At least I thought I was taking it like a champ. Until Wednesday morning when my phone buzzed from its spot on my desk, and her name flashed across the screen. The decorum of Sunday through Tuesday slipped away, and I became a kid on Christmas. One who didn’t even know it was Christmas until he got up and saw the presents.
With a quick glance to make sure my door was closed, I snapped the phone up and swiped it to retrieve the message.
Hi.
One word. I tried not to be disappointed, and I typed one back myself.
Hey.
Can u meet for lunch?
Something wrong?
Yes.
I frowned and asked, Work related?
No.
One more word, but so much better than the first.
All right, I wrote. Anywhere in particular?
U know the crepe place?
I can find it.
Come a few minutes before the break starts.
Ok.
I stared at the phone for a few minutes longer, reading more into the texts than a hormone-riddled teenager would’ve.
What was wrong?
Why crepes?
What did she need to see me about that she couldn’t discuss at the office?
I couldn’t even come up with one logical explanation for a crepe-eating, early-break, non-work-related scenario. Well. One. But it involved whipped cream and a lot of dirty things that I somehow doubted she would decide to request spontaneously via text.
I finally gave up on sifting through my pile of emails and left for the restaurant a full thirty minutes before the official lunch hour started. On the way out, I spied Aysia in the copy room. From behind the in-office window, she issued me a friendly wave and the same heartbreaking smile she’d had on her face since Monday. It was a look that gave nothing away. Forcing aside the ache in my chest, I made myself not stop and beg to know how long she thought she would be. Or if she’d changed her mind.
When I got to the crepe place, the friendly host called me by name before I made it all the way through the door.
“Mr. Diaz? Your lady friend is waiting.”
My puzzlement at how she managed to beat me there only lasted a minute. It wasn’t Aysia at the table at all. It was her blond, sexy-dress-picking, coffee-delivering friend. Liv. She sat at a corner booth with a familiar, red-covered phone in her hand.
Shit.
If the host hadn’t nudged me forward with a throat-clear and a murmur, I might’ve turned and run. Instead, I was stuck. Liv’s gaze came up, her eyes narrowed, and she pointed imperiously at bench seat across from her. Stifling a sigh, I sat down obediently.
“Hello, Marcelo,” she greeted.
“Liv. Couldn’t find your own phone today?”
“Grabbed Aysia’s by mistake while we were out for coffee this morning.”
“Uh-huh. And you tricked me into coming here by accident, too?”
Her eyes narrowed even more. “I only tricked you into coming because I didn’t think you’d show up if I just asked.”
“I’m a surprisingly reasonable man,” I said back. “Any particular reason for choosing the crepes?”
“I like them. And Aysia hates them. So I get what I want and I know she won’t show up here and interrupt us.”
“That doesn’t fill me full of confidence. Should I check under the table for a weapon and a shovel?”
She sighed. “I know you think I hate you.”
“Aysia assured me that you don’t,” I replied.
“And I guess you just believed her?”
“I’ve been assuming she’s not a liar.”
“Well. You’ve been assuming wrong.”
The statement surprised me. “What?”
Liv twirled her stir stick in her coffee. “She is a liar. At least about some stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Just off the top of my head? Pretending like she doesn’t have a heart.”
I couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I’m well aware that she has a heart.”
“That’s because she’s a bad liar.”
The server came by then, interrupting us temporarily. Liv ordered like an expert, and I just had them double it up. The brief interlude gave me enough time to get my thoughts together.
“Liv…” I said. “If you’re here to give me one of those ‘break-my-best-friend’s-heart-and-I’ll-kill-you speeches, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I know you won’t hurt her. She won’t let you. And that’s what I mean about her pretending not to have a heart,” she replied. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. Do you know how many boyfriends she’s had since then?”
I stiffened a little as a trickle of automatic jealousy crept in. “No. How many?”
“Well. There was Walt. They went out when we were in seventh grade.”
“Okay.”
Was she seriously going to give me a list that started in elementary school? I waited. She said nothing else.
“Okay,” I said again. “Walt. And?”
“And that’s it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Walt. She always liked him. And in seventh grade, he realized he liked her, too.”
“What am I missing here, Liv?”
“That. Is. It.”
“She hasn’t had a boyfriend since seventh grade?”
The blond shrugged. “Dated enough to not be mistaken for a crazy cat lady. But no boyfriends. And before you ask about Carl…don’t. He never earned the title.”
“And I’m guessing she wouldn’t be excited to know you’re here with me, telling me all this?”
“I’m her best friend. So I did warn her I was taking matters into my own hands. And I’m only telling you this because she hasn’t had this twinkly look in her eye since Walt. I think you should know that. And I think that she deserves that.”
