Page 31 of I Hope This Finds You Well

Caitlin makes a big show of taking her hand off Armin’s shoulder as she hardens her stare at him. She continues. “What’s weird is he’s trying to act like he’s our friend, when we all know what he’s really here for.”

But they don’t know the half of it. I stare, imploding inside, when a message from Cliff appears on my screen.

Cliff:Hey, sorry if I assumed—no pressure if you don’t want to carpool today. I should’ve confirmed via email.

The pit in my stomach hardens as I picture him, typing to me alone from his trinket-filled office after that embarrassing display. He’s the only person who’s been nice to me for no reason here. And I’m a venti-sized pile of shit.

Jolene:I still want to! Sorry if I seemed off.

Cliff:No need to apologize. See you later then.

I type:Cool.Hit delete. Type:Thanks.Hit delete. Rotate between the two twice more untilnot replyingbecomes my only option with the time that’s passed.

The swarm is beginning to dissipate from the donut box, so I stand up and head over. However, there’s nothing left—these animals have picked it clean.

The Post-it Cliff left on top reads:Not Poison ;)

I peel it off. I take it back to my desk and stuff it in my locked drawer along with the more incriminating one containing the passwords.

Caitlin finishes off the last bite of her second donut and says, “He could’ve sprung for full-sized ones.”

Bunch of dickheads.

Music Taste Is Raunch Rock

Cliff’s already got his coat on when I meet him at his office, and he’s shutting his computer down. “Ready?” he asks with a strained smile as he marches up to where I’m lingering just outside the threshold.

I nod and force a smile back, stiff and unnatural on my lips. We make our way to the parkade wordlessly, our footsteps echoing off the concrete that encompasses the stairwell.

Great. This awkward-as-shit vibe wasn’t exactly the point of my agreeing to carpool.

Inside his car, the scent of dog has been replaced by something tropical. The tree that was hanging on the mirror last time I was in here has been replaced with a bright yellow one. But more important, the console doesn’t have the dust or trash it did on Monday either. Oh my god, Cliff tidied his car for me—my throat thickens, and I try to swallow around it—and I was a whole asshole to him today.

The car starts in a swift churn. “Off we go.” His forced brightness hollows me out. It takes him three frustrated grunts as he taps his corporate card against the gate pass before the barrier finally opens.

As it pulls upward, a honk sounds behind us. I glance over my shoulder and see Rhonda staring back from above her fuzzy zebra-print steering wheel.

I can’t help the laugh that escapes. It’s like she’s a satire of herself in a parkade.

Cliff’s mouth twists. “I’ve only been here for eight days, and she’s already honked at me twice. I love her consistency.”

I raise a hand to my chest and clutch my fake pearls. “Are you giving out HR secrets? I’m honored.”

Finally, he flashes the first real grin I’ve seen since the donut incident. “Au contraire. Rhonda’s horn trigger is no secret.”

I chuckle again, and the air loosens between us. “All right,” I say.“More shop talk. I’ve always wanted to know—and this is probably going back to your HR schooldays—how often does the average employee spend moaning about the thermostat?”

“It’s like you knew that thermostat moaning was the topic of my grad school thesis.” His hands shift on the steering wheel as he flashes a grin.

“I mean it was sort of obvious,” I reply.

“But, hey—while we’re still talking shop... I wanted to bring this up. I’m sorry if I acted too familiar in front of everyone today. I know it’s sort of weird, me being HR. Especially since you’re also trying to work things through with your colleagues.” His arm flexes as he changes gears, but he keeps he gaze on the road. “I guess I was thinking it would be good if more people in the office knew it’s okay to be friendly with me, like you are. But I should’ve thought about how that would affect you.”

“Oh.” I look at him sincerely. Sure, I was short with him, but it’s that he saw how uncomfy I was—understood why. This guy may be more perceptive than the average bear. “Cliff. Thank you for saying that. But I also didn’t need to be such a dong about it. I mean, you’re doing me a favor, reducing my exposure to bus-bound fecal matter.”

“Even still...” He shakes his head. “I guess, I worked for a long time in a job where I was really close with my coworkers. It’s weird, suddenly feeling like Freddy Krueger whenever I walk into a room.” His brows fold together. “Not a fair excuse, I know. So I was at least a partial dong today. A weenie.” His flashes me an entreating grin, and I accept it. It seeps through my warming skin. “Being colleagues and carpool buddies is a little trickier than imagined.”

“True,” I agree.