Page 131 of Business Casual
She bites her bottom lip.
“Why, Selene?” I’m whining and I’m not ashamed. “Why can’t you hold my calls?”
She steps farther into the room, hands raised like she’s trying to calm a deranged bear. It’s me. I am the deranged bear. “I can hold your calls, but you have an appointment on your calendar for this evening.”
“If it’s not at the empanada truck on the corner of my street, I am not interested.”
I want to go back to my house and call Nova. I want to hear the sound of her voice and convince myself everything that happened in Inglewild wasn’t a fever dream. I want to turn on an old black-and-white movie and fall asleep with her voice in my ear, talking to me about tattoo designs and the croissant of the day at Layla’s, and whatever the hell Jeremy is up to. I want to chase away this pressure in my chest with something good. I feel like she’s slipping out of my hands. I feel like maybe I never had a grip on her to start with.
“You RSVP’d for a charity gala tonight at the New York Public Library,” Selene says quickly. I drop my head back and groan at the ceiling. “Your tux is in the washroom.”
“I was wondering what it was doing in there,” I mumble, my eyes still closed.
“You only have to go for an hour.” She hesitates. “Maybe two. Bid in the auction and show that pretty face and then you can have some empanadas.”
“What is it a benefit for?”
“Seals, I think? Shit. Maybe a rainforest somewhere? I don’t know why you rich people do what you do.”
“Who is hosting?”
“Mr. Billings.”
I drag my hand down my face. “Of course he is.” Because the universe is hell-bent on punishing me for something this week.
I slip my coat off my shoulders and toss it back on my chair. I prop my hands on my hips and sigh at my desk. I’m so fucking tired. Tired of this place and this job and all the things I have to do to make everyone around me happy.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“That is literally my job description.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to find the well of patience and goodwill that usually isn’t so difficult to summon. “Can you please call Nova in about an hour and let her know my phone died? Tell her I’ll call her when I get back tonight.”
“I can do that,” Selene agrees. “I wanted to talk to her about my tattoo anyway. She said she’d design me something.”
I frown at Selene. “When did you talk to her?”
“Yesterday.” Selene wanders over to the other side of my office and turns on my coffee machine. She hits three buttons and espresso appears like magic in the mug I stole from Layla’s bakehouse. “She called here looking for you while you were in that Q4 planning meeting with the Holsfields. We talked.”
Great. Selene has officially talked to my girlfriend more this week than I have.
My brain skids to a stop.
Is Nova my girlfriend? I have no idea. We never discussed it. We said we felt more than business casual, but…we never discussed it.
Selene hands me my coffee. I stare at it.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“Two hours,” Selene says in the most lackluster motivational speech I’ve ever heard. I have taught her absolutely nothing in the way of faking enthusiasm. “Two hours and you can go home.”
I spend onehour and twenty-three minutes playing nice and then I find the bar, get a drink, and park myself in an archive of architectural photographs. Music from the string quartet down the hall echoes and spins, muffled voices and the clinking of glasses twisting with the melody. I imagine Nova in her silver dress, a glass of champagne in her hand. Tattoos down the strong line of her back and her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She’d like this room with the color and the quiet. And I’d like to press her up against the shelves and taste the edge of her smile.
But she’s not here. It’s just me and a half-empty glass of too-expensive whiskey. I loosen my tie with a sigh and take a sip, enjoying the bite of smoke. I stretch out my neck and try to organize my slippery thoughts.
I’ll call her when I get back tonight. I’ll grab some empanadas from the truck on the street and I’ll call her. Maybe I can drive down this weekend if Selene rearranges some things. It’ll be quick, but it’ll be worth it. Nova is worth it.
We can talk. We can figure out what the hell we’re doing. I’ll tell her how I feel and maybe this thing between us won’t feel so fragile.
