Dammit. Why didn’t I put a lock back on my fucking phone? I’m a freaking IT guy...
Dunc reads through the thread and looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Yeah? You sure you’re ready for this?”
“Christ, dad.” I roll my eyes. “It’s a business proposition, not the loss of my virginity.”
“Well, son,” Dunc mocks. “I’m glad your virtue’s intact. We do need to have that talk, though…”
“Fuck you,” I laugh, despite my pissy mood. “Gimme my phone!”
Bets, who’s been alternating between zoning out on her own phone and stealing bites from Dunc’s plate, pipes up and grabs the phone right out of her husband’s hand. “Whoa. Drew sounds ready. Are you? Weren’t you going to give it another year?”
My family is aware of my app idea and all the legwork it entails. They also know that I plan to work at Chesapeake Shores and save up while Drew establishes funding.
“I was, yea. At least another year. But Drew found solid funding, and he seems to think the market’s hot right now and that we should strike before we miss our opportunity. Initially, I blew him off as impulsive because, well…he is, but now I think he might have a point. Besides, work kind of sucks right now, so the prospect of leaving is looking better and better.”
“Really? If this Elaine character is upsetting you at work, I’ll cut a bitch.” There’s the bulldog I know my sister to be.
“Relax, Bets. It’s not Elaine. I haven’t really seen much of her, honestly. It’s just regular work crap that annoys everyone—monotony, pointless meetings, the usual. But it’s getting more ridiculous than that. Earlier today, one of the interns from marketing cornered me and begged for help—free of charge, of course—with her wedding website. Turns out that neither she nor her betrothed is computer savvy, and she figured I could ‘cook one up real quick’ like it was a batch of brownies and not a website for bridezilla and her beloved.” It took more patience than I thought I possessed to smile and politely decline, blaming a hectic work schedule. And no, not even the tempting offer of ten percent off any custom car-detailing services could entice me, though I’m sure her fiancé is a genius with racing stripes and flames.
Mia pouted for a few minutes and then jumped at my suggestion to ask Dan or Andy. Poor bastards. I joked that Dan is so good at website design that he can do it blindfolded. For some reason, Mia thought my joke was uproariously hilarious. She laughed for a full minute straight. It was weird. I mean, I’m funny, but I’m not that funny.
And the kicker is that no matter how mind-numbing and annoying and reminiscent of elementary school website design is for me, I’d gladly make a website for Elaine if she asked. And, fucking hell, part of me wishes that Elaine and I were making a wedding website of our own. That would be a kickass site. And a kickass wedding. And one hell of a wedding night…
“Hey, jackass, sorry to interrupt your wet dream, but back to the point. Are you and Drew going to go for it?” Dunc’s question rouses me from my thoughts, but the sound of Nick’s bike saves me from answering. A look passes between the three of us. Talk of Drew is strictly forbidden in Nick’s presence. No one has all the details, but Drew and Nick haven’t spoken in a few years, and it definitely has something to do with Nick’s little sister.
THIS WEEK IS NEARLYover, and I’m itching to cross it off my calendar with slashes of red Sharpie.
The calendar is inching toward the end of November, and while I certainly can’t say I’m looking forward to the annual family dinner, at least it will interrupt the monotony that has overtaken my life.
When did things get so boring and predictable? I need a new hobby, or something. Maybe I should take up yoga. Or ceramics. Or maybe I’ll learn French. That accent would be a bitch, but I could totally pull off a beret. And the cheese. And the baguette. And I can say baguette, so I’m basically proficient already...
My mother has been unusually quiet. That’s often a precursor of terrible things, but, for now, I’ll bask in the silence.
I check the clock above the door, only to find, for the 47th time, that it isn’t there.
After seeing Simon and Mia up in IT and nearly running into him on my floor this week, I’ve taken to hiding out in a storage room in the basement. Ok, that sounds pathetic. Ahem. I relocated to an unused room to avoid the noise and distractions prevalent on my own floor. And I hate boring white walls and a sterile work environment, so I brought along a few knick knacks …but I forgot to bring a clock.
And really, avoiding Simon is not the only reason for my temporary relocation. In my new hideout—er, office—I’m managing to avoid Annoying Eric, Tall Steve, Debra, and Deborah, as well as Frank, the mail-room-guy-with-no-regard-for-personal-space. And Molly found me right away, so it’s an all-around win. This new storage closet-turned-office boasts no windows, but it also boasts no neighbors, so all is well.
Except that Simon is standing in my doorway right now.
And dammit, I’ve been doing such a good job of not thinking about him. Or his arms. Or his dimples. Or his dick.
“Found you.” He leans against the door jamb, curls flopping as he pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose.
“I’m not hiding.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’ve been avoiding distractions.”
“Is that what I am?” He sounds hurt and a little pissed, if I’m not mistaken.
“No, not you. The third floor is a noisy place.... and Tall Steve is a needy neighbor and…”
“And? Jesus, Elaine. I’m not a total dick. You don’t need to relocate. I know working in the same office is awkward, but—”
“Exactly. It is awkward for both of us, and I’m sure you’re happier—”
