by Becky Monson
“Um … I …” Eat lunch together? There really is no room for food in my stomach because it’s been taken over by nervousness and butterflies. Plus, I’m about ninety-seven percent sure I’ll do something stupid like spit food on him while we are talking or snort soda out of my nose if he says something even remotely funny. Let’s look at my track-record here. It’s not stellar.
“Sure,” I say totally against my better judgment. Stupid-giddy-high-school-girl, one point. Rational-adult-who-should-know-better, zero.
We briefly discuss what to get. Well, he throws ideas out, and I just nod my head like an idiot. I can’t even make a decision about food around him. Food—the one thing I know a lot about, the one thing I’m most always certain of.
We decide on pizza (actually, he decides on pizza, I just nod in agreement), and he pulls out his smart phone and makes an order for delivery, paying for it with the company card.
So, if I had gotten his job, then I’d have had a corporate card? Dang. How impressive would that have been to pull out in front of people?
While we wait for the pizza, we discuss the report and he asks questions. Every once in a while he’ll have me repeat something, or stop and contemplate something. When he contemplates something he almost always looks out the window, and I use that time to study his face a bit. Not stalker-like, of course, just a little peek here and there. It’s the only way to get a good look at him since it’s hard for me to make eye contact with him when we are talking because it makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter and then I start to blush. So, it’s better that I keep my eyes mostly on the report.
I get a short moment to myself when he goes to the break room to get us something to drink, and I take this time to compose myself a little and try to breathe deeply. In with the normal thoughts, out with the spinster thoughts. If only I could breathe myself into a normal-acting person right now. I can’t believe I’m going to eat lunch with this super fabulous-looking guy. It’s so … unlike my life.
The pizza arrives, and we each grab a piece and start to eat. We eat in silence, and as I eat I look out the window mostly, or down at my food. It’s feeling a bit awkward, really. I don’t have anything to say, and I guess neither does he. I should just be grateful for the silence. I’d most-likely embarrass myself anyway.
“So, tell me a little about yourself,” Jared says, breaking the silence I was just feeling grateful for.
Of course, he asks this just as I take a huge, and I mean huge, bite of pizza, so big that I’m barely able to shut my mouth around it. So I have to sit there and cover my mouth with my hand so he can’t see me chomping, and it’s taking me a while to get it down. There’s this terribly awkward silence while he watches me chew my food.
Aren’t I the picture of loveliness?
“Um …” I choke out, and then take a quick sip of my soda. “What do you want to know?” What could this super-hot guy possibly want to know about me?
“Where did you get your name from? Is it a family name?” he asks, and then takes a bite of his pizza.
Well, that’s easy enough, thank goodness. Kind of odd, but easy.
“Um, well, my parents are huge Beatles fans. So, my name comes from one of their songs. My sister Anna’s name also comes from a song, and my brother, Lennon, well, that doesn’t need much explanation,” I say, eyeing my pizza. I’m tempted to take another bite, but I really don’t want him to ask me another question while my mouth is full, which I’m sure he’ll do. So I wait.
“That’s interesting—naming you all after the Beatles. That’s some true fans right there.” He ponders that for a moment. “My father was a fan,” he says, and I see a glimpse of something in his eyes that seems like sadness, but I can’t tell, and it passes too quickly to be sure.
“Yeah, my parents were a bit on the hippy-ish side in the sixties. You know, peace, love, and all that other crap.” I smile to myself. They certainly didn’t grow up to be hippies, more like ultra-right-wingers.
He laughs at that. “What does your dad do for work?”
“Lawyer. He has a firm not far from here off Twelfth Street. He keeps threatening to retire, but I don’t know if it’ll ever happen. ”
“And your mom?”
“She’s a teacher. Stayed home most of my life, but once we were all in school, she went back to teaching … at the same school I was going to, actually. It was very annoying. You can’t get away with anything when your mom works at your school.” Not that I ever tried, but it would’ve been nice to know I could. I don’t tell him that part, though—just to make myself seem a little less dull, like maybe I was a bit of a rebel instead of the opposite.
