“Okay,” I say, wondering what Benedict has sent now. Singing telegram? Stylist to dress me for our outing this weekend? She might as well strip me naked and start taking measurements in front of this entire office of busybodies. That’s what the past two days have felt like.
But the closer I weave through the cubicles, passing all manner of Halloween decorations one could imagine along the way, the closer I get to the front security area behind Gloria’s desk, the more unnerved I feel. So much whispering, smirking and gawking.
“Ah, my blushing bride!”
“Benedict?” I gasp, shocked to see him.
He smirks, “’Tis I, wife. And, believe it or not, I don’t have security clearance to come in unless I’m with someone.” I make a noise that is a sort of dismayed laugh-grunt. “Gloria’s working on adding me to the employee database.”
Because he’s not supposed to be here for two days, and because the words coming out of his mouth make no sense, I just freeze. Right behind Gloria.
“I know you’re surprised, love, but maybe come give me a hug?”
“Oh, right,” I say, passing through the little turnstile. I’ve always thought the security here was overkill but corporate espionage exists, I was told during orientation, and the Mellman’s recipes are basically a national treasure. Behind Gloria and the small entry way stand two security guards, both staring at my husband like he’s the second coming of the Lord Jesus himself. He is very…glowy?
He smiles wide at me as I reach him, where I freeze again. He just laughs and gathers me into a hug. Then quickly kisses my forehead. At that, Gloria sighs a sigh that I think could be heard past the entrance, past all the cubicles, past the executive offices, down the staircase, past all the factory machines and all the way to the bottling section at the end of the plant a full three city blocks away.
I try to smile, “What are you doing here?”
“Taking you to lunch, darling,” he looks at me, then Gloria, then me. “Surprise.” His eyes go wide and I realize I should respond.
“Oh, wow, um, so sweetie. I mean, so great. Sweetie. Thanks to, thanks you.Thank you!”I sound even more awkward than I feel. He’s about to laugh but I try to tell him toshove itwith my eyes. I told him I’m not good at being under pressure.
“Can I come with you to get your things? I want to see the flair in person.”
“It’s to die for! Everyone in the office has stopped by to see…” Gloria starts gushing. She rambles on and on as I lead Benedict quickly through the front. He glances around, taking in all the decorations and chuckling. I was not exaggerating. One grimreaper waves an ax and one jumps out and actually startles him before we get over to my spot in accounting.
“Wow, you weren’t joking,” he mutters.
“Nope,” I say back.
“This looks pretty damn good, I’d say. D’you like it?” he asks me at my desk, a weird look on his face.
“Of course I like it, look at it.” I gesture around me as I pick up my purse and toss my phone in. But Benedict furrows his brow.
It’s a gorgeous frown, really. Too handsome for the surrounding office that is both drab and tacky this month. He towers over the half walls of the cubicle groups. He’s too tan, his blue eyes too bright, his perfectly styled-but-not-styled hair needing to be out in the wind and sun. Not here. Even if he’s wearing a crisp light gray suit. No tie. He looks good. Looks great, actually.
I give my head a shake and start to ask what exactly he’s doing here in New Jersey’s hokiest little town but stop myself. Everyone is watching us like we’re the most interesting thing to ever happen here. We probably are. Except I remember there were rumors four years back that Harry Styles was here six days before Christmas taking selfies with his entourage. I doubt that.
I start to sprint to the door but Benedict pauses, feeling all 122 pairs of eyes either on him or trying to spot him if they lean or stretch far enough.
“Right, uh, bloody good decorations, everyone. Good for morale, eh? Productivity and all that. Keep it up.” People start to chuckle and whisper. He gives an awkward salute and I can’t help but snort.
“What?” he says as we hustle out.
“Who were you saluting?” I almost smile.
“I had to do something! Everyone was staring. My name’s on the damn door.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “Your name is Mellman?”
He narrows his eyes, “Cheeky.”
We stop chatting as we near Gloria and quicken our pace. A few more steps and, thank God, we’re outside. Both of us exhale like we’ve just escaped the scene of a crime.
I spot his hired car with Nigel in the front and make a beeline for it.
“So sweetie? Thanks to you?”
