But before she sent it, she deleted it.
It was the most difficult thing to do, but she had thrown herself at men so much in the past, and it never got her anything worthwhile in return. This time, it had to be different. Instead, she sent him a simple text, “If you truly mean what you say, I’ll be yours entirely.” It ended with a smiley emoji.
Caleb fell back into the seat of his truck and was pissed that the light changed. It was now his turn to go. The light had changed off and on during their exchange, but the line was so backed up that he could still text and pay attention. But not now. The tension filled his body like embers from a raging fire, floating away to the sky like how he longed to take her.
The rough denim of his jeans pricked against his sensitive head; the sensation being mounted from the other fabric of his cotton boxers. His cock felt tighter against the swelling of the skin. What an exhilarating feeling it was to have a woman submit to him so easily. Unlike Ashley, in which he felt like he was playing Russian Roulette with their intimate life. A lump came into his dry throat, and he took a swig of Diet Coke, and he had no choice but to put his truck in gear and drive through.
Therefore, leaving her on read.
Evie’s emotions came crumbling down as she assumed he was turned off by her comment.
Stupid idiot. That’s what you get for wearing your hormones AND your heart on your sleeve.She never knew how to talk to men unless it was absolute sexual subjection. That was the only way she could get men to pay attention to her, and that was why she had deleted the prior text. It had to be different this time. But now she was left unsure as to whether that message was too romantic, too clingy, too desperate sounding. Anything.
Missy tugged at her arm and jerked her out of the moment. “We’re ready for you.”
Evie sighed and looked once more at the phone. Nothing. Regretfully, she shoved it into her pocket and followed Missy to the conference room to deliver the presentation.
She stood tall in front of the room of about fifteen people, all with their laptops glowing, coffee cups decorating the table, stacks of papers and pens, and in the middle was a big plate of muffins she mentally refused upon entering. She was proud of that moment. Everyone stared at her. Pens clicked, and outside the window was the scenery of downtown with its art-deco style of buildings. The Municipal Auditorium was not far from her work in the Power and Light District. Rain could be heard once again.
However, across the tables to the right sat Mr. Perry, the actual CEO and president of the company. It wasn’t the project manager overseeing the presentation! She gulped hard, as Mr. Perry was a rigid man with a strict opinion. He was great at what he did, and he was a fine CEO that was loved by all of his employees, but still he was a hard shell to crack. He glared at her through his glasses, leaning on his elbow and clicking a pen. His blond hair was recently cut again and styled richly, but he chose a more relaxed attire of sweatpants and a hoodie that day.
Maybe he was in a good mood.
She drew in a breath and began, “Alright. Good morning, everyone!” She turned on the projector and then began passing out numerous folders. “Let’s dive into the visual strategy I’ve created for the prospective marketing campaign.” At that moment, her soul dropped into her feet as her cell phone never went off again. The hurtful thought snapped into her head, and she longed to escape it but couldn’t.
What if she was a simple rebound? What if she had thrown herself too hard at him?
Her thigh vibrated suddenly from her phone’s buzz. It was a text; one she couldn’t read.
She tossed her hair behind her back, attempting to fight it. She lifted her head and announced, “I think you will all find it fashionable and buzzworthy! Since Jamboree is becoming a more inclusive company and always reaching to expand its market, I’ve designed a campaign using aninclusive color palette that reflects different races and sexual orientations. I took the liberty of designing the typography by hand and utilizing asymmetry to keep it modern and fresh.”
What could the text possibly say? It could have been anything. It could have been him calling her weird and calling it off. It could have been him changing the conversation, which would have made her feel awkward and self-conscious all over again. She had to fight it. She gritted her teeth and released the death grip she had on the projector’s remote.
Mr. Perry spoke up after looking at the folder, “Is that why you took so long to prepare this? You did this by hand?”
Evie boasted, “I did, sir.”
“Evie,” he calmly said as other people looked at their folders, “we have AI now. You could have done this exact thing in an hour instead of five days.”
At once, she felt backed into a wall. All over, her coworkers seemed to jeer at her, and they turned to one another and mumbled under their breaths. Before her heart rate could elevate, she drew in a deep breath through her nose and let it fall out heavily. To some, it could have seemed like she was irritated, but she was only calming herself down the way Caleb taught her. It was true. Anxiety was now her new loathed friend.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you gave me a raise because of my design skills, not because of my knowledge of AI prompts, right?”
“Yes, but I could have had you working on another concept by now. I wanted you to come up with numerous options we could look at.” He kept his elbow on the table, still holding his pen up in that hand. “You only gave us one.”
She shook her head. The phone buzzed again in her pocket. “I’m sorry, sir. You didn’t tell me you wanted me to have multiple things prepared. I apologize. I can have more done in a few days.”
“Well, I need like two others, and I doubt you can have it done in three days.”
Missy crossed her arms and leaned back. “He’s right, Evie. When are you going to embrace that AI is here? We’re going to fall behind schedule because of you.”
“But,” she recounted, “ever since I’ve been here forthe last five years, the clients and customers have come to know my artistic style. It’s what we’ve kind of rebranded ourselves with. I can’t replicate that with AI.”
Mr. Perry ordered all the folders to be given back to her.
The phone buzzed again, and she jerked nervously. He could be going off on her now.
Mr. Perry stated with a smile, “It’s here, Evie. Try to learn how to get AI to replicate your style. Jason Mathers can help you. He’s our AI guy here now.”