“How long have you been in Colorado?” he asks, his blue eyes shining in the sunlight coming through the window.
“My whole life. Born here, will probably die here,” I say, and smile as I see him smile at that. “How about you?”
“Same. Except I travel a lot for work.” He looks down at his hands and then quickly up at me. “Or, at least I used to.”
“Is that why you took the job at Spectraltech?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says as he grabs another slice of pizza. “So, do you like working at Spectraltech?”
This is an interesting question. Do I tell him how I hate this stupid job? Or do I tell him it’s suddenly become a lot more appealing since he started here? Neither of those answers is going to do, so I settle for: “Well, it’s a job.”
“So, it’s not your dream job, I take it?” he asks as he takes another bite of his pizza.
“Um, no. Not my dream job.”
“So, what is your dream job then?” he asks me with what seems to be sincerity. I’m not sure why he cares.
“I don’t know, I guess something to do with baking,” I say, nonchalantly. Of course, baking is what I’d love to do. That’s my real passion. Who would have a passion for doing accounting at Spectraltech? No one.
“You’ve been at Spectraltech for ten years. Don’t you want to spend the next ten doing something you actually enjoy?” he asks, head cocked slightly to the side as if he’s trying to figure me out.
I want to tell him this is just what spinsters do. They stay at the same job until someone finds their body half-eaten by cats. But he wouldn’t get that, so I just say, “Change and I are not the greatest of friends.”
For a moment he looks like he’s contemplating that. “So, where do you live?” he asks, changing the subject to something equally as uncomfortable. There’s no way in heck I’m telling this amazing-smiling-good-smelling-hottest-man-ever that I live in my parents’ basement.
“In Denver,” is all the information I’m willing to give, “and you?”
“Same,” he says, and grabs another piece of pizza. I think he’s on his fourth. I, on the other hand, have barely been able to eat my original piece. Had this been Brown or anyone else, I’d be on my third by now. I can’t seem to eat, which is a new feeling for me.
“So, what do you like to do when you’re away from Spectraltech?” he asks, and takes a bite of his pizza. Clearly we are not going to get back to the report anytime soon. I should be glad about this, but he keeps asking me questions I seriously don’t want to answer.
“Not much,” I say and shrug my shoulders.
“Really?” he says as he leans back in his chair and looks at me like he doesn’t believe me. He’s quite horrible at reading people, that’s for sure. I don’t look like a person who gets out much.
“You sound surprised,” I say, curious.
“I just figured you were the type of girl that went out every night, living it up,” he says, and smiles a half-smile.
He must be teasing me. I’m in no way, shape, or form the epitome of a party girl. Anyone with eyes can see that. “Um, no. I do not go out and live it up every night,” I say, throwing in the “every night” at the end so maybe he might think I live it up every once in a while, rather than never, which is the truth.
“So, no boyfriend then?”
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I half-cough my drink out my mouth, nearly snorting it out of my nose and quickly grab a napkin to clean up my face. Is this guy for real? A boyfriend?
“Um, no,” I say through my coughing, trying to compose myself.
“Ah, getting too personal, am I? Sorry. Forget that.” He picks up his napkin and wipes his mouth.
“It’s fine, really. Just caught me off guard,” I say, which is a total understatement. “Why do you ask?” my mouth says before my head can stop me.
“No reason, just curious.” He smiles a dashing smile at me.
“So … do you?” I ask, not being able to help myself.
“No. I don’t have a boyfriend,” he deadpans, and I laugh a little too hard at that. The laughter eases the butterflies I had been giving myself.
My laughter at his little joke makes me relax. I’m feeling a bit more at ease, and so I sit back in my chair and look up. Our eyes meet. The butterflies are back, but this time I don’t feel like I’m going to blush, I feel more comfortable.
