Page 74 of All's Well that Friends Well
My smile fades, though, and I grimace when I add one more thing to my mental to-do list: talk to her. Or, more specifically,have a talkwith her. I have to make sure she understands what our relationship will look like going forward.
Because we may have kissed, and we may have enjoyed it. We may have shared things with each other that were far more intimate than normal coworkers would share. But when all is said and done, she’ll be my assistant starting Monday.
The exhale that escapes my lips is rough as I pull into a parking space. Then I grab my phone and hit number one on my favorites list of contacts.
Rod answers after three rings.
“What?” he barks. He’s not grumpy; it’s just how he answers the phone.
“I need to talk to you about something,” I say heavily. “You’re in Boulder for a while, right? Can I come over there later?”
There’s a rare hesitation from his end of the line, maybe because he can hear how off my voice sounds. Then he says, “I’m already on my way to Lucky. There are a few last thingsI need to work out in the HR office, and I needed to drop by to talk to you about something too.”
I nod. What does he need to talk to me about? “I’ll see you here, then,” I say, because I know Rodney won’t tell me until he’s good and ready. “Later.”
Rod grunts his goodbye and then hangs up; I do the same. My steps are brisk as I enter the building through the side stairwell so I don’t have to go through the storefront. When I get to my office, I inhale deeply without even thinking about it, and sure enough, there’s the strawberry shortcake scent I will forever associate with Juliet. I peek into my trash can to find it empty, lined with a new liner.
She’s been here already this morning, before I arrived, just like I asked.
My mouth goes dry when my gaze shifts to the edge of the desk, the place she sat and kissed me, her arms tight around me, eager, wanting?—
“Stop it,” I mutter. I toss my briefcase down beside my chair and then reach over to turn the desk lamp on.
The light it casts is still sad and yellow. Maybe Juliet was right. Maybe I should get one of those sun lamps. It certainly wouldn’t hurt anything. It might even help.
I could use help right now. I’m in an odd headspace; definitely feeling the effects of a good night’s sleep, but distracted, too. I’m so distracted waiting for Rod, in fact, and thinking about what I’m going to say to Juliet, that I do nothing but drift inefficiently around my office for the next twenty minutes—although I do stick my head out of the office and tell everyone good morning on my trip to the break room for a mug of tea. I get a few surprised looks at this, but a few responses as well, some of them even friendly.
I can’t explain the sense of satisfaction I get from this.I’m not a warm, fuzzy guy. But I appreciate a plan well executed and concrete results.
I hold on to this feeling as I mill around the break room, letting it bolster me as my mind works. The discussion I need to have with Juliet could go many ways, but it’s better to get it over with—even if I’m strangely reluctant.
So when I’m done brewing my tea, I head to the supply closet. It’s not somewhere I normally visit, but I do my best not to seem timid or uncomfortable; I just act like I come here all the time. The chairs I brought have been getting use, I notice, but no one is currently around.
Where would she be? Doing a bathroom, maybe? She does the break room sometimes, but she wasn’t there.
I nod to myself and head for the bathroom instead, but she’s not there either. Finally, after too long looking, I find her vacuuming a conference room.
“Juliet,” I say, my voice raised over the sound of the vacuum. She glances up, a smile splitting over her face when she sees me.
Like I’m her favorite person in the world. Good grief.
“Hi,” she says, though I barely hear it. Then she fumbles with the vacuum for a second until the industrial roar disappears, and we’re left in a suddenly silent room. “Hi,” she repeats, a little breathless.
“Hi,” I say lamely.
She hurries around the conference table toward me, her white pants and pink heels coming into view as she approaches.
“I recognize that,” I say when I glance at her shirt too; it’s the pink lace top she wore when she broke into my house.
“Isn’t it cute?” she says, looking happy. “I love lace, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure it’s ever occurred to me to have feelings about lace.”
“Well, now you can,” she says. She smooths her hair—it hangs down her back today, which is rare—and then gives me another smile. “What are you doing here?”
Right. There’s a reason I hunted her down, and it has nothing to do with pink lace. I sigh. “We need to talk.”
Her smile fades, her gaze growing skeptical as she glances over me. Her pink nails tap lightly against the tabletop next to her, a littleclick-click-clicksound, and then they stop. “Why do we need to talk?”