The server came by with our crepes, interrupting us once more. Liv dived into hers immediately, but I held off for a second.
“What happened to Walt?”
Liv paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “He died.”
“He died?”
“Yes.” She chewed slowly and kept frustratingly silent.
I put my own fork down. “Uh. Little more info, please?”
“Cancer. A year-long battle.”
“That’s…”
“Terrible,” she said.
Once again, I waited for her to add something else. She just chewed her crepes. Two more entire bites before she sighed loudly.
“I know I probably sound like I’m being insensitive,” she said. “But I’m not. And I’m not saying she should’ve gotten over it by now or anything like that. I promise. It was over a decade ago, but it was awful and tragic, and I would never expect the loss to just go away. But between Walt’s death and her dad taking off, Aysia built up a crazy wall of independence.”
“Being independent is a good thing,” I pointed out.
“I know. I wish I had half as much drive as she does.”
“I don’t know what it is you want me to do.”
“You got behind it,” she said, her voice low and hopeful.
“Behind what?”
“Her wall, dummy. I love her more than words, Marc, and I want you to stay there.”
“Behind her wall.”
“Yes.”
I sighed, ran a hand over my chin and met her eyes. “I can’t force her to be my girlfriend, Liv.”
“But you’d like her to be.”
“Yes,” I admitted, realizing it was true—at the very least I wanted to give us a shot at having a relationship.
“So then can you do something for me?”
“Sure,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t let me go until I agreed.
>
“Next time you’re alone with her…ask her about Walt?”
“I’m not sure if she’s going to let the alone thing happen.”
“I’ll take care of that. You just promise to ask her.”
“All right.”
“Say it.”
“I promise to ask Aysia about Walt.”
Liv studied me for a minute, then nodded. “Good. And you should eat your crepes before they get cold. Seriously.”
“Do you think maybe Aysia’s independent streak comes from somewhere else?” I asked pointedly.
“What? From dealing with me?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Shut up and eat your pancakes. I have to get this phone back to the office before Aysia notices I have it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Crepes.”
Dutifully, I lifted my fork.
* * * *
Aysia
A light knock on my office door—a space I’d taken over from the human resources manager who was currently on leave—made me lift my eyes from the overdue stack of performance reviews. It was a relief, really. I’d been working my way through the paperwork since Monday, and every time I thought I’d made some headway, another problem turned up. Apparently, for the six months preceding her leave, the manager hadn’t filed a damned thing. So Eco-Go was behind on its raises, behind on its corrective action…behind on everything staff-related except for giving me a headache.
With a sigh, I slid my chair backwards, stood up, then made my way to the door. Putting on the best smile I could muster up, I opened it. And as soon as I saw who was on the other side, my smile turned genuine.
“Liv,” I greeted. “Did you know that you’re three months overdue for a raise?”
“Yep. I filed a complaint to the HR lady via e-mail. She didn’t answer. Oh. Wait.” She paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Well. This is awkward.”
“Hilarious.”
“The lower dregs of Eco-Go society are always behind by about a year.”
“You’re not the dregs. And seriously? A year?”
“Yeah. The retro pay is like a bonus.”
I groaned and rubbed my temple. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
My friend stepped to my desk, snagged an apple from the top drawer, and held it out. “Eat this. You’re cranky.”
I stuck out my tongue. “You do realize you’re not my mother.”
“I know. She lets you get away with shit, and I don’t.”
With a sigh, I took the apple, then chomped down a noisy bite before speaking again. “What wonderful thing brings you to my office? Besides force feeding me, I mean. Please tell me it’s something good.”
She reached into her purse and dragged out a familiar phone. “I grabbed this by mistake when we had coffee this morning.”
I reached for it, and she pulled it away.
“I’m only giving it to you if you say you’ll call him,” she informed me.
“I’m not calling him.”
“Then at least text him back.”
“Text him back?”
She shot me an innocent look. “I may have accidentally seen a message.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You accidentally saw a message that requires you to enter my password?”
“I may also have accidentally entered your password.”
“Liv!”
“He wants to talk.”
“Too bad.”
“Come on, Aysia. You like him. Why are you tormenting yourself like this?”
“Because it contravenes company policy. Because he’s going to be my boss one day. Our boss, actually. And because it’s up to me what I do with my sex life and not up to you.”
“So you do like him.”
I made a frustrated noise. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“I only heard what you didn’t say,” Liv said.
“You’re making my headache worse. Can I have my phone?”
“Are you going to answer him?”
“Fine.”
She held out the slim device, but when my hands closed over it, she didn’t let go right away. Instead, her face turned serious.
“You know that I love you like a sister, right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“So you know I’d never tell you to do something I thought would hurt you.”
“I do know.”
