by Lucy Eden
“Jordyn, I’m so sorry.” Mike, or Micah, or whatever the hell his name was, sat up and tried to reach for me with the hand that wasn’t securing the pillow. “I tried to tell you sooner.”
“You should have tried harder.” I felt around the mattress for my panties and shorts. While clutching them with the hand that wasn’t securing the duvet around my waist, I made a slow, silent, undignified waddle across the bedroom. After two attempts, I managed to pull the cover all the way into the bathroom and close the door with a satisfying slam.
“You better not still be here when I get out,” I shouted through the door as I got dressed. I was met with silence.
I pulled on my panties and shorts before putting my palms on the bathroom counter and taking deep breaths to try and center myself. This was a nightmare. I was sure I was still sleeping. This kind of shit didn’t happen in real life.
My thoughts were interrupted by a low knock.
“Jordyn.” Mike’s deep voice floated through the closed door. “Please. Can we talk about this?”
Micah Grayson was a liar, and also bad at following directions. I wondered if this was how he ran his company. I took a deep breath and whipped the door open.
“You wanna talk?” I asked. Mike was standing in the doorway, fully dressed.
“Yes.” He nodded and took a few steps back and sat on the bed. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your name was Micah?”
He sighed and scratched his head. “The only people that call me Micah are my mother or business acquaintances. Everyone else calls me Mike.”
“So, then I should start calling you Micah, or do you prefer Mr. Grayson?”
He gave me a wounded look that made me feel the smallest twinge of regret. He didn’t answer me.
“Why isn’t there a picture of you on the company’s website?”
“There aren’t pictures of anyone who works for the company on the website. We design video games and CGI programs for film and TV. Who gives a fuck what we look like?”
“Well, it would have been nice not to get blindsided like this.” I crossed my arms, instantly aware that I’d made an incredibly flimsy argument.
“Are you serious?” He threw his hands up. “This was something I should’ve been prepared for? I’ll bring it up at the next meeting. Everybody should have their picture on the site to prevent hooking up with gorgeous strangers in bookstores.”
“No, don’t do that.” I wagged my finger at him. “Don’t compliment me when I’m pissed at you.”
“Sorry?” He shrugged and an adorable smile curled his lips, forcing me to turn away from him. I needed to hold on to my anger, but he wasn’t making it easy.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were? All fucking day. I told you about my jobs and what I did.”
“I did tell you who I was. I told you lots of things, Jordyn. Important things. Personal things. Things I never get to talk about with anyone else. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a conversation with someone that wasn’t about work or my company? Telling the same fucking stories over and over again? I was tired of people always hitting me up for money or jobs— which I get is ironic. But, today, with you, was the first time I’d felt like myself in a long time. I didn’t want to ruin it. I’m sorry.”
Turning to look at Mike had been a mistake. His sad eyes pierced my heart. My anger was becoming a thin and slippery mist, sliding through my fingers as I desperately tried to hold on to it.
“You’re the CEO. This is my third interview. Your company paid for me to come here. You’re really gonna tell me you didn’t know who I was when you met me?”
“No, of course not,” he said as if I’d asked him the most absurd question. “I have an HR department. I only meet potential employees during the last phase of the interview process. Trust me, if I knew who you were, I would have stayed away…I would have tried, at least.”
“So why didn’t you say anything in the bar?”
“I was going to. I wanted to…but I was already…”
He trailed off and scratched his head again.
“Already what?”
“I just… I wanted more time…with you.”
I sighed in frustration because Mike had made it impossible for me to stay mad at him.
“You changed the subject when I brought it up in the museum. I thought I was boring you.”
“I told you, I hate talking about work.” He shrugged. “And there’s nothing boring about you, Jordyn.”
“You went down on me. For a really long time.” I’d clearly run out of arguments, but I still wanted to yell at him.
“Again…sorry?” He shrugged again. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth and he was trying to stifle a laugh. I picked up a pillow and hit him with it. “Ow.”
“I told you that I would jinx my interview if I talked about it.”
“So, this is actually all your fault.” The corners of his lips were still curled in a smirk. I hit him with the pillow again.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know.” His smile faded. “Go to the interview.”
I let out a laugh.
“And do what, Mike?” I folded my arms across my chest. “Pretend I don’t know what the CEO’s morning breath tastes like?”
“I have morning breath?” he asked and held a palm in front of his mouth.
“Yes. And you snore,” I added.
“Well, I knew that. I have a nose thing I’m supposed to wear at night but I didn’t bring—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted him. “We’re discussing the fact that I flew from one end of the country to the other for no damn reason!”
“Right.” He nodded. “You didn’t fly here for no reason. You should go to the interview.”
“How?”
“Listen, I know this makes me sound like a giant asshole, but I really hope you don’t get the job,” he continued after catching my glare, “but I won’t stand in your way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not gonna say anything to anyone about this—us, and we’ll see what happens.”