I quickly grab another piece of pizza, since all of a sudden there’s a little more room in my stomach now. I also don’t want this to end. Now I feel like I want to prolong this lunch as long as I can. By eating more, maybe I can do just that.
I think that it’s now my turn to ask him a bunch of personal questions, but before I can muster up enough courage to ask him something, his phone rings.
He picks up his phone and looks at me as if to ask my permission to answer, I nod my head. “This will only take a second,” he says as he puts his phone to his ear.
“This is Jared,” I hear him say and then silence as he listens. He turns his chair slightly away from me. “I thought we took care of this. This is not how I do business.”
Whoa, he suddenly doesn’t sound very happy. I try not to eavesdrop too much, but how can I not? He’s sitting a foot away from me.
“No, no, I won’t tolerate it. This is unprofessional. How could you let this happen? There was a contract.” His voice escalates at the last part.
Um, I think he forgot I was here because I’m not quite sure I should be hearing this. Seeing him mad like this is quite interesting, though. I’ll be telling Brown all about this at our next break. One thing is for sure, he’s not ugly when he’s angry.
He stands up from his chair, cursing under his breath. “Hold on,” he says, and holds the phone away from his head. “Julia, I’ll be right back.”
He goes out to the hall to finish this odd and out-of-nowhere conversation. I’m very curious about what they’re saying on the other line. Jared must not know the walls at Spectraltech are paper thin. I can still hear everything he’s saying.
“Look, I don’t care how you fix it, just fix it. My name can’t be associated with this, it’s too important I remain anonymous.” What? Is he involved in something illegal? Or is he in some kind of trouble? This is getting interesting. I can’t wait to tell Brown.
His voice quiets a little, and I can’t exactly hear what he’s saying, but I think he mentions something about a lawyer. I hear him say goodbye and so I move my chair quickly back up to the conference table and grab my pizza so I can look like I haven’t been paying attention at all to anything he’s been saying.
“You okay?” I ask as he takes his seat. “That sounded intense, I mean the part I heard when you were in the conference room.” Oh geez, could I sound like more of a buffoon? I just basically told him I heard it all.
“Just my last job. Some information got out that wasn’t meant to,” he says, his composure easing back.
“Where did you work before here?” I ask, super curious now.
“In Boulder,” is all he offers. So evasive. Interesting. Brown and I have much to discuss.
The conversation turns to more of a small-talk-between-strangers genre, and eventually we get back to the report and I finish telling him everything I know about it, feeling a little sad because once he knows the report, this lunch is done. And this is about the best lunch I’ve had in a long time. This is sad to admit, but true nonetheless.
“Well, thanks for telling me about this most interesting report,” he says as we finish up, adding sarcasm to his voice when he calls the report interesting. We stand up at the same time and end up just inches away from each other. Our eyes meet, and my breath catches in my throat a little. He smiles and then looks at me for a moment. Then, he gives me some sort of weird look as if he’s concentrating on my face. I quickly turn away hoping there isn’t a piece of food or something … worse … like, coming out of my nose. Oh please, not that.
We clear off the table and walk silently together to the break room down the hall to dispose of everything. I want to say something, but nothing is coming out.
“Can I ask you something personal?” he asks after we throw everything away and are about to leave the break room.
“Um… I guess,” I say, wondering what kind of personal question would be coming this time.
“What’s going on with your lip?” he asks, pointing to his upper lip.
Oh. My. Hell. My freaking Hitler lip! I totally forgot about it, and I must have wiped off the makeup with my napkin after I nearly snorted soda out of my nose!
I think I might die.
I quickly cover my mouth and lip with my hand, and try to think of something to tell him.
“Is it like a cold sore thing or something?” he asks looking concerned.
Oh my gosh, he thinks I have herpes?? What do I tell him? Herpes or mustache? Herpes or mustache?? HERPES OR FREAKING MUSTACHE???
