“Right this way.”
It’s normally quiet in our office except for the usual mumbling of people on the phone, but I hear Gloria three cubicles up to my right and I can tell right away she’s excited by something. She’s usually monotone and humorless, like the rest of us, but by her inflection, I can tell she’s almost enthusiastic.
She and I are sort of friends, I guess. We sit in silence at the lunch table together every day while she plays on her phone and I read my book. That’s the extent of my “friendships” with people. I say good morning and goodnight. I smile forcibly on occasion when someone comes to my cubicle with a question, but other than that I keep to myself. I’ve been told I have RBF, or resting bitch face. If it keeps me from having to make conversation then it’s probably one of my best qualities.
Anyway, sitting with and near Gloria every day, I’ve gotten to know her sounds and their meanings. She’s only ever fake-bubbly if there’s a bigwig or attractive man around. Otherwise, she’s all business and dry, like most number crunchers I know. We’re a weird, quiet group. We are perfect for me.
I focus on the stack of receipts in front of me as I prepare my quarterly expenditure report for the research department. People think working at Seamore Productions is all glitz and glam. Not so much in accounting, although I have seen expenses run into six and seven figures. It’s crazy to think that kind of money exists and that someone feels comfortable spending it on the history of zombies in film. I have to admit, all the money they spent on their last TV show was worth it.The Fabulistgot rave reviews.
“There she is,” Gloria says as her heels stop clicking on the floor. Raising my head to the sound of her voice and taking a small sip from my water bottle, I almost spit it out when I see her standing next to blow-up-doll man from this morning. They’re both smiling and staring at me expectantly. I cover my mouth to avoid spraying and stare blankly, managing to swallow it down.
“Liz Foley, this is Finnigan Walsh. He’s new here.”
I cringe out of horror and nod once at the same time. He holds out his hand and I reluctantly shake it.
“We’ve met before. Last week, when I was on my tour of the company,” he states with a perfect smile, still holding my hand in his. He places his other hand on top of mine, and my fingers feel like a caged animal. My instinct is to pull away and hide under my desk. I manage a small, fake smile and gently pull my hand from his, even though I want to jerk it away in protest.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I ask.
“I wondered if you might be available for lunch today. My treat. I’d like to discuss something with you.”
I glance between Gloria and blow-up-doll man, feeling every muscle in my body tighten in fight-or-flight mode. Gloria steps back behind him and motions toward him with a smirk before backing away out of sight. It’s the biggest reaction I’ve ever seen from her.
“Umm…yeah. Thanks, but I don’t do lunch,” I reply.
His head jerks to the side in confusion. “You don’t eat lunch?”
“No, I do. I just don’t like to… I like to eat alone,” I respond abruptly.
He attempts to hold back a grin and scratches the side of his face. “I see. Well, it would be just this one time and it’s on me. I found this great little café down the street. Have you been to—”
“If you have something to ask me, why not just do it now? I’m very busy, as you can see,” I interrupt, motioning to the large stack of papers on my desk. I cross my legs in my pencil skirt and his eyes follow my movement, lingering a second on my calves. It’s unnerving.
“I was hoping to charm you at lunch, but if you insist, I guess I can try to be fetching and persuasive in thirty seconds or less here.”
He smirks and the confidence oozes off of him. I study him for a moment, wondering how some people seem to radiate fearlessness. He’s so different from me.
I say nothing as I wait for him to get to it. Crossing my arms in frustration, I sigh quietly. I need him to go away.
“Right,” he continues after pausing for what I assume was an expected, positive reaction. He won’t get that from me on a good day. He must usually illicit smiles and affection from most people. I’m not most people.
“I saw you today on the highway.”
I feel my face flush and I swivel my chair away from his gaze to avoid him. “I have no idea to what you’re referring.”
“It’s sweet of you to try to make me feel less embarrassed.” He steps forward to regain my attention.
Him, embarrassed? He certainly didn’t seem to be and I was the one caught staring. I continue to focus on my papers, hating that I can’t hide the color in my cheeks.
He waits for me to speak. When I say nothing, he pulls at the material on his thighs and crouches down next me. My mouth gapes as I stare at him in horror. He’s too close. He’s in my space and my anxiety just went through the roof.
His blue eyes pierce mine. He obviously doesn’t take my fear into account as he continues to smile. He pushes his hand through his wavy, reddish-brown hair and my eyes follow briefly. His hair doesn’t budge. It’s perma-glued into a fixed wave. He must use some strong goop to keep it looking that way. My eyes widen in hope he’ll notice I’m uncomfortable with his proximity. He doesn’t appear to care.
“I caused quite a scene today. I suppose I made people even later to work than usual, if that’s possible. I’m originally from New York and I didn’t own a car until I moved here. I love driving. I find it… invigorating. It gives me this sense of freedom I didn’t know I was missing living in the city.”
I roll my chair backward in an attempt to put some distance between us, but it only moves a few inches before I hit the back wall of my cubicle. I’m trapped.
He continues, “I drive everywhere I can now. There’s nothing like the windows down, your favorite tunes on the radio, the heat of the sun on your face, and the wind in your hair.”
