by Ellie Hall
Also known as Mr. Wrong and Mr. Enigma who likely is the person behind the Proxy Project. I just want to get him to admit it. But he won’t. Shaw is as tightlipped as ever.
He’s the quintessential grumpy boss, taking dating off the table. Not that it ever was. I’m married to my work. No room for men. Nuh uh. @PacManWizard was a brief interlude and this guy definitely is not Mr. Right. There’s no way Shaw can redeem himself. No way. No how.
I even made a Grumpy Boss Checklist (Yes, he ticks every box):
-Moody in the morning, even after he has his coffee (I went so far as to get some special, fair-trade beans from Brazil. My sentimentality made no difference.)
-Anytime I suggest something, he glares at me with flat eyes and looks exactly like the grumpy cat meme. I even sent him a graphic saying, “It you!” The guy didn’t even crack a smile.
-Then, there were these gems, right out of the caiman’s mouth:
“I hate this place.” Said no less than twelve times. Did he think he was alone in the office? Me too, buddy. But if you despise it so much, quit!
“I didn’t ask for your input.” He said that when I suggested we get doughnuts for everyone. What kind of monster is he?
Then, the granddaddy, “If you can’t do this then I’ll find someone else...”
To which I replied, “No you will not.” Then he smiled slightly, and I got the feeling it was a tough-love move. Yes, I was whining and complaining about a complication I came across. And he pushed my buttons, knowing I’m competitive and wouldn’t let some stupid computer program get the better of me.
Seriously, who peed in his cornflakes?
It. Wasn’t. Me. That’s going too far.
I’m miserable and want him to feel as awful as me. Blakely’s comment in our group text from the other day floats in and out of my mind. She said I already did make him miserable. Why doesn’t she understand that’s not true? He was the one who reunited with the leggy glamazon, deceiving and leaving me in the lurch.
I could really go for one of Daisy’s hugs right now.
Shaw jars me from my thoughts...and the gangsta rap I’m listening to because I’m in a mood, people. And I want to feel hardcore and not soft in the middle like I do whenever I think about Shaw which is all day because he’s two feet away from me.
“Link up with me.”
No excuse me. No please.
“Grump.”
If you’re wondering about his comment, it’s a computer thing, so we’re in the same program at the same time.
I type in the command and push enter.
Oh, and the confusing part. I’m wearing pants today and pretty sure my leg doesn’t, in any way, resemble the metal pole of a table or a desk. Why this strange not-analogy? Because Shaw’s ankle finds its way to rest against my leg repeatedly. It’s happened seven times. Yes, I’m counting. I could go to HR about this. Also, the desk’s legs are on the outside. Like a desk. I may be his personal assistant, but I draw the line at foot rest.
I don’t entirely mind the warm, solid weight. It’s kind of endearing or would be if the leg belonged to @PacManWizard. I sure did imagine us in a coworking space. Don’t judge.
Shaw’s leg moves away from mine and I’m suddenly cold.
“Going to be out of the office tomorrow. Meeting. Think you can handle this on your own?” His clipped words make me think he doesn’t even want to expend the effort to talk to me properly. Old thoughts about my self-worth and the hits it took in my last serious relationship tangle up in my mind. I’ll sort that out later. I can’t show any weakness in front of this man. I’m now his secretary. I’m hanging onto my job by a thread.
I lean back in my chair, plant my feet on the ground and cradle my head in my hands, in a full-on gangsta spread. See, I really should be in the movies.
I’ll call Paisley later.
“I was born for this,” I say, stopping just short of trying to imitate an actual gangster’s accent.
“I know.” I’m pretty sure Shaw winks. Or had something in his eye—more likely the case.
I won’t let him get away with it. “I have some eye wash if you need it.”
“Hmm. Get the results from the test for the intestinal parasite yet? I want to be careful not to share anything if you think you’re contagious.”
“What? Like spit?” I could spit in his eye.
