His words dash any hopes that I have of forming an intelligent sentence.
He doesn’t recognize me.
My boss—my unfortunately hot, younger boss—doesn’t recognize me at all.
The realization is unsettling and oddly freeing at the same time.
If he’d realized I was Meg, the same woman that he sat across the conference table from no less than four days ago, I would at least have a roadmap for how to act. Since he doesn’t recognize me, I’m in uncharted territory.
He’s still standing there with his hand out, so I do the sensible thing. I shake his hand.
The other day when I shook his hand in the conference room in the round of pre-meeting greetings, his handshake was brusque and efficient. Business-y.
This handshake is totally different. His touch is warm, gentle, and lingering. If it’s possible for a handshake to flirt, his does.
Disconcerted, I pull my hand back.
“And you are ...?”
He leaves the question hanging in the air.
Well, dang it. This is awkward.
Then he gives me a slow and sensual once over. Suddenly my heart is pounding with panic, because—holy shit—he’s giving me let-me-pick-you-up eyes.
My boss is giving me let-me-pick-you-up eyes.
My boss!
What do I do? WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo????
I never get let-me-pick-you-up eyes from guys. Like, ever.
Once, Keegan and I did one of those speed dating things. I didn’t even get let-me-pick-you-up eyes from any of those guys, even though I was literally there to be picked up.
So getting a look like that from anyone would be weird. Getting a look like that from Reid, who is normally so reserved and standoffish at work, who would never in a million years look at one of his employees like that? This is off-the-charts weird. This is there-be-dragons weird.
What should I do?
If I introduce myself as Meg and tell him I work for him, that will be awkward, right?
I’m awkward enough as it is. I don’t need additional awkwardness in the office.
But what’s the alternative? Run away?
That is illogical as well. Obviously.
So I clear my throat and say the first thing that pops into my head.
“I’m Sasha.”
I say the name without really thinking it through.
Yes, it’s a lie, but it doesn’t feel like a lie. Right now, at this moment, I feel like the sassy, fashionable woman who drinks G&T’s and doesn’t let anyone body shame her.
I’m dressed like Sasha. I acted like Sasha for most of the day. I feel like Sasha. I feel like someone who isn’t Meg Demeo. Someone who isn’t worried about losing her best friend.
Unfortunately, when I introduce myself as Sasha, Reid takes a step closer and gives me a slow, sensual once over. It is the look he gives me in my fantasies. But suddenly, I’m not at all sure how I feel about that.
