“What decorations are you going touse?”
Another topic shift and I felt dizzytrying to keep up with him. I just wanted to go home, heat up a cup of soup,and binge watch bad reality TV. “Nothing too extravagant,” I told him. “Lilouis pretty enough. But I wanted to grab some flowersfor the tables, and I have some pictures and stuff I want to display.”
“I have a florist,” he volunteered.“You don’t need to worry about flowers unless you want to.”
“Oh, it’s not a big—”
“She’s used to the space,” hecontinued. “I’ll call her now.”
Translation: Don’t bring your crappycarnations into my pristine sanctuary.
“I don’t want to add to your plate,”I offered weakly.
He moved around to the back of hisdesk. Picking up his cell, he started scrolling through his contacts. “Did youhave a specific flower in mind?”
“Vera loves peonies,” I heard myselfsay. “But it’s February so I was going to see what was available.”
He nodded, absorbing theinformation. “Color scheme?”
“Red,” I told him. “I found thesevintage spice racks that are flat with slots in them. I was going to use themas centerpieces.”
“Here, write down your email addressand I’ll send you the florist’s info. You can drop off the spice racks beforeFriday and she’ll handle all the details.”
I numbly picked up the white pad ofpaper and scrawled my email address for him. I should have stood up to himmore, and told him I had the flowers and the decorations covered. But I wasintimidated.
Severely intimidated.
He took the notepad back andinspected my email address as though I’d given him a fraud. He looked up at meand I could see wheels spinning in his head. He had something to say and it wasanybody’s guess what that was.
“There’s one more thing,” he said.
A nervous flutter trembled in mystomach. “What is that?”
He opened his mouth to answer justas the cellphone in his hand went off. He glared down at the screen and let outan impatient sigh. “I have to take this,” he murmured.
I could recognize a brush off when itwas aimed directly at me. “No problem. I’ll see you Friday. You have my emailif you need anything else.”
I turned to look at him as I walkedaway. He glanced up at me from across the room and I was once again hit withhow attractive this man was. Usually, personality meant more to me than looks,but Ezra apparently didn’t need a sparkling temperament for me to find him striking.I wanted to paint him. I wanted to capture that consternated expression on hisface by immortalizing it on canvas.
His thumb swiped over his phone,answering the call before I’d left the office. “Bye, Ezra,” I whispered to hisstoic face. He didn’t respond.
Turning around at the door to hisoffice I fledLilou, his part of town, and this wholeentire day.
ChapterThree
I grabbed a bottle of wine on theway home and uncorked it as soon as I walked in the door. My sixth-floorapartment on the edge of downtown was cute, mostly affordable, and close towork. I had moved in two years ago when I finally trusted that my salary at STSwasn’t going to suddenly disappear.
It was supposed to be this big landmarkof adulthood. I had a full-time job and my own place, yay! Except mostly itfelt lonely. And I wasn’t one of those girls that needed people around me allthe time. I liked space. I liked privacy. But there was something about livingalone that had started to feel… isolated. Like it wasn’t my choice anymore.
I was thinking about getting a cat.
After my promised cup of soup, Itried watching something on Netflix, but I couldn’t settle on any one show. Iset down the remote when I’d spent forty-five minutes scrolling through theendlessly mediocre options. There were only so many times a girl could bingewatchThe Officewithout demandingher very own JimHalpertfrom the universe. Andnobody wanted bitter Pam walking around in real life.
My afternoon played on repeat in myhead, until I’d poured myself another glass of wine and given up trying todissect why getting the project I wanted badly felt so very empty. Black Soulwould be a huge step forward for my career. I’d already spent weeks mentallydevising an advertising plan that was both relevant and original.
This was the thing that was going tosolidify my place atSixTwentySix, gain respect frommy coworkers and make Mr. Tucker finally remember my name. But now that it wasgo time, I second guessed my life goals. Was this really living the dream?Could I really spend the rest of my life making social media packets for peoplethat didn’t understand the proper use of hashtags?
Sidenote: #iateasaladforlunchis a useless hashtag.
