really,” I tell her, “nothing’s happened.”
“Yeah,” she says, “I heard you the first time, but are there feelings there or what? Guys don’t usually call out the name of their roommate when they’re slogging someone else’s snatch.”
“Where the fuck did you learn to talk like that?”
“Answer the question,” she says, pulling away from me to butter the toast she pulls from the toaster.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I thought there might have been something there, but she’s with some other guy now. It doesn’t matter.”
“So if she weren’t single…?”
“Nothing happened when she was,” I answer, starting to get a little tired of this particular line of questioning. I understand where Wrigley’s coming from, but I wasn’t prepared for it this morning.
“But if she weren’t single now, would you be here with me?”
“What does it even matter?” I snap. “I’m not there, I’m here. Can we just drop it?”
“No,” she answers calmly. “I think you should be honest with yourself before you really decide to jump into something with me. Am I the woman that you really want to be with, or am I just a decent second choice? You’re really not going to hurt my feelings unless you lie to me.”
“How do you do that?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Just stand there and calmly ask me if I’d rather be with someone else?”
“Well, it does seem like something that might make things difficult for us in the long run, and if that’s the case, I’d like to be prepared for it. I don’t see any reason to begrudge you your feelings if that’s what they are. Is that what they are?”
“I don’t know, okay?”
That’s probably not the most romantic thing I’ve said to a woman in the morning.
“Okay,” she says. “Are you really ready to have a relationship with me, or are you just trying to run away from the fact that Leila’s with someone else?”
“When did you turn into Dr. Phil?”
She just laughs.
“I don’t know where my mind is, and I don’t know what my feelings for Leila are, but I do know that from the moment you woke up this morning, everything in the world felt so much better.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess,” she says. “Toast?”
Chapter Thirteen
Screening
Leila
Back in the office again, and Annabeth is getting on my last nerve.
I made the stupid mistake of telling her what happened last night with Dane and how he just took off with barely a word. Now, she’s giving me her, “You know what you gotta do?” routine, and after the twelfth repetition of the question, I’m starting to boil.
“It’s not that simple,” I tell her. “Dane and I have never really broken the ice. I mean, we have, but something’s always happened to cause it to freeze back over again.”
“You do love your metaphors,” she says, the smoke coming out of her mouth in short puffs.
“I really don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I tell her. “Any news on the job front?”
“Nope,” she says. “One of these days, I’m going to get the phone call from somewhere. I’m just trying to keep my sanity until it happens, ya know?”
Yeah, I know.
This morning, Kidman asked me if I wanted a raise. Stupid me, I said yes.
“Elderly men shouldn’t be allowed to grab their junk in public,” I say without sharing the context.
Annabeth laughs. “What?”
“Kidman,” I answer. It’s the only answer I need.
“I’ve got that all figured out,” she says and tosses me a pen.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask.
“Just don’t say anything to get yourself in trouble,” she says vaguely. “So, what are you gonna do about your roommate problem?”
“We’re back on that? Seriously, I don’t even know what happened. For all I know, the phone call could have been his mother saying she’d broken a hip or something.”
“Nah,” Annabeth says. “It sounds to me like he was off his game as soon as he saw you and that friend of yours macking on the couch. You know what you gotta do?”
“Annabeth, I swear if you utter that phrase one more time, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”
“Easy there, girl,” Annabeth says, spitting her cigarette out of her mouth in the process. “I was just gonna say that you should just talk to the man and see what he has to say. If you and him aren’t gonna talk, you’re just gonna end up going past each other, wasting all the hours of your lives wondering what the other one is thinking.”
She has a point, but I’m not quite ready to admit it.
“I really thought you would have heard something back on one of your applications by now,” I tell her. “You’ve got the grades and the pedigree. I wonder what’s holding it up.”
The glare on her face seems pretty out of context, but maybe I’ve overstepped again. I have a tendency to do that when I’m trying to lead a conversation away from something I want to avoid.
“We should probably get back in,” Annabeth says, leaving her half-smoked cigarette smoldering on the ground.
We make our way back inside and don’t say a word to each other on the way. When we’re back to our floor, we just part ways, and I’m starting to think I can’t do anything right.
“Tyler!”
I swear to all that is holy that if this geezer makes one stupid comment, I’m going to lose it.
“Yeah?”
Well, he’s not grabbing himself, so we’re off to a good start.
“Did you put this on my desk?” he asks.
“Did I put what on your desk?”
“This!” he shouts and holds up a file.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “What’s in it?”
“In my office!” he shouts.
Anymore, it’s not all that common for anyone working on this floor to even bother looking up when Kidman starts screaming at me. This time, though, I’m not the only one that can tell this rant is going to be different.
I’m not even in his office before he’s telling me to close the door.
I follow instructions and try to prepare myself for what’s about to happen.
“Do you know what’s in this?” he asks.
“It’s a folder,” I answer. “I don’t know—”
“Did you put this on my desk?”
“Sir, I honestly don’t know which folder that is. I’ve put a few folders on your desk today, but without knowing what’s in that one, I really couldn’t tell—”
“Do you think you’re funny?” he asks. “I get that I’m not the easiest person to work for, but this is so far over the line you’re in another country.”
“Sir?”
He slams the folder on his desk.
“You know, I’d expect this from that friend of yours, but coming from you—this is really too much.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him.
“You mean to tell me that you’re not the one who printed off a copy of my bank statement, put it in a file and set it on my desk?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He takes a breath.
“You really didn’t know what was in this, did you?” he asks, starting to cool down a little.
“No sir, I didn’t. Why would someone—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You can go.”
“Sir?”
“I said go!” he shouts. “I’m not going to tell you again!”
So I go.
With the door closed behind me, I try not to look at all the faces looking at me. Although I’m technically off the hook, this office is great at one thing and it has nothing to do with finance.
As I make my way toward Atkinson’s office, as I have absolutely nothing else to do right now, and I’d really like to take my mind off of everything, I can hear the not-so-hushed voices.
“Yeah, he just came in screaming. I think she’s going to get fired.”