Taken By Surprise

by Jessica Frances

  ***

  Wednesday comes around quickly and I again find myself staring at Joel. Even though I have wondered if I should try to move things forward with him, I’ve been way too chicken to actually make a move. Deep down, I know I won’t. I’ll merely make an idiot out of myself and my remaining week and a half will end right there in mortification.

  Joel was hired a few weeks ago to help me convert the files onto the computer. There were thousands and my boss was only on maternity leave for six more months.

  Joel is ridiculously attractive with an air of confidence about him. He always wears fitted suits and looks like he has just left some model shoot before work. While he is nice to look at, he’s not much for conversation. Actually, I’m not normally one for conversation, so maybe I’m setting the mood. I just can’t help staring at him sometimes. He’s tall, has dark hair that sits perfect no matter how much it rains outside; sometimes my fingers itch to run my hands through it. His eyes are always intense and I often lose myself in a fantasy at work where he would grab me and pull me into an embrace, his eyes lost in my own. Often, after these moments, I’m unable to even glance his way for long periods of time while I wait for my blushing cheeks to subside. A small, paranoid part of me fears he can somehow see what I’m thinking just by looking at me.

  The most annoying thing about him, though, is that I’ve found myself liking him even though the only thing I know about him is that he’s good looking. I’ve always detested people who chose a person based on looks rather than personality and I vowed never to become one of them, yet here I am, acting like a giggly schoolgirl all because, working behind me, is possibly the hottest guy I have ever seen. It also doesn’t help that he smells so good. Every day, he walks into our small office and every day, I’m overwhelmed by his cologne. Whatever it is, it smells divine.

  He’s never brought anything personal into the office like a photo of a girlfriend, therefore I still can’t be sure about that. I often sense his eyes on my back, but when I turn to look at him, he’s never looking near me. Although I’ve seen him chatting with the girls at the front desk.

  Those girls are all blonde, skinny and fake—fake tan, fake bleach blonde hair and they all wear way too much makeup. At lunch they all munch on celery sticks like it’s the most delicious thing ever and they always have a phony smile plastered across their faces when they speak to the lawyers. Their high pitched voices grate on my nerves and their laugh makes me think of nails scratching on a chalk board. I hate how false they are and I refuse to get sucked in.

  Joel apparently doesn’t mind it. I think he might have even gone on a date with one of them. That is the rumor anyway. I try not to listen to them, but sometimes when you’re in the lunch room things are said that you can’t help overhearing. I’m probably biased because, when I first started working here, I overheard them all gossiping about me. It’s strange to be gossiped about; in the past I wasn’t important enough to be talked about. My wonder was short lived when I heard what they were saying.

  I know that I’m short, too skinny and plain. I wish I had long legs. I yearn to be naturally tanned. I long for sexy curves and have an overwhelming desire that there be something interesting about me. However, I don’t have any of those things. I’m plain, boring Zoe. I always have been and I feel comfortable in long skirts or pants. I don’t flaunt myself because I don’t think I have anything to flaunt. So when I listened to them all talking about how horribly I dress and how I really should be wearing make-up to fix the natural dark rings under my eyes or more jewelry to take the attention off my flat, boring, straight hair, I took offense. I wanted to jump out from around the corner and yell that they all were horrible people. Instead, I couldn’t face the humiliation of causing a scene and having to tell anyone else what they’d said. So I left work early and cried to Dana about it. From then on, they were known to me only as the blonde fakes.

  As I’m leaving work, I see a message on my cell from Dana, cancelling our catch-up for that night. I’m disappointed we aren’t going to meet up since, if I do decide to believe my dream, then my time with Dana is limited. Plus, now I’ll just be going home to an empty house. Mom is a workaholic and the earliest she is ever home is ten at night. How am I supposed to spend more time with her when I can’t even get a few minutes with her?

  The message from Dana does remind me about what I’m meant to be doing for her sales, though. A smile flits across my lips as I walk out into the foyer and pause to watch the blonde fakes sitting at their desk, talking in loud, high-pitched voices. I overhear them talking about one of the junior associates asking fake blonde with the bright-pink, talon-like nails out for a drink and how she turned him down by telling him she couldn’t be seen socializing with someone like him in public.

  My blood boils at how horrible they all are. So I take several deep breaths and then walk up to them and lean on the desk, interrupting their animated conversation. I have to blink several times as my eyes water from the fumes of perfume rolling off them. How can they even breathe in this?

  “Can we help you with something?” one of the blonde fakes asks me. Under her breath, she mutters, “Perhaps with some fashion tips?” They all smirk at each other and I try to hold back my glare. It’s better for me if they think I didn’t hear her.

  “Hey, I just wanted to let you know that a friend of mine works over at this bookstore a few blocks away and it’s awesome. It’s called A Novel Idea on Spring Lane.”

  “Why are you telling us?” the blonde with the pink nails asks. She has a blank look on her face, as if the idea of reading makes her brain hurt. I know books won’t be an in with these girls, however I have a plan.

  “There is this really hot guy that works there. Like Chris Evans hot. And he’s recently single. I promised him I would send some prospects his way to cheer him up. I thought you girls might like to go check him out.”

  “Chris Evans? As in the actor?” I have their attention now.

  “Yep, and a good way to get him to notice you is to buy books. He loves a girl who reads.” I struggle to keep a straight face.

  “What’s his name?” Another blonde fake pipes up.

  “Tim. He works every weekday, all day.”

  “Why haven’t you gone for him? Why tell us about him?” This one sounds suspicious, although I see a smirk behind her eyes.

  “He’s just a friend, like a brother. I could never date him.” I start to turn away, but blonde fake with the nails is being persistent.

  “What about Joel? Is he just a friend? You guys spend all day together in that office, most times with the door closed.”

  I discreetly roll my eyes at her. Like they even have to worry about that; Joel is out of my league and they already think I look plain and boring. Why do they think Joel would disagree?

  “Trust me; he’s all yours.”

  I turn around and walk out, hearing them say thanks to me as I leave. I hope it’s enough to get them into the store. I’m sure they’re at least interested and Tim won’t disappoint. Well, not when they see him, but he will disappoint them when they expect him to ask them out because he most certainly won’t. He’ll definitely disappoint them if they have the courage to ask him out because, although he did just end a relationship, it was with his boyfriend, Peter.