After the pop-up fiasco, Revenantreallyneeds some good press. This could be the ticket. I don’t want to wait any longer than I absolutely must to try for certification.
“So, where are our problem areas?” I ask.
“Suppliers,” he says. “Some of them are okay, others you’re going to need to replace. The suggestions are all there.”
I glance up at Will. His ankle is propped on one knee, and his hands are linked together in his lap. His eyes catch and hold mine.
“This is great, Will. Thank you.”
He nods. “I’m happy you’re happy.”
I push aside the first folder and grab the second one. “And this?”
“Market research on other brands who went from online to omnichannel.”
I roll out my neck, eyes trained on the packet, while I try to convince myself that competency shouldn’t be this much of a turn-on.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing a levelness into my tone. “I’ll have a look at all this and follow up with you tomorrow if I have any questions.”
Will nods and stands up. He’s still got one more folder in his hands. He checks his watch. “I’ve got a meeting now with Camila. She asked for some research, too.”
“She did?” It comes out eager, and Will notices. “I mean, um. That’s…” I trace my index finger along the edge of a folder. Dusk blue, not Pantone Royal Blue. “Productive,” I finish lamely.
Will studies me like he’s strategizing the best way to break into a fortress. “Is that… okay with you?”
“Of course!” He continues staring, and I finally crack. “I have a favor to ask.”
He slants me a look. “You quite literally just told me no favors.”
“This is a work favor,” I clarify.
“In that case, it’s an assignment.”
I grab a pen and fiddle with it, then look back up at him. From this angle, the underside of Will’s jawline is as defined as a cliff face. “The first night of Camila’s bachelorette? She drunkenly told me she’s leaving Revenant. But I don’t think she remembers saying it.”
After a moment, he deduces: “This upsets you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to hold her back. But I just…”
“Just…” He waits.
“I just want to make sure she’s not unhappy. Or that something within my power to change isn’tmakingher unhappy.”
Will nods. “I can ask if she’s happy.”
“No! Ugh, boys,” I groan softly, dropping the pen to fiddle with the ends of my hair. I curled it today, even added some hair perfume. “Just let me know if she seems… disengaged?”
He frowns. “Okay. So, I’m just supposed to take her temperature?”
“Basically.”
“I’m not known for my stealth,” he says.
“Whatareyou known for?”
“I’d tell you if it wouldn’t be breaking one of your rules,” he reminds me.
“Right. You can text me,” I say. “About Camila. Don’t put it in an email.”