“For the,” he counts on his fingers, “ninth time, I didn’t spit in your sandwich.”
“I’m too much of a lady to point out that we did, in fact, swap spit already.”
His brow furrows. “You just pointed it out...again.”
I fold my arms in front of my chest. “You’re too proud to admit you know I’m being immature and that there’s no such stomach parasite.”
He points at me. “Ha! I knew it.”
I peer out the window and wave. “There goes your pride.”
“You’re too stubborn to admit that I’m right,” he says.
“Are you calling me a donkey?”
He almost smiles. “I thought you said you liked mules.”
“Donkeys are not mules. But what do you mean? Right about what?”
He mumbles something...could’ve been the word us or fuss or cuss. I’m not sure. He’s fuming and stomps out of here.
The second I hear the elevator ding, I pull out my shiny new phone. I considered getting a custom case with Shaw’s face and a big red circle and X through it, but I settled on some pink bling. I ring Paisley.
She answers, “What’s the emergency? You never call. Always text. Are you okay? Are you stuck somewhere?”
“No, that was last week. The whole stranded in the rainforest thing. No, I’m confused.” I tell her about Shaw’s mixed messages.
“You know I adore you, but you’ve created enough drama to have your own television special.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“That you’re overly dramatic?”
“What? No, about breaking into your industry.”
“You want to become a lawyer?” Paisley asks.
“I’m confused,” I repeat. She’s an attorney, but I was referring to film and TV. Rather, her fiancé’s business.
“About your feelings for Shaw.”
“No. Yes.”
“Well, you have to marry him now what with the pact and all.”
“How did we get from @PacManWizard, the guy of my nerdy little dreams to meeting Shaw, who happened to be the same person, to him cozying up with Glamazon after we’d kissed in the jungle, to me now being his assistant, to he and I tying the knot?” I attempt to connect the dots.
“Yeah, that’s a lot to follow, but there’s the pact. The dare. The Forever Marriage Match. You have to do it.”
“I think the glamazon will have something to say about that. Also, last I checked, in order to do so, both parties have to willfully say I do.”
“Have you talked to him?” Paisley asks.
“Unfortunately, I have to talk to him every day. We share an office, remember? Are you even paying attention?” Exasperation and not annoyance fill my voice. There’s a difference. Mostly, it’s directed at me and as someone who’s known me pretty much my entire life, Paisley is well aware of that.
“Have you talked to Shaw about what happened?”
“No. Are you crazy?”
“Yeah. Crazy enough to envision a future with Jason Cobb.” Exasperation or annoyance fills Paisley’s voice. Surprisingly, all things considered, I’m not sure which. “Talk to him like an adult, you noodle.”
“I’ve been experimenting with homemade pasta lately.”
“Don’t get off subject. You called me, remember?”
“I know, but they’re not turning out right. Too thin. Too thick. I don’t know. I can’t get them to turn out just right.”
“Mr. Right.”
“Shaw? No, no, no.”
“You said it. Not me. Listen, I have to scoot. Jason’s assistant is calling.”
&nbs
p; I frown because that’s not the same as Jason calling. Let’s hope Shaw doesn’t have me call Glamazon. That would push me over the edge.
After saying goodbye, I lean back in the chair. Not gangsta lean. More like, tip my head back and gaze contemplatively at the ceiling.
The thing is, I’ve already gone over the edge. Shaw and I jumped. I landed just fine. Maybe I will this time too. Although, I wouldn’t mind landing in a giant bowl of homemade noodles.
I go back to my computer to finish the work I started today, but hit a glitch, repeatedly. I get the blue screen of death. I do all the basic things to fix it. Thankfully, my coding was saved to our cloud and I just need a different computer to login with.
Shaw’s matte black laptop sits open the desk opposite me—so masculine. So like him. Likely, the star screensaver is running, meaning I’m locked out. I can fix my laptop, but want to get this last thing done and then go home and make pasta.
