Page 32 of I Hope This Finds You Well

“Maybe we need some ground rules,” he offers. “Like, nothing we discuss here should influence how we do our jobs there.”

“So in here I’m allowed to be myself, raw and uncut?”

“That’s encouraged.”

“Thank fuck,” I say, and he chuckles. “Just making sure. I’m big on following rules to a T, so if there are any exceptions, beyond the normal ones, let me know now.”

“Fair enough,” he smirks. “Maybe we should make a list?”

I break eye contact as I remember the list I already have stashed in my desk drawer, particularly the last item on it:Get Cliff to like me. My plan seems so obvious now.

I clear my throat to stifle down the guilt. “By the way, I haven’t met too many HR people, but you seem like the very best one in the world—insert other miscellaneous compliments here.”

He laughs again.

I put my hand to my chest, even though he’s watching the road. “Cliff, that was super genuine. Did you always know this was your life’s calling, or was it a fallback career if you didn’t make it as a professional Warhammer guy?”

The car comes to a stop in front of a traffic light, and he looks directly at me, lids narrowing into a probing stare. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking, so I lean back an inch and raise a questioning eyebrow. His mouth curls as he draws his gaze back to the road.

“What exactly do you think Warhammer is?”

“Something that involves pelts?”

He shrugs. “Actually, that’s not totally wrong.”

I nod once. “I glanced into a mall store once that had the Warhammer sign above some figurines, so I’m basically an expert.”

“It’s really hard to tell if you’re making fun of me or being sincere.”

I grin. “I actually mean it. It’s cool how you’re into things. So many people don’t have anything they like and they just walk around making life miserable.” I stare out the window.

“How about you? What’s your dream?”

“I stopped dreaming,” I blurt out, too quickly—too honestly. He doesn’t respond right away, and I internally wince. How can someone just casually ask that kind of question to someone? Why did my answer have to sound so heavy? Sospecific.

I dare a glance at him, and he’s looking at me with the same soft expression from his office, and no—no way are we repeating my meeting breakdown. “Jolene—”

“When I was a little girl in a small mountain town,” I interrupt loudly, “my father and maman took me to the most wonderful placeon Earth. It had just opened up in our area, and people lined up from miles away. There were sandwiches made to everyone’s specifications. Candy in bulk. A makeup counter filled with possibility and reinvention.” I sigh wistfully, for maximum effect. “If that little girl had known that one day she’d work in that very place’s western regional office, she would’ve shed tears of joy to fill a river.”

“Okay.” Cliff sighs. “That was quite the display.”

“Thank you.” I nod once. “Feel free to report my dedication back to headquarters.”

His grin falls flat like a stack of cards, and he shoots me an exasperated stare. “Another rule: there will be no favoritism for my carpool buddy. No matter how hard you ass kiss.”

I nod silently as a new wave of guilt hits. Cliff might be too honest for me—certainly too honest to be successful. And here I am, just as full of shit. It should be perfect.

“On that note...” He grabs his phone off the console between us and hands it to me. “As passenger, you get to pick the music.”

I dutifully take it, even as dread begins to bubble in my gut. I don’t know enough for this task. These days, I tend to avoid music altogether. Even if there’s just one song in the world you can’t listen to in public without panic taking over, it’s surprising how much it can sneak into your life. Malls, bars, even offices, play music, and the odds of that one song playing go up every time I leave the house. I’m aware people judge you for what sounds you like to hear, but I’d rather jump out the window than have Cliff know this specific weakness of mine.

I scroll through a random playlist and pick an album cover that looks neutral and socially acceptable. Hold my breath as I hit play and hope for the best.

A high voice screeches,“I need you to come deep into me.”

... I’ve made a terrible judgment call.

Cliff’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, and I’m pretty sure he’s looking at me but can’t confirm since I refuse to look at anything other than my hands.