“And what happens if I get the job?”
“We sign a disclosure form and avoid each other like the plague.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I spend a lot of time and money flying back and forth to New York to try to convince you to forgive me and give me a second chance.”
The last bit of my anger with him melted away at his words, but I still felt hollow inside.
“This is so fucked up.” I collapsed on the bed next to him and put my head on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he agreed and dropped a kiss on my head, making me sigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a tech prodigy genius?”
Mike let out a low chuckle. “Because I’m not a tech prodigy genius. I’m a guy with a knack for computers and an expensive education, who had a good idea and parents that could give him two hundred and fifty grand to start a company.”
“That wasn’t an Uber driver that picked us up, was it?”
“No.” He put his arm around my waist. “That was my driver, Steve. You think I would leave you asleep in the back seat of a car with a stranger?”
“I guess not.” I heaved a deep sigh. “Well, for what it’s worth, and whatever happens tomorrow, I had a really great time yesterday.”
“Just yesterday?” he asked with a raised eyebrow that made my belly flutter.
“And this morning.” I smiled at him.
“Me, too,” he whispered. “You’re incredible, Jordyn.”
His palm slid across my cheek and he tilted my head up to meet his lips. I closed my eyes.
“Mike,” I whispered.
“Yeah?” His warm breath caressed my cheek.
“I think I should revoke the blanket consent for kisses.” I opened my eyes to find his brown ones gazing at me, filled with disappointment
.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “You’re probably right. I should go.”
I wanted to tell him to stay, but I bit my lip instead and watched him get to his feet and walk towards the bedroom door. He wrapped his hand around the knob before turning to face me.
“Please promise me you’ll go to the interview.”
“Can I promise you that I’ll think about it?”
“Jordyn, I could figure out a way to get over you, but I could never forgive myself if I fucked this up for you. Please, go.”
I forced myself to look at him, and his sad expression made my eyes sting with tears. I closed my eyes and nodded.
“Thank you.” He left the bedroom and closed the door behind him. A few seconds later, I heard him leave the apartment. I flopped onto the bed and let myself cry.
9
I was lying in the same spot on the bed with my feet dangling off the mattress hours later when I heard my phone ring. I instantly knew it was my mother, but a small part of me hoped it was Mike calling before I remembered that I’d never given him my number.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, California girl! Are you having fun? I thought you’d be out sightseeing, but I haven’t seen any new posts on your Instagram. I hope you’re not sitting in your hotel room reading books and ordering pizza.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I tried to remember how much my parents loved me and that my mom had no idea that I’d spent the morning crying in a heap in my pajamas over a relationship that lasted one day and possibly jeopardized my entire reason for coming here in the first place.
“No, I saw some cool stuff yesterday.”
“And you didn’t take any pictures? That’s not like you. Are you wearing sunscreen?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t get friendly with any strangers or tell anyone you’re traveling by yourself.”
Too late.
“I won’t.”
“Good. Are you ready for your interview?”
No.
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl. You have copies of your CV printed out? I know you kids do digital everything but it never hurts to have hard copy backups…in case of a blackout or something—”
Jesus Christ. A blackout, Mom? Really?
“And you did thorough research on the company? Of course, you did, but I read that the CEO started the company when he was only twenty-three. If your interview goes well—and it will, because you’re my daughter—and you get to meet him, you should definitely bring that up. These young tech CEO types love to talk about how smart they are—”
Not this young tech CEO.
“And make sure you ask your interviewer questions about the company. Make it clear that they need you, not the other way around. I hope you took my advice and decided to wear a suit to the interview. I know it’s fashionable these days to go to work in your pajamas, but it is always a good idea to make a good first impression. Jordyn?”
My parents were in their mid-sixties, and despite knowing all the latest advancements in medical technology were woefully ignorant of how the world works for people in their twenties. My mother stopped speaking to me for a week after I deleted my Facebook account and only got an Instagram account to keep track of me.
“Jordyn?” she repeated. “Are you still there? These damn phones… Derrick!”
“Mom.”
“Derrick,” she yelled for my dad again, “try calling Jordyn on your phone!”
“Mom! I’m still here.”
“Oh, there you are… Never mind!” she screamed, and I had to hold my phone away from my ear.
“Are you okay, pumpkin?” she asked. “You sound a little sad.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I guess I’m just a little nervous about the interview.” I sighed. “And a little bit nervous about what would happen after the interview.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I don’t get it?”
“Then you don’t get it. You apply for something else and keep going until you do get something.”
“And what if I get it and I hate it?”
“Then you apply for something else and keep going until you get something you don’t hate. This doesn’t sound like you. Is there something else you’re not telling me?”
Yes.
