Oh, God. How embarrassing would it be if Matt has to jump in and save me?
I can’t let that happen. Which means I’m going to need help. The kind of help I can’t get from Matt or Tad. I need girl squad help.
chapterfive
I tryto buckle down and get work done after the meeting, but by three o'clock, even I'm willing to admit that the afternoon is a wash. I spend most of the time fleshing out the drawings I did for the Butler pitch, but I can tell it feels off. To make matters worse, Tad badgers me with offers to help prep me for the meeting. I manage not to snap at him, but just barely.
So at three, I log out of my office computer, pack up my tote bag, and head out. I text my friend Reb, who works for a gaming company up on the twenty-sixth floor. Reb and I met a couple of years ago and even though we have nothing in common other than we’re both women in our twenties who happen to work in this building, we became good friends.
I'm clocking out early. Want to grab a drink downstairs?
Honeybun, I only got in two hours ago
And unless you want to come down here and explain to a mob of barely post-adolescent game designers that boob plate armor is stupid and potentially dangerous, I am stuck in this meeting for the foreseeable future.
Do I want to know what boob plate armor is?
No.
No, you do not.
Trust me on this
How did the pitch meeting go?
Great. I got a last-minute stroke of genius and saved the day.
And now they want me to give the presentation to Butler
??
??
That's amazing!
A confetti gif comes through next.
We'll celebrate later
We should go shopping this weekend so you can buy something badass to wear!
Will it have boob armor?
Def not
Back to the boob-armor-debate trenches for me
I shoot back the “Run Away” gif from Monty Python.
With Reb out of commission, I head down to the parking garage and drop my bag off in the trunk of my car. Then I walk to the French bakery a block over, where I buy a dozen macarons and add in banana nut muffins at the last minute because that seems healthier.
One of the best things about my office is that it's only a couple of blocks from Keegan's condo. Now that we're hanging out more, we both have apps that allow us to track one another, something Keegan insisted on now that I walk over to his place sometimes after work.For my safety.Insert eye roll here.
It seemed ridiculous at the time, but I've gotten used to being able to check and see if he's at home. According to the app, he's not at home, but it looks like he's stuck in traffic a few blocks away. So I walk over to his place, texting him as I go. He tells me he's on his way home and that I should let myself in. Keegan and I have had keys to one another's various residences ever since we shared an apartment in college. It annoyed the shit out of Ollie.
Even though I regularly come home to find Keegan stretched out on my sofa watching TV, I'm not quite comfortable enough to let myself into his place. So I ride the elevator up to the twelfth floor, where I make myself comfortable on the sofa in the small common area outside the elevator. I'm scrolling through Instagram, mindlessly eating one of the macarons, my box of pastries on my lap, when the elevator doors open.
I glance up to see Keegan stepping out of the elevator along with his neighbor, Selah. Selah is a cross between a Nordic runway model and a Southern belle. She's thin, gorgeous, and blesses my heart every time we run into each other.
