Page 6 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“Is that from . . . Game of Thrones?” Anna asked, scratching the tight bump under her blouse.
“It covers all the deities, doesn’t it?” I clutched my notebook and laptop to my chest, shielding myself from the coming embarrassment.
“It doesn’t matter if he recognizes you. He was the ass. You have no reason to be embarrassed.”
She’d obviously taken my side when I told her what happened. I appreciated her fierce loyalty, but I gave her a look, because, really? Can you fall in a waterway outside your place of work—reaching for a sticky note—without feeling embarrassed?
“Okay,” she conceded. “You don’t have as much to be embarrassed about. I’d rather slip into Lake Woodlands than be a jerk to a new coworker.”
“Keep your voice down,” I said out of the corner of my mouth as we approached the nearly full conference room.
The team gushed over a Shipley’s box in the middle of the table. I hated that I zeroed in on Beck. Also annoying, he wore an equally nice shirt as the one from yesterday, this one a forest green—it paired well with the browns of his hair and eyes. His stern brows furrowed at our entrance.
Damn it. He definitely recognizes me.
Susan turned the box of kolaches our way. “Beckett brought these.” I noticed Beck wince at the full use of his name. Like garlic to a freaking vampire. Noted. “Here, Anna, there’s a jalapeno one.”
Anna craved all things spicy. Any time we ate out for lunch, she ordered the item on the menu with the most little red peppers next to its name. She’d recently told me if a meal didn’t make her sweat, it wasn’t worth her time.
But instead of grabbing for the kolache, she searched my face as if to ask, Are we accepting gifts from the enemy? A true testament to her loyalty.
I responded by picking up a sausage and cheese pastry. I was petty but not on a level where I’d turn down food to make a point. I sank my teeth into doughy heaven.
Beck approached, and I froze mid-bite. “Hey,” he said, hushed. “Can I talk to you for a sec—”
Thankfully, Wesley interrupted with an overly enthusiastic entrance. “I would say I hope you all had your Wheaties this morning, but it looks like someone took it a step further,” he said, plucking a kolache from the rapidly emptying box.
“Maybe later,” Beck offered as we all took our seats. I nodded politely but hoped not. I could do without circling back to one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I’d already done plenty of ruminating the night before.
“Today,” Wesley continued. “We start the convergence of family office with corporate, which will be a doozie.”
I used to love new beginnings, but now I felt slightly sick at the prospect of starting over. While Wesley prattled about efficiency, deadlines, and workflows, I pulled out my phone, checking for approximately the seven hundred thousandth time to see if Hailey had responded to the message I’d left last night.
I furiously typed out another one.
I swear to God, if you don’t call me back by the end of the day, I’m assuming you are dead, and I’m launching a full-blown investigation. We’re talking the FBI. Liam Neeson’s character from the Taken movies. The whole nine yards.
“Who can I count on to compile meeting minutes?” Wesley asked, pulling my attention back to the conference room.
I averted my eyes. It was gorilla rules in the conference room—no eye contact. He would sense my weakness, and I’d get suckered in. Just like I always did.
I looked up just enough to see him use a kolache as a pointer, swiveling to each of the faces at the table. No one offered because, to my knowledge, none of us are masochists who would like to add an extra hour to the workday by sifting through everyone else’s meeting notes and then typing them up in a clear and consistent order, especially with this new project on the rise.
“No takers?” Wesley asked. Then, “Sorry Beck. The new recruit is honored with meeting-minute duty.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I pictured Beck and the disgusted look he wore yesterday after pulling me out of the water, all too easily imagining him with that look as he painstakingly compiled notes from today’s meeting. I pretended to be very interested in one of the daisy-shaped buttons on my cardigan until I could get a grip on my smile and force it back to a neutral position. I guess all that glitters is not gold.
“That is, if no one else volunteers as tribute.” Wesley waited for someone to chime in and then chuckled at his joke.
No one else joined. I might have participated a couple of days ago, but my ass-kissing days were done now that he’d given my position to Beck.
“No problem,” Beck answered.
I thought about how late he’d stayed the night before and wondered if he’d had a chance to finish the videos for orientation training. If not, he’d have quite the workload.
Not my problem, I thought, capping my pen as if to snap that empathy closed.
“Great,” Wesley said, thumbing through his notebook. “Next order of business—Ow!” He yanked his hand back and shook it, but then looked at me, amusement sparkling as he held the paper cut close to his body. “Can’t let Emily see. Wouldn’t want her passing out again.”
