I don’t know what’s happening. Obviously, this is an office prank that no one told me about.Again. They always leave me out of these practical jokes. Like the time they rigged up a bottle of fart spray underneath everyone’s office chairs so whenever someone sat down, it triggered the bottle to spray. Or when they glued a trail of quarters to the hallway floor. And who could forget all the little plastic bugs and fake rodents they left in the kitchen refrigerator or in our workstation drawers. The art department usually gets it the worst.
The humming turns into singing now with Gavin tapping out a beat at the edge of the table. I force my concentration away from the wall to see what everyone is doing, and they are all suspiciously looking back at me.
My face scrunches up curiously. “Okay,” I sigh. “What’s going on?”I mean, seriously, what level of hell is this?
Gavin laughs loudly. “You seriously have no idea?”
“No,” I sigh.
“Simply Sinister’s new song?” he asks.
I shake my head again and roll my eyes. “Haven’t heard it.”
Gavin looks stunned. “It just hit number one. Do you live under a rock?”
Apparently, and we have no radios down there.
Everyone sings in unison now, all except for Dex who I can see, in the corner of my eye, lean back and tilt his head up to the ceiling.
“—Sitby my side so it doesn’t hurt
You’re the only one who knows my name
You hit me with that smile
My beautiful plain Jane
Tell me where’s your hiding place
In his eyes, in his face
This is why I pray for rain
My beautiful elusive plain Jane
Tell me how to let you go
Tell me how to forget your name
I remember those nights
Your eyes lit so bright
His name on your lips
My hand on your hips
What if I never fall again
My beautiful plain Jane—"
I wantto slide down from my chair, crawl under the table, and disappear. My eyes flick to Dex’s; his entire demeanor is angrier than before. I don’t know what to say or do. I remember Damian telling me to listen for a song, but I didn’t think it would be a freakingloveballad.
“So,” Gavin purrs, “tell us all about his hands on your hips part—”
I stiffen. “There weren’t any hands on my hips. There was absolutely no—”
“Enough,” Gail shouts, clapping her hand together. “Jane will write a scathing story about the whole torrid affair when Simply Sinister’s memoir hits the stores.” She huffs out dramatically. “Right now we need to up our numbers. Metro has tripled their sales this month and last, going to a fully digital forum. If you all want to keep your little cubicles and benefits, I suggest you tighten down your ideas and think up better pitches than the ones you’re giving me.”