“No. I’m also suffering from jet lag. I’m gonna use today to relax, let my body adjust and prep for the interview.”
“Good girl. Your dad and I love you so much, and we’re so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you too.”
“Do you have enough money?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m hanging up.”
I heard my dad’s voice in the background. “What happened? Why does she need money?”
“Bye, Mom. Give Daddy a kiss for me!”
“Bye, pumpkin.”
I peeled myself out of bed and went to the bedroom window. I snapped a photo of the sky and posted it to my Instagram feed with the caption:
A Room with a View.
I tried explaining to my parents the concept of an Airbnb, but they kept getting stuck on the idea of my staying in a stranger’s apartment, so I told them I was staying in a hotel.
A couple seconds after I posted the picture, I got two notifications.
JordynsDrMomma liked your photo.
JordynsDrMomma commented: So beautiful!!! It looks like a postcard!!! Love you!!!
I smiled and shook my head before tapping the magnifying glass icon. I took a deep breath and typed in Mike’s name, his real name.
Micah Grayson
Entrepreneur
Founder and CEO of Grayson Technologies
It’s all fun and games
Grayson.Technology
He had over fifty-thousand followers, and there were no pictures of his face, or any people, for that matter. It was mostly videos, product launches, and abstract photos. It didn’t feel like the person I had spent the last day with.
I typed “Mike Grayson” in the search bar and a bunch of results came up. I scrolled for a while, and almost gave up hope until I saw a profile photo of a close-up of a smile with an incredibly familiar dimple. I’d been memorizing that smile for the past twenty-four hours. I clicked on the profile.
* * *
Mike (He/Him/His)
Brother. Son. Friend. Large Child. Master of Disguise. I stole your sandwich from the break room fridge.
* * *
It was definitely him. He had eighty-seven followers and the account was set to private. I almost sent a follow request but thought better of it.
I closed the app, tossed my phone on the bed, and decided to start my day.
My day consisted of a shower, ordering DoorDash for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, reading White Whiskey Bargain, Pink Slip, Everything She Never Wanted and starting to re-read Indigo before I had to stop because it made me miss Mike too much. I thought about taking a walk around the neighborhood but decided it would be too depressing, and I didn’t want to risk running into the mayor of Culver City.
I climbed into bed and hugged the pillow that smelled like a sweaty, snoring goofball and wondered if Mike was thinking about me, wherever he was tonight. I wondered if he was dancing in the fountain for someone else.
Grayson Technology was as laid-back as I suspected. I could feel Mike’s personality everywhere in the space. My heart was pounding out of my chest because I kept expecting him to appear around every corner.
I had dressed in a white button-up blouse with a dark navy blue blazer over a pair of skinny jeans and black-and-white Adidas. I sent my mom a selfie from the waist up and was almost tempted to send her a photo of one of the guys I passed, sitting in a beanbag chair, typing on a laptop wearing a giant pair of headphones and pajama pants.
The interview started with a standard programming test. It was easier than I expected it to be, and it felt good to immerse myself in something that made sense after my very confusing weekend.
“
So, what do you think of the offices, Jordyn?” Chris, my interviewer, asked once we were seated in their office.
“They’re great. I love the diversity of workspaces and the idea of being able to sit at a desk when I want to and no one’s gonna look at me sideways if I need to sit on the floor.”
“That is our CEO. He’s all about making everyone who works for him feel comfortable and valued. He says it fuels creativity and productivity.” They smiled.
I felt my stomach lurch. This morning, I somehow tricked myself into believing that there was the tiniest possibility that this was all a big misunderstanding, and I was interviewing at a different Grayson Technology run by a different Micah Grayson, but walking around his offices and hearing Chris talk about him made it real. They were describing the man that I’d spent the weekend falling for, and this was his company.
Chris’ computer pinged with an alert.
“Wow! I got the results from your programming test and—don’t quote me—but this might be one of the highest scores I’ve ever seen. Speed, accuracy. Nicely done.”
“Thanks. Ruby and Python are my love languages.” I shrugged and smiled at them.
“Love languages! I like that. You’re funny.” Chris smiled before tapping on their keyboard.
“So, you did a video conference with Regina last month, and she had nothing but great things to say about you. I’ve met you, and I think you’ll do nicely here. You’ll be relocating from New York?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. We can definitely help with that. And let’s discuss salary. I think you’ll be a great addition to the team and we try to be competitive here, so we are prepared to offer you”—they scribbled on a Post-it and handed it to me—“this.”
I took a deep breath and unfolded the note. They’d written a figure that was more than what I’d made at my last job, and while it wasn’t as much as I was hoping for, I’d be able to easily afford to live on my own in Culver City.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I stammered, but I couldn’t stop staring at the paper. I was hoping for some reason or excuse to not take the job, but I didn’t have one, not a logical one, anyway.
