Page 8 of Let's Call a Truce
“Why does it matter?” His eyes flicked down to his watch. He was the one tellingmeto stay late, and now he was standing there acting like I was wastinghistime?
“How long has this been in your inbox? It’s a simple-enough question.”
He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, the first sign of weakness. “Wednesday evening.”
“You sat on this for two days because you had more important things to focus on. Then you try to drop it in my lap right before closing time. I am not staying late and leaving my girls waiting because you procrastinated. If you could wait two days to send it to me, you can wait two more days for it to be posted.”
Then I got exactly what I wanted; the flash of annoyance in his eyes that told me he knew I’d beaten him. As a gracious winner, I’d wait for him to leave before marking down this victory in my battle log. It may be childish, but I loved the running Word document of our fights on my computer. It let me know where we stood, and this win solidly put me in the lead in a competition he, admittedly, didn’t know existed. My victory entries included, in extreme detail, how I was so much better than him. My losses—which were more than I liked—included a full analysis of where I went wrong so it wouldn’t happen again. On bad days, reading my best wins was the easiest way to cheer myself up.
Like the time I “tripped” and dropped my plate, cake-side down, directly in the lap of his perfectly tailored slacks. Maybe next time he wouldn’t call the office birthday cake—the one I’d spent two whole hours on—dry in front of the other employees.
And if my body heated when he leaned in and whispered that he kept a spare outfit in his office since I was clearly so intent on ruining his clothes? Well, that didn’t need to go in the official log.
Ben’s nostrils flared, and I continued smiling serenely. If he thought he could intimidate me, he would be sorely disappointed.
“Well, this is a lovely surprise.” Christina interrupted our standoff from my door. “You two are in the same room and there isn’t any yelling.”
“Yet.” Ben spoke just loudly enough for my ears, before turning his most charming smile on Christina. There was a gleam in his eyes, like Christina’s arrival could salvage a win for him.
“We were talking about a new position on my team I’m looking to fill. Your department has always been so helpful, and I’m hoping to get it up so people can apply over the weekend.”
Christina threw a quick glance over his shoulder at me, and I subtly shook my head. “I’m sorry, Ben. I was actually stopping in to see if Juliana wanted to walk out with me. I’m sure she’ll make it a top priority on Monday, right?”
I smiled smugly at Ben. God, I loved beating him. “Of course, I will. Christina, I need to finish something up. It should only take a minute, but you head out.”
Ben rubbed his hand over his mouth, and I thought I caught the trace of a smile. A quirk of his eyebrow saiduntil next timebefore he turned to Christina. “I’m done for today, so I’d happily walk out with you.” Ben motioned for her to lead the way.
He was leaving. Heading out to enjoy his weekend of kicking puppies and stealing candy from babies—probably—but expected me to keep working to make up for his negligence. “Leaving already but asking me to stay late? Now whose work ethic is in question?”
He crossed his arms and squared his body back toward me. “Yeah, some people choose to leave when they’ve finished their work for the day.”
I was gearing up my retort to throw in his condescending face when Christina jumped in. “With that charming exchange, I’m leaving and will see you on Monday.”
I rushed through a final read of the email I had been drafting when I was so rudely interrupted. I grabbed my bag and hurried down the hall just in time to catch the elevator with Christina and Ben.
“Hold the elevator!”
Ben smirked as he reached for the buttons, the doors starting to close a half second later.
“Oops,” he said as the doors slid shut. “Hit the wrong button. Must have been distracted by the fact that you didn’t say ‘please.’”
Horrible, insufferable man.
I jabbed the button five times in quick succession, shaking out my poor, innocent finger and twirling toward the stairs. As I entered the stairwell, I kicked off the four-inch heels I’d taken to wearing at work, swooping them up as I took off down the four flights. My calves started to burn as I turned the last corner, the door to the parking garage in sight.
I stopped just long enough to slide back on the stilts-I-called-shoes before bolting across the space. Ben’s figure caught my eye as he rushed to his own car. He smirked as he slid behind the wheel, giving me a salute as he drove past.
My fingers tingled from the urge to flip him off, and I refocused their energy on yanking open the door of my van.
I flew through the streets of Orlando. Every curse word I’d ever learned echoed through my kid-free car as I hit light after light. I turned on GPS, not because I needed it—I could drive this path with my eyes closed—but as my own unique form of torture. The arrival time ticked in the wrong direction with each light and small traffic jam, and the curse words got even more creative.
I pulled in front of the girls’ school in the fading light, two little bodies leaning against the side of the building while the lone teacher representative watched for my car. She smiled tightly as I pulled up.
Wolf Creek Elementary was filled with caring, supportive employees. The first time I was late, they fretted over me.
You’re doing so much! This is such a huge transition! Be kind to yourself!
Two years and close to a hundred late pickups later, their patience had run out. I could see the frustration in the teacher’s eyes, the way she rushed the girls off the sidewalk and into my car with barely a glance in my direction. I got it. She had things to do, probably a family of her own to get to.
