He takes it, nonchalantly taking a bite out of the Chinese food. His expression slowly softens, and he gives me a small smile.
“Thanks,” he says. “Your job is safe for another day.”
I scoop out my own chow mein and some sesame chicken. Mark searches through the containers to find the pepper steak, dishing some of it out onto his plate. We eat in silence for several minutes, the pleasure of food in an empty stomach making everything seem transcendental.
I sneak a look at him a few times, almost content with how it feels so similar to our time in Paris. We only spent a few days together, but the memories of eating and enjoying each other’s company without saying anything to each other have remained prominent in my mind. Maybe we should have talked more. It could have saved me from drawing the wrong conclusions about what was going on between us.
“You said before that nobody trusts a stranger behind a computer screen,” he says so abruptly that I nearly choke on my food. He’s out of his seat, his hand on my back, as I recover. The warmth of his hand and the pressure of it against my back is another shock to my body. I try to ignore it, but it feels like every one of my nerves has rerouted to where he's touching me.
“I’m fine,” I manage to get out. “Just a little food in my windpipe.”
He rubs his hand on my back in three small circles. I could nearly purr, but I press my lips together and try to convince myself that I'm only tired and touch-deprived. After he’s certain that I’m fine, he sits back down. He continues to gaze at me with enough concern it could break me.
“You were saying?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow. “You were telling me…well, you were telling me that I told you that nobody trusts a stranger behind a computer screen.”
“Right,” he says. “And you were absolutely right about that. That is why the message shouldn’t come from us. The last idea on the board could work well, but everyone will assume we paid them off. They’re still complete strangers. And we want more of our focus to be on the music. The ability to meet people is what sets our streaming service apart, but we’re still mainly a streaming service. We don’t want people to see our app as a dating app because that’s where the dangerous connotation comes in. If we refocused on music, we should consider involving college bands. They can advocate for us.”
I finish chewing a chow mien noodle. “Is using a band any different than using random strangers off the street? They’re still strangers.”
He tilts his head, that disobedient hair sweeping through the air. “Look at this way: you don’t consider your favorite band to be a group of random strangers. College students won’t either. They’ll be more loyal to their college band. T, their name is familiar to students, and they act as a more distinctive representative of their college than a random person who attends there.”
I sit up straight. “And we could release an advertisement through 2Resonance, asking the bands to make a video that declares where their next gig is. At least one of the bands could reference the app, saying that if they don’t have someone to go to the gig with, they could find someone with similar music tastes to go with. It doesn’t directly address the controversy, but everyone will know that it is and that we’re offering them an idea for safe places where they could meet people.”
He leans forward, his eyes brighter now with enthusiasm. “It would also get prospective students interested in the app because they’ll want to support their dream college’s band and meet current students going to the college.”
I quickly stand up, going over to the whiteboard. I jot down the idea.
“How do we choose which bands to use?” I ask, turning back toward him. “Just the ones that submit the best videos? At the very least, there’s going to be three from every college in the States. And there are over five thousand colleges.”
“We can have the colleges vote for which band they want,” he says, leaning back into his chair. “You’re overestimating how many colleges will participate. We’ll focus on the major colleges—the competitive ones and the ones with the largest number of students. The former will persuade more prospective students to look favorably on 2Resonance and the latter will garner the most loyalty from current students.”
“So, on all of 2Resonance’s social media accounts, we’ll post a graphic and a link that will lead all college students to a webform, where they’ll fill out the band they want to nominate,” I say, scribbling down the details.
“I’ll type it up here,” he says, picking up his tablet again.
Delving into the work together, everything else fades away. All of San Francisco could be burning and I’d be too deep into the way our ideas set pleasurable fires in my brain. I would have thought a great work relationship would involve two people with similar mindsets, but he’s the opposite of me. His big ideas overshadow my small details, but the small details keep the big ideas from falling to pieces. We don’t shy away from being critical of each other’s thoughts, but it takes every idea farther and pushes the conversation to a higher level.
Mark finally sets down his tablet, a satisfied smile on his face. It has to be past midnight and we have a small hill of crumpled paper piled over our Chinese takeout, where we’d drawn out different concepts. Most of my resentment toward him has deteriorated over the hours of work, exhaustion filling up the empty space the anger left behind. We’re prepared to give the presentation to all of the employees and I’m prouder of it than I’ve been of anything else I’ve done in my life.
My hand slowly unfolds on the desk, my pencil rolling out of it. I watch with tired eyes as it slowly rolls off the table. I burst out laughing as if it’s the funniest joke in the world. Mark joins in, our fatigue turning us into easily amused children.
I shouldn’t trust my mind while I’m so tired, but God, in the dim lighting, he’s built like a god with the beauty of the devil. I’d just give anything to have his body pressed against mine and kiss him one more time. The last of our laughter fades, but he’s still smiling, which makes it hard to stop imagining him naked.
“Post-brainstorming clumsiness,” I mutter, ducking under the table. I pick the pencil up, dangerously aware of how close I am to Mark’s spread legs. I scramble to get up, only partly out from under the table when I lurch upward, slamming my head into the corner of the table.
Darkness rolls in front of my eyes. Flashes. A slanted floor. Warm tears clinging to my eyelashes.
Mark’s hands are on my arms. He steadies me, slowly lowering me down onto my knees. One of his hands is cradling my head while his other hand carefully sifts through my hair, checking for a wound. I wouldn’t mind if he kissed it better.
“Are you okay?” he asks, both of his hands cradling my head now as he looks at me. “Is your vision normal? Do you feel nauseous? I’m sorry, I should have gotten the pencil.”
I wave away his apology. “It was my pencil. I’m just an idiot.”
“You’re brilliant. It’s my fault. I should have stopped you before you started getting up,” he says. I look up at him. His hands are a comfort against the back of my head. His eyes search my eyes and are filled with concern. At some point, my hand grips his shirt sleeve.
He lowers his head. It’s not until his lips touch mine that I realize what he’s doing. His mouth is warm and a little spicy from the Chinese food. His first kiss is hesitant, but as I start to kiss him back, he kisses with more pressure and I’m overcome by a sense of losing grip on everything else in the world.
God, I want him. I need him. I have him.