I try a few more diagnostics when Shaw appears.
My insides jumble and freeze like my laptop when he’s around. It’s not fair. This was why sticking to online flirting was safer.
“Forgot something.” He fiddles with his computer and then says, “Monday,” before dashing out the door.
I hardly notice his strong stride and the muscles that hide beneath his dark blue button-down. Yesterday he wore yellow, which really highlighted his tan from living in California. He didn’t shave this morning, which I kind of like because it reminds me of when we kissed.
No, I hardly notice any of this.
At least he didn’t pop back in when I was on the phone with Paisley. My computer still won’t run properly so I scurry to the other side of the desk. Sure enough, Shaw’s computer hums to life. He must not have shut it down. Odd. I’ll have to talk to him, of all people, about personal internet safety.
I will not look at any of his personal files. I will not.
You may be surprised, but I don’t. I do have some boundaries. I go straight to the network, login, and finish up my tasks for the day.
Mila texts saying she’s going on her third date with a guy and is wondering if I plan on using the television tonight. I guess they’ve been talking about binging a new show that’s streaming. Netflix and hang out or whatever.
I was looking forward to making pasta, but I’ll have to put it off until tomorrow night because as much as I appreciate two people who’re at that sweet stage of falling in love, I’d rather not be a fly on the wall.
Instead, of hiding out in my room tonight, I wiggle the mouse on Shaw’s computer, bringing it back to life. No, I’m not going to look at his personal files or photo albums or anything like that. As I already mentioned, boundaries. I’m going to work like I always do.
Maybe, if I get ahead tonight, I can leave early tomorrow afternoon and feast on homemade pasta. The thought fuels me until I go to move a file into the completed folder and get an error. I take a look and instantly recognize a string of code.
It repeats. Rebounds. Boomerangs back on itself.
Realization doesn’t hit me like a freight train or a ton of bricks. No, it’s slow, one symbol of code at a time until it’s clear that Shaw has been having me rewrite the Proxy Protocol...from the beginning.
What took him years, at least I’m assuming, took me just over two weeks. Granted, some shortcuts and advancements likely didn’t exist when he started this, but still, it’s very advanced.
He’d said, “Think you can handle this?” Actually, his last words were, “Monday,” but before that.
I told him I was born for this. That might be a tad extreme because I’d like to think my purpose on this planet goes beyond computer coding, but at this moment, I feel well-equipped to troubleshoot the problem with the Proxy.
The sun sets outside the large glass window casting the office in a gradient of grays and purples. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I try code after code.
There are all the obvious fixes. They’re things Shaw would’ve thought to test already.
I can do better than this.
Anything he can do, I can do feta.
I sit back and think. This time, instead of going deep into the recesses of my mind, I focus on the obvious.
I like Shaw a lot. He’s handsome and strong and protected me in the jungle. Also, he’s funny, sweet, and is a nerd like me. There are two sides to him—not in a split personality kind of way, but multi-faceted, a three-dimensional person.
Too bad he’s with Glamazon.
I jerk to sitting. Yes, thinking about 3D and a woman with long legs leads me to a potential fix for the boomerang code. Code is a language, telling the computer what to do, 3D code can tell a computer how to do it. In this case, legs, to walk away from, instead of return to the origin point. It’s really advanced and tricky because you can overwrite everything, but I’m going to try it.
Once more, my fingers fly over the keyboard. Before I click enter to execute the command, I take a deep breath. Even if it doesn’t work and I fail, at least I know I tried.
If I could say the same about Shaw, I might be able to sleep tonight.
I push the button and squish my eyes shut.
The ping sound comes followed by another...from the HUB.
19
Shaw
Getting my new business off the ground will probably take as many hours and as much effort as when I started DigiPower, but this time it’s all on my terms. Creating a program to get kids excited about the outdoors and technology hardly feels like work. I even got a new laptop to keep my almost-former work separate from the new venture.
