by Adele Huxley
When I joined Abi in her office, Lisa looked up over her glasses and set her phone down. “Two things. Abigail, you’re working on the celebrity cookbook ridiculousness, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I…”
Lisa waved her hand dismissively and turned toward the window. “You’re wasted on that. Hand it off to someone. Who’s the little mousy thing with the blonde hair?”
“Vanna?” I offered.
“Is that really her name? Christ. Whatever,” she said, shaking off the thought and focusing on Abi once more. “Give it to her. I need you on the Linsdale project.”
Watching Abi peripherally, I’m surprised she didn’t wet herself with glee. The book was an odd blend of fiction and autobiography written by the eccentric celebrity, Alan Linsdale. The marketing team had already designed an insane multimedia campaign and being picked to work on the project was a real honor. I did my best to keep a neutral expression, but inside loathed that she’d been chosen. She would be insufferable.
“Thank you so much. I won’t let you down,” Abi beamed. She shot me a smug look when Lisa wasn’t looking.
“Talia. I have a new project for you as well. An autobiography.”
“Great!” I said a little too enthusiastically. To be honest, I was thrilled to work on anything with a bit of meat.
Lisa glanced at a sheet on her desk, furrowing her brow. “A Clint English? I haven’t read it, but Susan assures me it’s good.” She tossed a thick, closed manila envelope to the edge and sat down. “I know you like to edit freehand, but I’ve had her email you a copy as well.”
“Thank you. I’m excited to start on it.”
She held me to the spot with her piercing blue eyes. “You really should embrace technology. This is no industry for a Luddite.”
“Yes ma’am, I know.”
She regarded us a few moments in silence more before scoffing. “What are you waiting for? Go. Work. Edit.”
We both jumped. I grabbed the manuscript from the desk and gave her a broad smile she didn’t notice, nose already back in her phone. “Earn your paycheck. Those Ivy League degrees won’t pay for themselves, will they?” she called out as we left.
Abi stopped at her office, hers being closer than mine. “Don’t,” I said, holding up a finger as I strode past. She took every chance she could to point out the differences in our education. “Your lack of originality bores me.” With a hidden smile as she sputtered behind me, I dove into the manuscript.
The dense jungle canopy blocked most of the sunlight. It was hard to determine what time of day it was… how long I’d been walking… how long it’d been since I’d escaped from the rebels. Too many times in my life I’d found myself in situations just like this. At least I’d had a gun strapped to my back then. I found it was easiest to go deep within, find a quiet space, and discover a steady rhythm to your footfalls. Climbing over roots and fallen branches broke up the cadence, but it made the journey bearable.
It’s like driving on a highway late at night. The world becomes black and white. The steady pace of the car, the flow of the lines gliding across your vision, the hum of the engine. It’s easy to slip and lose concentration. Walking like this, especially after months of deprivation, put me in a dream-like state.
There are hundreds of ways to die in the jungle; insects, predators, dehydration, poisoning, injury. While I hadn’t planned on being in the jungle in the first place, I counted myself as lucky to be equipped with enough knowledge I could escape, hopefully unscathed. But all the knowledge in the world didn’t save me from a random act of clumsiness.
The adrenaline and fear of escaping had tempered to a dull thrum in my body, probably the only thing propelling me forward. The beat of my footsteps coupled with little sleep lulled my senses. A large tree had recently fallen across the animal path, probably from the horrendous storm several nights before. Overconfident in my abilities, I launched myself over the top. Normally, an obstacle like this wouldn’t even slow me down. But I had no food, no sleep, and had been locked in a small cage for nearly a year. My mind thought my body was capable of more.
I planted my hand on the side, tried to side-jump over, and knew instantly I was in trouble. My toe caught on the slippery bark and before I had a chance to yell out in surprise, I was toppling over the edge.
I heard the crack before I felt the pain, but nothing compares to the sight. When I looked down at my ankle…
“Talia, do you have a minute?”
