“Mark, I simply know that if we want this ad to get out on time, we need to cut out some of the bands,” John tells me. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly 12:30. “The imagery of a hundred bands will be powerful, but there’s no possible way we’re going to get it out on time.”
“Pay overtime,” I say.
“It’s a lot of overtime,” he says.
“And it’s not your money,” I retort. “I want this ad out on time and we already told these bands that we were going to use their videos. We’re not going back on that. Just use whoever you need to edit it and pay them overtime to complete it. Nobody is going to complain about getting paid one and one-half times their normal rate.”
His lips press together, and his arms tense on the armrest. After a couple of seconds, he stands up.
“Of course, Mark. We’ll get it done,” he says. I watch him leave the office, carefully closing the door instead of shattering it like I know he wants to. I’ve spent the whole day being the asshole who shoots down decisions concerning the ad, the asshole who has to get on everyone’s ass to ensure we hit the deadline, and the asshole who had to convince the co-owners to spend more money to ensure our future. They may as well change my label frombosstofucking asshole.
Elise knocks on my door before opening it a couple of inches and popping her head in.
“Mr. Acorsi, Zandra is here to see you,” she says.
“Thank you, Elise. Send her in. You can take lunch,” I say, not looking at her.
“Thank you, sir.”
The door makes a soft tapping noise as she leaves. If she’s noticed my behavior toward her has changed since I heard that she started the rumor that Zandra and I had a sexual relationship, she hasn’t said anything. Perhaps I shouldn’t be angry at her since it’s true now, but a disloyal person invites chaos into a situation, and I can’t allow that right now.
Zandra steps in, carrying a large paper bag with a swirling design around the wordsBasking Doe. It’s an absurd play on words, meant to evoke the imagery of rising dough since they’re known for their paninis, but it only makes me think of a deer in a meadow that’s about to be shot for the sake of a restaurant in Silicon Valley. Normally, the sight of their logo makes me cynical about this whole area and its hippy aesthetic, but Zandra is exuberant about her choice and that’s good enough for me.
“I brought paninis from the place around the corner. Ham and swiss,” she says, setting the bag on my desk.
I remember the smoked ham and gruyere cheese crepes we had in Paris. Any time I eat anything with a salty and savory taste like them, I remember sitting on that bench with her and how her hair whipped around her face while she laughed. I know it only tasted so good because I’d been with her. She was not only sexy and understated in a way I hadn’t encountered before, but she’d been truly concerned about me when I disappeared. That was the first time I could truly see a future with her—someone who was invested in what happened to me and not just what my money could buy them or if I could be an accessory to their life. It was also the first time I vanished without saying anything to her. I’d promised her I wouldn’t disappear like that again, but I did just two days later.
I told myself she’d forget about me within days and that she hadn’t fallen for me like I’d fallen for her. But, thankfully now, I was setting a world record for being wrong.
She takes two Styrofoam containers out of the bag, sliding one of them in front of me and places a stack of napkins between us.
“This was great that you did this, Z, but I have so much work to do for this ad—"
“And taking a break is important,” she says. “Besides, it’s completely possible that if you aren’t able to take a break to eat now, you’ll be too burnt out to spend time with me tonight. My thighs might be burning from this morning, but I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. I don’t need to walk much for my job.”
I loved the eighteen-year-old Zandra in Paris. I love this self-assured one even more.
“I see your point,” I say, popping open the Styrofoam container. “Breaks are important.”
“Very important,” she agrees, opening her own container. When I bite into the panini, the flavor is less than notable, but seeing Zandra enjoy it, I take another bite and it’s not as bland. As Zandra eats, she keeps shifting her weight in her chair and touching her hair.
“You seem nervous,” I ask. “Are you worried about people seeing us together? They know we’ve been working together on the ad and Elise left for lunch.”
“No,” she says empathically. “It’s not that. That is irrelevant to me now. If a company wants to hire me but decides that they can’t because they made the assumption that I slept my way to the top, I don’t want to work for them. They don’t have to know that I sleep with you in your amazing apartment.”
“You were only in my apartment for five minutes.”
“It’s a very, very long-term plan,” she teases.
I shake my head, but it’s hard to not smile around her. As I take another bite of my panini, she touches her hair again. She almost managed to make me forget what we were talking about.
“Why are you nervous then?” I ask.
She takes a bite out of the panini, slowly chewing. She swallows and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “I just…” She takes a deep breath. “I need to know what happened in Paris. It doesn’t matter anymore, but I still need to know what happened and why you never responded to any of my messages.”
“Ah. That’s fair,” I say. I take one of the napkins, wiping my mouth with it, though there’s nothing but a few crumbs there. “That’s a bit complicated.”
“My lunch break is a half-hour, so we have about thirteen minutes,” she says.
