“I meant I should apologize. Last night, I . . .”
My ears warm and every part of my body seizes up as waves of embarrassment crash. Last night I what? How do I explain any of that? Saving me from trying, Noah holds up a hand.
“No need. Neither one of us were on our best behavior. Consider it forgotten.”
“I, uh . . .” Pausing, I latch on to his words. I’m not sure this forced amnesia is the answer but, in my weakened state, find myself conceding anyway. “Okay.”
“There is just one more matter we need to discuss before you take the floor.”
Nerves coil as he traces my form. God, he’s going to say something about my tattoos or my unprofessional appearance. Can he tell how much I’m sweating? My lucky skirt is shorter than what most would consider business casual—a black skater I paired with a loose blouse and cardigan—and at this moment I am severely questioning my superstitions. Sure, it was the skirt I was wearing when I got into business school, and the one I wore for my commencement ceremony, and then again when I interviewed with Spencer last year. But given the combined events of last night and this morning, I’m sure whatever luck it held has run out. Nothing can drag me back from the depths of this ill-fated moment. Bracing myself for an uncomfortable lecture, I clench my hand into a fist and give him an expectant look.
“Your name.”
I can’t hide the sigh of relief that rushes out, and worse, spit my name out like it’s hot on my tongue.
“Charlotte. Charlotte Wilde.”
“Ah, yes. Joined the team last year, and according to Spencer, you’ve made some excellent progress on your accounts. I was just reading over your report on theRefreshline and how it’s faring in Nature’s Bounty Grocers. You’re sharp. Shall we get started?”
Clearing my throat, I nod and approach the whiteboard, truly hoping to put the last twelve hours behind me.Focus Lottie. You’ve prepared for this.
After a quick sketch on the whiteboard to illustrate some of my ideas for advertising and client engagement for the new launch, I take my seat and guide Noah through my packet of marketing mockups as well as my proposed priorities for the store’s launch. So far, the only feedback I’ve received is the occasional nod and affirmative muse. It’s going fine, but I’m doubting my ability to keep to my plan of surviving until lunch.
Oh god. Lunch.
The thought alone elicits a near gag as I swallow the bile begging to make her debut . . . again. My forehead is slick, and even without lifting my arm, I know I’m pitting out of the blouse I borrowed from Kara.
As relieved as I should be to have this opportunity despite my behavior last night, sweating out tequila while fighting the urge to vomit, or worse, in front of my boss—my very hot boss—is at the bottom of the list of things I want to do in this lifetime. Every passing second brings a new awareness of how attractive he is, and how much of a mess I am.
“Excuse me,” I nearly burp as a gas bubble works its way through my intestines.Please, god, no.
Noah pauses, and I lift my hand to brush my forehead. Shit. My armpits. I snap my arm back down just as he looks up.
“Yes, Miss Wilde?”
“Charlotte. You can call me Charlotte, or Lottie. I guess I should have mentioned that earlier, but my friends call me Lottie. Not that you’re my friend. You’re obviously my boss. But you can call me that. If you want. Which isn’t really the point, but, would you mind terribly if I sneak away to use the facilities before we continue?”Facilities? You sound like an idiot who’s been watching too many episodes of British Bake Off. Just saybathroomyou dingus.
Noah frowns, his eyes darting from my face to my arm, and then back up again. I swallow hard. He’s going to see the sweat.
“Not at all. I need to grab my morning shake from my office anyway. Why don’t we take a stretch break and reconvene in about twenty?”
I nod, unsure I can manage swallowing the bite of bile in order to speak again, but pause before standing. The situation in my intestines has not improved, and moving could affect it in the worst possible way. I brace myself on the table, cursing the damp shadow sure to be left by my palms. Noah doesn’t look like he is about to leave first, so I tense every muscle I can fathom and push up from the chair.
All clear.
For now,my stomach taunts.
As gracefully as I can manage, I step towards the door, cringing at the chafe as my thighs rub against the damp tights under my skirt. I make it to the door, only to feel Noah behind me, his hand swinging forward for the handle. He smiles and pulls it open, his gray eyes warm and polite. Fearing another burp, I match his offering with a closed lip curve of my own.
Stepping out of the room, I break right towards the bathrooms but unfortunately my muscles also breathe a sigh of relief. The air bubble lodged in my intestines rolls south and makes her debut in what I can only hope are dry conditions.
Oh. My. God.
The following silence is somehow worse than the gas, and unable to hold anything any longer, I break into a full run. The contents of my stomach roll up through my esophagus, and as I approach the bathroom, I am unsure which end I want pointing towards the porcelain throne. Vomit takes precedence and, as I fall to my knees, my stomach purges. My tights slip against the cool, marble floors and I lean my head down on my forearm, not caring that this is a public toilet.
Flushing the dwindling remnants of my toast, I pray to whatever god is out there that he, or she, will strike me down where I’m crumpled; turn me to dust, or vapor, or curse me into ceasing to exist entirely.
I just audibly farted in front of my boss and thenran away.If that wasn’t enough, I am facing an entire day with just the two of us in what now feels like a very small office. My stomach rolls again, interrupting whatever anxieties were surfacing and I spend the next five minutes dry heaving.