Lisa’s voice dragged me from the manuscript. The story was so enthralling, I’d dropped my pen and was just reading. I started as my gaze locked onto a gorgeous man standing beside her.
“Of course, Lisa. How can I help?” I asked, unable to pull my eyes off him.
No. Not gorgeous. Perfect. Have you ever seen someone so attractive you’re convinced they have to be from another planet? They must be some alien species that’s come to Earth and tried to hide in an artificial man suit. The alien thinks they’re blending in but their beauty and perfection makes them stand out. Denzel Washington, Scarlett Johansson, and then this guy.
“Talia, I’d like to introduce Clint English.”
He took a step forward into my office and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure.” His deep voice was tinged with an accent, but I hadn’t heard enough to place it.
I jumped up to move around the side of the desk and meet his hand, completely forgetting I’d slipped my feet out of my shoes while reading. I caught myself from totally face-planting on the sharp corner, but knocked over a coffee cup of pens for my effort.
“Sorry, so sorry,” I muttered, as I righted myself and shook his hand. “Wonderful to meet you.” His face had wiped my mind blank. I vaguely recognized his name but struggled to place it.
This had to be a horrible stress dream. I was flushed, tongue-tied, barefoot, and ignoring the daggers my boss was firing at me. His hand was strong yet surprisingly soft. His green eyes held me, twinkling with amusement. Jesus, he’s sexy. It felt like the handshake had gone on far too long, so I yanked my hand away and cleared my throat.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“First it was wonderful and now it’s nice? I think that’s the fastest I’ve disappointed a woman,” he said with a throaty laugh. “Wait until you read my book.”
He’s the author? I figured he was some crusty old man, not… this. “No! You’re far from a disappointment,” I heard myself say. To be fair, it sounded a lot better in my head.
His lip curled at one corner, a dimple forming just under his designer stubble. I finally placed his English accent and nearly made a joke about his last name just to fill the heartbeat of silence. Lisa thankfully cut in and saved me before I could further embarrass myself.
“As I was saying, I so respect that you wrote the novel yourself, especially with your busy schedule. You’re in very capable hands here with Talia. She’ll take great care of your manuscript.”
“Her hands do seem quite capable.”
I laughed a little too loudly, my nerves amplifying the sound beyond anything I should’ve made in such a small space. My pulsing face was probably as red as a tomato. Not for the first moment in my life, I wished I had the ability to stop time, rewind a few seconds, and start over.
“Her hands do seem quite capable,” I imagined him saying again.
“Of so many things,” would’ve been my witty retort.
Lisa gave me a pointed look, obviously regretting this meeting. “Mr. English was just stopping by. I thought to introduce you,” she said as she put a hand on his arm and tried to guide him away.
“I look forward to working with you, Talia,” he said politely, reaching for my hand again. I’ve never heard my name roll of a tongue like that before.
“Oh no, you won’t really be working with her, per se. She’ll go through your work, make her marks, and…”
“And if I want to work closely with her, Ms. Greene?” he asked. The sudden firmness in his voice made my knees a bit weak
. Plus, it was satisfying to see Lisa rocked back for once.
“Well, it’s not traditionally how we do things,” she said, quickly collecting herself. “But then again, you aren’t a traditional kind of man, are you Mr. English?”
I had to respect her composure and grace, even if it made me feel more juvenile in my lack. She recovered so fast, I wondered if I’d imagined the ferocity in his comment.
Clint scratch at the stubble on his cheek, apparently surprised at his own reaction. “I apologize if that came off gruff. It’s just that this project,” he said looking over my shoulder to the manuscript on my desk, “is quite important to me.”
“Of course! Anything you need or want,” Lisa added. “Here, let me walk you out.”
Clint reached for my hand again. “Pleasure.”