“Good.” She released the phone and moved in for a hug. “I’m your favorite pain the ass, right?”
“A hundred percent,” I agreed as she released me.
“Call me after work?”
“You got it.”
I waited until the door was closed firmly behind her before I glanced down at my phone. My mouth was already dry, and I hadn’t even tapped the screen yet. Marc wanted to talk.
So why didn’t he just come and say so? I couldn’t very well turn him away or cause a scene while we were at work. But he probably wouldn’t use that to his advantage, either. He’d told me he could take no for an answer. And he’d been proving it all week. Not sneaking glances at mutual meetings. Smiling at me with his mouth but not with his eyes. And if I was being honest…I was more than a little disappointed at how easy he made it seem. Because for me, it wasn’t easy at all.
I ached when I looked at him. I ached when I didn’t look at him. I missed the stupid montage of romantic moments. I missed the feel of his hands on my body. I hadn’t even been able to make myself use good old Francois-the-Vibrator in his place. I knew it was dumb to feel the emptiness so strongly. I’d made it two and a half decades without being aware that Marcelo Diaz existed. So why did a week and a half of knowing him make such a hole in my life?
C’mon, Aysia. Just look at the stupid phone.
With hands that actually shook, I lifted it up and swiped. Marc’s name came up immediately. I was thankful that I’d forced myself to delete our previous conversation, glad that Liv hadn’t gotten a glimpse of further evidence of me “liking” the man. But it made me feel strangely sad to see a blank slate of text. Just the solitary line.
I want to talk, it read.
I bit my lip and typed back. Talk?
There was a too-long pause before a reply came back. About an HR issue.
Which is?
The dress code.
I frowned and wrote, What dress code?
The one that requires u not to dress so provocatively.
In spite of the fact that I was alone, my face heated. I threw a glance down at my clothes. Sure, my skirt was a bit…I don’t know…flouncy. If I spun, it might show some thigh. And my blouse was sleeveless and sheer at the shoulders. But my outfit wasn’t provocative by any stretch.
I don’t think that’s an appropriate comment, I informed him, hoping the tone came across as cool and collected.
I don’t think that’s an appropriate pair of underwear, Marc countered.
I couldn’t stifle a gasp. And I couldn’t stop myself from trying to remember what I’d tossed on this morning, either.
A black thong, I thought. Maybe with a little pink bow at the front?
But how would Marc know that? The answer was easy. He couldn’t.
Stop that, I typed.
Stop what?
Flirting with me.
I hate to break it to u, but after everything else I’ve done to u…flirting is the least of ur worries.
Now my face burned. My fingers flew furiously over the screen. But Marc was quicker.
Hot pink, he wrote. Little strip of lace up the back.
Automatically, my hand reached to the rear waistband of my skirt. A flick just underneath confirmed the familiar, stretchy tab at the back. Then I remembered. I’d been in a big rush this morning, and hadn’t been a
ble to find the black one with the bow. I’d grabbed the pink one at the last second. I’d asked Liv over coffee this morning if she could see it through my skirt.
“And apparently, she lied,” I grumbled.
I turned to the side, trying to see my reflection in the stainless steel doorframe. I got nothing but a blur of black. I brought my attention back to my phone. Once again Marc was faster.
I like it, actually, he’d texted. Wouldn’t mind seeing it up close.
What the hell is the matter with u? I wrote back.
Why are u pretending u don’t like this?
WE’RE AT WORK. STOP.
U can’t control my imagination. Work or no work.
STOP IT.
MAKE ME.
I couldn’t keep my feet from moving, even though I knew I should’ve. They’d each grown a brain of their own, and they were currently in charge. They marched me across my office. They gave my hands an order, and my hands obeyed, flinging the door open with all the subtlety of a drunk elephant. The metal and wood flew backwards and smacked the wall hard enough to make me jump. But my feet were still the boss. They clack-clacked my high heels over the floor, past the row of offices beside my own, then kept going, all the way to the end of the corridor. They issued another command, and my hand again complied. Without even a single knock, I yanked on Marc’s door. I stepped inside and slammed it shut. And there, my feet stopped at last. Just in time for my mouth to start.
“How dare you!” I yelled.
Marc eyed me nervously from behind his desk. “Aysia?”
“My underwear!”
“Your…what?”
“Underwear!”
He cleared his throat. “Um. Aysia.”
“What?”
He nodded his head, and I adjusted my gaze to look where he’d indicated.
Shit.
There was someone else in the room. A squat, bald man with a bowtie. Standing to the side near a shelf. Looking terribly confused and little scared, too.
And now my feet weren’t in charge. They were paralyzed.
“Errrrr,” I dragged out the strangled, nonsensical noise, my eyes flying from Marc to the stranger, then back again.
After Hours Page 16