DigiPower was more of an escape.
This is a passion.
So is Cora.
She changed me in every way. For the first time in a long time, I’ve thought about someone other than myself. Not because I have to but because I want to. She fills up my thoughts and what once felt like an empty part of my chest. It’s not about me. It’s us.
Or was.
Every spare moment, I try to find her blog and social media accounts. I’m not trying to be a creeper, but I want to know more. Then my heart stutters. What if I can’t find them because she deleted them? What if she wiped herself clean off the internet?
My throat tightens. Then something obvious lands in my mind. I open up the app on my phone and type in @CookClickChick. I never thought to try the same handle on social media as she used on the HUB, but it can’t hurt to check.
The page loads. There, in the upper left-hand corner is a photo of a girl with caramel-colored hair and forest-green eyes—she’s holding a cookie the size of her face and trying to dip it into an ordinary-sized glass of milk.
I was right about her being a cookies and milk kind of person. She’s also funny and brave and smart.
So smart, I am certain she figured out what I could not. I even left my computer on and suspended the screensaver in case she got nosy and wanted to see what I’ve already tried. All the files are on my laptop.
I wouldn’t be surprised or blame her if she snooped around. Then again, she hates me, so maybe not.
Beneath Cora’s pic, it says Computer geeks can cook too followed by several emojis. I scroll the mouth-watering images of pancakes, brunch foods, sandwiches, salads, savories, and delicious-looking desserts.
I found @CookClickChick. Where I expect zips of excitement to whizz through me, instead my emotions move at a dull, mopey pace.
We can’t go back to the way things were when it was just @CookClickChick and @PacManWizard on the HUB, but I also can’t figure out where things went wrong.
Was it something I said? Did? Do I smell bad? I frown, likely after being in the jungle for a few days without a shower I was a bit ripe.
What was the deal-breaker?
I was correct about Simon and Rick’s plan but managed to make sure Cora kept her job, or rather a job, by ensuring she became my assistant. It’s all for her benefit. Not mine. I’m out of there on Monday. As soon as they find out she finishe
d the Proxy Project, she’ll be invaluable to employers. And because I fancy myself clever, she’ll get all the credit. She’ll own the technological property, meaning she’ll have the leverage to do whatever she wants—stay at DigiPower, go elsewhere, or cook to her heart’s content.
After refreshing the page, I close my eyes, thinking about what to do. Before I can convince myself otherwise, I bypass the blocks that I placed on my home computer and log onto the HUB. I send Cora a direct message along the lines of the one she first posted, looking for help for a security fix.
@PacManWizard: Hi, I’m having a hard time finding this girl I met in the Amazon and if I don’t, I’m afraid I won’t be able to prevent heartbreak.
It isn’t as clever as some of my other messages, but I have to try. I open a window and do some work on the new website. I repeatedly check the HUB, but she leaves me unopened. I visit her blog and browse the recipes and accompanying articles for hours. I fall in love with her all over again and I’m hungry.
Hungry for a delicious meal and hungry for Cora. I’m empty without her in my life—virtual and real. I’d give anything to go back to being friends online at the very least.
I leave her one more message before heading out to get something to eat.
@PacManWizard: There’s a place on Commonwealth Avenue called the Rainforest Restaurant. I’m guessing your food would blow theirs out of the water, but after browsing all your photos, I’m starving. If you’re hungry or want to talk, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Reservation is under Shaw of the Jungle.
It’s been years since I lived in Boston, but these crooked, tangled-up streets are the same as they ever were. Many restaurants and stores are long gone, but new ones have popped up, including the Rainforest Restaurant. It’s mainly targeted toward family dining, but it’s as close as I can come to being back in the Amazon with Cora.
The host leads me to a table by the water and light show that comes on every hour complete with animatronic jungle animals. The waitstaff sings along. It reminds me of singing in the actual rainforest with Cora.