My throat made some horrible sound that was supposed to be a goodbye. I tripped over that one word, pleasure. Obviously, he meant “It was a pleasure,” or “pleasure to meet you.” But all my thoughts stuttered to a stop when I interpreted it as a suggestion… or maybe an offer. The pleasure is all mine.
As I watched the pair stroll away down the hall, the last voice I wanted to hear intruded on my thoughts. “How old are you exactly? God, it’s like being back in high school.” Abi stood on the other side of the hall with her arms crossed, wearing a smug expression.
“What do you know about high school, huh? I imagine you were like Diane Fossey in the jungle, taking notes on how the normal popular people behaved.” I craned my neck to the front office door, watching Clint and Lisa chat for a moment. Is there an angle that man doesn’t look good from? He’s like a walking Instagram filter, I wondered.
Abi’s expression clouded, and I knew I was about to get a lesson in Beckett family history. “If you must know, my school didn’t have childish cliques like that. We cared about, you know, learning. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that with your public education,” she sneered.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like you earned a position at that private school, Abi. Your family is rich. Congrats on getting everything handed to you. It’s amazing I can understand anything you say with that silver spoon shoved so far down your throat.” I turned to walk away, not really feeling up to having the same argument we’d rehashed a dozen times before. I suspected it might even be worse after Lisa had puffed up her ego with the project reassignment.
“You don’t know the first thing about my life,” Abi said, her voice climbing the octaves with each word. “You think you can just say something like that and…” She trailed off as Lisa returned, already speaking to me before reaching the office.
“Talia, please. I thought of all people, I could trust you to…” she paused, glancing to Abi as she approached from the side. She stood there smirking like a crony, basking in my embarrassment. “I don’t know what you’re grinning about. Mr. English’s book is the most important project we’re working on at the moment. He has superstar written all over him. That’s why I trusted Talia with the manuscript.”
The abject dejection behind Abi’s fake frames was hard not to smile at. She squeaked an apology and quickly scurried out of sight.
“Whatever that man wants, you give it to him. Understand?”
“Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Lisa,” I replied like I was at boot camp.
She took two steps and grabbed the frame, leaning back into the office. “And for God’s sake, put on a pair of shoes. This isn’t Coney Island.”
“Here, listen to this one,” I said as I flipped through to another marked page in the manuscript. Anette was at the little kitchenette table eating a quick dinner before work while Zach reclined on the sofa. I was spread out on the floor with an array of markers and pens scattered around me.
“‘I wiped my palm on my dirty pants, the hilt of the knife slipping with sweat. The heat of the jungle was relentless. I thought I hated the sounds of all the birds and bugs until they disappeared. The new silence was deafening. Someone was out there. I’d memorized the area, able to move around the perimeter without making a sound. Every one of my senses worked on overdrive and for a moment, I thought I could smell their cologne.’”
“This is such over-dramatic bullshit,” Zach whined.
I ignored him and finished the section. “‘How many were out there? One? Five? Would they rush the camp all at once? I briefly considered waking the sleeping men just behind me, but reasoned it could wait until I was sure we were in direct threat… and only if I needed their help. I swallowed my fear and pressed forward. Fear is the worst reason to keep from moving forward.’”
I looked to Anette who gave me an approving nod. “Pretty badass. He was in the Army?”
“British Army, SAS,” I replied, closing the manuscript and tapping the paper on the floor. “I don’t know what to make of it. The more I read, the more it feels like some grandpa rattling off stories from his glory days. At first it was interesting, but now…”
Her eyes lit up. She poked her spoon at me as she started to connect the dots. “This guy isn’t some old crusty soldier, is he? Mr. English is actually Hottie McSexypants!”
I chewed on my lip and grinned, my only reply. There was no way in hell I could conceal my reaction.
“He’s English and his name is English?” Zach scoffed, swinging his feet to the floor with a thump. “That’s predictable.”
“Whatever. You’re just jealous. The only danger you face is having to walk across your nasty-ass floor without tripping on something,” Anette laughed, tossing her bowl into the sink. “You should ask him out.”
