He lowers the tablet to look at me. I stand in front of the interactive whiteboard, where our list of ideas is. Knowing I was working with him today, I wore clothes that bordered the line between professional and flattering. The blouse covers everything, but the neckline plunges enough to incur some curiosity, and the pants make my ass look like I do squats every day.
“We could spin this idea,” he says. “Some of the people who have met through 2Resonance must have become close friends or gotten married. The ad could show them with statistics about how long they’ve been friends, how many concerts they’ve gone to together, when they got married, and they could talk about their first meeting.”
As I add his idea to our list, which is stretching down the interactive whiteboard, I consider another timeline where we met on 2Resonance. We would be the ones who continuously went to concerts together. We could have become close friends. We could have been more. Except it wouldn't truly work that way because he still would have been the teenage boy that ditched me as soon as it was convenient.
I told myself it would get easier to work beside him, and sometimes it does. Sometimes I’m consumed in the work. Sometimes, I just see a seductive boss.
But there are still times that I see the man who I’d put my full faith into, and who tore it away like it had all been a mistake. And then he tried to fire me, just to ensure that I knew he didn’t want me.
Letting go of him was a lot easier when there was distance between us.
Mark scrolls through his tablet, searching for more successful advertisements. Occasionally, he leans forward to make a note on his legal pad. Watching Mark’s intense focus on his work is a new experience. We’d been enveloped in amusement and lighthearted banter in Paris. I hadn’t considered his work ethic while we were together, but after he cut me out of his life, I imagined him like the other rich, entitled kids I’d known—short attention spans, always prepared with a long list of excuses, and always delegating work to other people while taking full credit for it.
He glances up, catching me staring.
“Uh.” I tap the whiteboard pen against my palm. “I was just thinking about when the Chinese food is going to get here. Just assume that I was imagining your head was sesame chicken.”
He lets out the smallest laugh, but his smile is genuine. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. I should have ordered it earlier.”
That strand of hair that never conforms with the rest of his hair sways across his eyes. It’s taken all of my resistance this whole time to not try to tuck it into place. I know the simplest gesture near him would cause a chain reaction and he has a habit of inciting recklessness in me.
A faint chime rescues me from turning myself into a full-blown liar. I grab the cash Mark had left out and head over to the elevator as its doors open. The delivery man—a stocky bald man—nods at me.
“Is this all for you?” he asks, holding up two plastic bags that are strained from the weight. “It’s a lot of food.”
“No, I have my, uh, my boss is here too,” I say, gesturing back toward Mark. He’s focused on his tablet again. “We just decided to get a little of everything. Thank you so much for bringing it. The rest is the tip.”
I hand him the cash. He thanks me before walking back to the elevator. I take the food back to the table, setting it down beside Mark. He barely notices, his eyes flicking back and forth as he reads articles.
“You should eat,” I say. “We’ve been working for nearly five hours.”
He glances up. I can’t help but stare back at him, his eyes nearly incandescent in the dimly lit room. When he looks away, heat creeps into my cheeks. He knows I’m still infatuated with him. He’s embarrassed for me. I have to play it more casually.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It didn’t register in my head that the food was here. I should have helped you carry it over.”
It's the second time he's apologized tonight. It is apparent that is he capable of apologizing for the small inconveniences, but he hasn't mentioned what happened in Paris or even shown any remorse about it. I wish I could imagine that his apologies now are the only way he can manage to address our history together, but I've already spent too much time making excuses for his careless behavior.
“You paid for it,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. “It’s not a big deal. I used to work in a bakery. I used to carry much heavier bags.”
He smiles. “I wasn’t underestimating your strength. Just noting that I should have helped since the food is for both of us. How are your parents? Is the bakery doing well?”
“It’s doing better than ever,” I say, appreciative of the fact that he remembered it was my parents who owned the bakery despite my best attempts to ignore his charm. I start pulling boxes out, the scent of Chinese food wafting toward me. “Apparently, some TV show featured it and now there’s always a line out the door during the breakfast and lunch hours.”
“That’s great. They worked hard to get that success.” He taps on his tablet.
“Are you going to eat?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You can eat. You should eat. I just want to find another idea before I stop.”
I toss a plastic fork on top of his tablet screen. “The ideas are still going to be there later.”
He picks up the fork, swaying it back and forth like a pendulum. “The dog park idea seemed brilliant when we came up with it, but we tied it too much into the idea of casual meetings. People already know what 2Resonance does. We need to convince them that we’re not an evil corporation, which is nearly impossible these days.” He tosses the fork back onto the table.
I open one of the containers, stab a fork into the chow mein, and pile it onto a plate. I slide it over to him. “You need to eat,” I say. “You know what happens when bosses go hungry?”
“Productivity,” he says.
“No. Layoffs. So, eat for my sake. I don’t want you to try to fire me again.” I offer him the plastic fork again.