I want to die. Just let me die right now.
“Um, I just … burned myself … somehow.” I say and cringe.
“How did you burn yourself there?” he asks confused and rightfully so.
I pause for a moment and then I breathe deeply. “I really don’t want to tell you,” I say and turn away from him quickly, my hand still covering my mouth. Why does this stuff happen to me? Is there a large rock I can hide under or something … for like, ever?
“Why not?” he asks, sounding somewhat offended that I won’t tell him.
“Because it’s really embarrassing, and we really aren’t close enough for me to share that kind of information,” I sputter out.
“Well … I hope that changes,” he says, and smiles at me. My heart races a little and the butterflies multiply in my stomach, and even though he can’t see it because my hand is covering my mouth, I smile right back at him.
~*~
“I’m sorry …” Brown’s voice trails off, as she giggles to herself. She’s not apologizing because she’s actually sorry, she’s apologizing because she can’t stop laughing at me.
We’re in my office and Brown is trying to fix my upper lip once again. I’m filling her in on all the details as she tries to reapply some cover-up. In normal circumstances, I would’ve left that whole mustache/herpes part of the story out, but since I need her help, I’ve had to give her all the details, which is why she can’t stop laughing. I can’t say I blame her. In any other scenario I, too, would be finding it hard not to laugh. But I’m still reeling in the embarrassment. It’s too soon for me. The wound is still fresh.
“You’re really focusing on the wrong parts here,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I know, sorry,” she says, sniffling and wiping a tear starting to form in the corner of her eye from laughing so hard at my expense. She grabs some sort of little sponge and blots lightly on my lip.
“Anyway, don’t you think it’s weird about the phone call, and then how evasive he was about his last job?” I try to speak with my upper lip pulled taut over my teeth so she can do her magic.
“Not really,” she says as she stands back to look at her work. It must not be good enough because she puts more cover-up on me and starts blotting again.
“Why not?” I ask, creasing my eyebrows together, confused at her lack of interest.
“For many reasons.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe he got fired from his last jo
b and doesn’t want anyone to know about it. Maybe that’s why he was talking about a contract when he was on the phone. Maybe there was an employment contract that was broken.” She nods her head like she’s just solved a mystery. “Anyway, people don’t always want to share where they worked before. It’s really not that big of a deal.” She stands back to look at me and seems satisfied with her work.
“Well, I guess you had to be there, had to see the look on his face when he was on the phone. It seemed like a bigger deal,” I say grabbing her compact to look at my lip in the mirror. Much better. I was just going to hibernate in my office for the rest of the day, but I couldn’t risk running into Jared, or anyone for that matter, with this thing on my lip so exposed.
“Yeah, maybe …” her voice trails off, as she grabs her makeup and stuffs it all back in her case. “Anyway, at least we know his last job was in Boulder. I suppose I can see if I can find anything out with that bit of info,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. Brown does love to snoop. I think she should’ve been a private investigator or something. She may have missed her calling in life.
I brighten up with her last comment, hopeful she’ll find out something more about him, hopeful that we can discuss him more. My schoolgirl crush has escalated to a new level now, not as pathetic as it was before. Okay, it’s just as pathetic, but I can’t help myself. It’s been a while since I’ve had a crush on anyone and I have to admit, it’s kind of fun.
Brown leaves her pressed powder compact with me before she goes, just in case I need to do touchups. I don’t actually plan on leaving my office, but if I have to for any reason it’ll be good to have it as back-up.
After she leaves, I get to work on the reports Mr. Nguyen told me to do earlier, before the meeting and my lunch with Jared. I keep coming back to lunch and replaying parts of it in my head. Not the bad parts (ahem, mustache), just the good stuff—the stuff that made my stomach turn in a good way, full of butterflies.
My computer beeps and I look and see I have an email from one Jared Moody. My heart starts to thump in my chest as I double-click on it.