I balked, pushing myself up to sitting. “You don’t even know what he looks like.”
Anette’s lip curled in a know-it-all grin. “Yeah, but I can tell from your expression he’s far from ugly. You’ve been talking about him nonstop since you got home. I can see those cartoon hearts in your eyes from way over here.”
“He’s interesting,” I countered, hoping my indignation would sound genuine. It didn’t. I sounded like a teenager defending her crush.
Her smile broadened, but she didn’t press further. “Yeah, okay. Well, looks aren’t everything anyway.”
Our kitchen was less of a room and more of an open corner. Apparently people in Manhattan simply didn’t cook enough to dedicate an entire room to it. One tiny counter, a half-sized oven, a little sink, some cupboards, and a fridge. Not even big enough for two people to stand in at the same time. So when Anette walked past to flop on the sofa, I jumped to my feet and grabbed my leftover Chinese food out of the fridge.
“Looks are a hell of a lot, though,” Zach said as he shifted over to give her room. “If a girl isn’t at least average looking, I don’t see the point. I may not even look in her direction. And that’s not me just being full of myself, that’s just biology. The better something looks, the more we’re attracted to it. You can’t seriously tell me you’d date someone ugly?”
I sat at our little two-seater table and ate my dinner cold. Anette nodded and tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully, making a show of considering his comment. “You know, you might have a point. You’re butt-ugly and I wouldn’t date you, so…”
“I don’t have the right equipment,” Zach said as he wiggled his flat chest.
She laughed and pinched his cheek as he made a face in response. “But really, I don’t see anything wrong with going on a few dates with an uggo, no? They might have a great personality. A great personality can turn a frog into a princess, you know.”
Zach thrust his hands out as if her statement had sealed his victory. “There you go. The death knell for ugly people everywhere. And God forbid you’re ugly and a shithead.”
“So you’re saying you could have an absolutely amazing time with someone, and if you don’t find them attractive, that’s it? You’d never see them again? Just delete them from your phone contacts list and everything?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.
Zach smiled and pinched her cheek in the same way. “Well that can’t be true,
‘cause I’m looking at you right now.”
“Ha, ha. Eff you.”
“Real talk? No. I don’t see the point in dating someone you don’t find attractive. Like, for instance, I swiped right on this girl the other day…”
“Swiped right?” I asked with a mouth full of food.
“Tinder,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “So, she seemed nice enough, we agreed to meet for drinks. I show up to the bar…”
“Tinder! Yes! That’s it!” Anette exclaimed as she jumped to the arm of the sofa and waved a finger at me. “We need to get you on Tinder.”
“I wasn’t talking or anything,” Zach muttered, running his hand through his hair.
I chewed slowly as the pair stared at me, one eager, the other dubious. “Isn’t that the hookup app? I want to date a normal person, not have a series of unfulfilling one-night-stands.”
“They could be very fulfilling. It’s just another way for people to meet each other.”
“Come on,” Zach said rolling his eyes.
“What? It is!” Anette defended.
“To meet each other for sex,” he clarified. It wasn’t like him to be so protective, so it reaffirmed my hesitation.
Anette frowned at him. “What is she, Zach, a five-year-old? You sure you don’t want to start spelling words in front of her instead?” She met my eye and gave me a quick wink but still held him to the spot.
He groaned in frustration. “It attracts creeps and assholes and people she shouldn’t be…”
“I am in the room, you know,” I cut in. “And besides, you’re on there, right? So which are you, the creep or the asshole?”
Anette snorted and gave me an air high-five as Zach blinked back and forth between us, his mouth working like a fish out of water. He had no reply.
Anette jumped off the sofa and plucked my phone from the table. “First thing we need to do is take a few photos. Get over in front of the window and pretend you’re looking at something incredibly funny to the side. Shoo shoo, up you go.”
