He perks up at my explanation. “Oh, no worries. I could have rescheduled if you wanted. Is everything OK?” Argh, what a Nice Young Man.
“No, no. It’s fine! Everything’s fine,” I maintain. He’s so accommodating he’s trying to reschedule the date we’re currently on to make it more convenient for me. “Please. Tell me about your job—I’m all ears.”
I make a conscious effort at a real smile, focusing on his eyes as he talks. He actually has really nice eyes.Deep brown with orange-gold flecks like a dancing flame, the opposite to Eric’s icy blue stare.
“Well, I work at SALT. The bar downtown?”
“No way! I’ve been there for a work event. It’s so good!”
He lets out a nervous laugh, his crisp white T-shirt lifting as he scratches the back of his dark curly hair. “I’ve just finished revamping their cocktail menu. They want to do more of those Instagrammable, experimental drinks that have things like dry ice and stuff.”
I cross my legs and lean forward as though I’m making a heinous admission. “I think I’m more of a martini kinda girl.”
He mirrors me. “I can see that,” he says, flashing a perfectly symmetrical smile framed by matching dimples.
My chin rests on my knuckles. “So, do you have a favorite drink on your fabulous new menu?”
“Yeah... maybe you could come by the bar and I can make it for you?”
My confident facade falters and my entire body breaks into an instant sweat as though he’s just asked if he can extract a few of my teeth.
Blinking furiously, I force out, “Ummm, sure, sounds good,” trying to regain my smile.
What is wrong with me? I can go on a million fake dates with my enemy but don’t want a second one with this obviously great guy?
We talk for another twenty minutes about places we’ve been for drinks, for walks, for food, before I notice the time and have to leave, explaining my boss wants some work delivered to her first thing. Jack touches the small of my back as we weave through the tables to the exit. His hand feels like an unwelcome intruder attempting to invade my personal space. I thank my past self for making this a breakfast date; the meal least likely to end in sexual expectations.
We burst into the already baking morning sun, the rush hour crowd brimming with ambitious energy.
“Well, this has been great. I’m not usually up this early but it was definitely worth setting an extra alarm.”
I laugh, but then realize he isn’t joking. My smile fizzles out trying to imagine me working into the late hours of most evenings and early mornings, him working every night, how we’d ever see each other. Spending our weekends running around outside covered in twigs and bugs instead of leisurely wandering through climate-controlled galleries and museums hand in hand.
Jack leans in and my entire body freezes.Fuck, fuck, fuck.Do I let him kiss me? Do I kiss him? I can still taste Eric in my mouth—how is that fair to Jack? Is this what people do on the first date nowadays? Or just an Ignite date? I’m about to thrust my head into oncoming pedestrians when his lips land on my hot, flaming cheek. My shoulders smash back down to earth and asthe dust settles I feel absolutely awful. Of course, he doesn’t just go in for a post-coffee kiss on the first date. He is a Nice Young Man.
We say our goodbyes and obligatory “I’ll text you” promises, then we turn and walk in opposite directions. Him back to bed and me into the office, trying to suppress an instinctive wish that he was someone else.
28
When I’m working on something I’m truly passionate about, hours fly by with me barely blinking. Creating the Ditto presentation, much as when I was working on my Ever After pitch, doesn’t even feel like work. It feels like something I am genuinely good at: developing an idea from the ground up and figuring out the puzzle of how to turn it into a real-world scenario. Despite all the unexpected things that have happened during the research and development of the Ditto project, it’s the most fun I’ve had at work in months, possibly years. Susie is out in meetings all morning with strict instructions to “do not disturb,” so I’ve been holed up in her office putting the final touches on my slides, adding flair, cleaning up any rambling sentences and fine-tuning it into a clean list of prompts to back up my verbal presentation.
The shrill ring of her black office telephone makes me jump, but I let it ring out until the answering machine message plays, followed by a deep voice:
“Good afternoon, Ms. Jopling. My team has looked into your request. They retain the right to remove youfrom your role, but your board seat remains safe as per the terms of the acquisition. Please call my secretary so we can set up a meeting to discuss next steps.”
I freeze. I can’t press replay—she will know someone listened to it. Trying to process the words is like trying to remember the license plate of a car going by at ninety miles an hour. Is Catch Group trying to get rid of Susie? My gut twists; during Fate’s acquisition, she fought for all of us to keep our jobs. What would happen to the rest of the team if Susie was gone?
A Slack message from Yemi pops up on my laptop screen, pulling me away from the edges of the spiral:
OM: Free for lunch, dirty stop-out? x
GH: Meet you at the elevator in 5 x
If it wasn’t for the dull ache between my thighs and the not-so-subtle bite mark on my shoulder, I would start to think I made last night up.
“What the fuck?” Yemi leans forward in her chair.
“You can say that again.”
