Why had he texted me? Should I read anything into it? I’d seen the way he looked at me. I didn’t think it was far-fetched to imagine he liked me for some reason.
I thought maybe I liked him, too. He’d been kind and funny, in a goofy kind of way. And shy. Adorably shy. So unlike Noah.
Noah was like an impossibly perfect diamond—shiny, pretty, eye-catching. Micah gave him a run for his money in looks, but he was taken. If Noah hadn’t been so rude to me, if he’d flirted with me, would I have missed Shane?
If Noah was a diamond, Shane was more like the sunrise, not just because he was all reds and oranges, like me. Always in the background, Shane was easy to take for granted. But like the sunrise, his complex beauty revealed itself when I stopped to look.
I could never say any of that to him. I’d have to keep it light and hope he wasn’t just being polite.
“Layla, I believe you had some ideas you’d like to share about automating the Twitter posts?”
Oh, yeah. Work.
I cleared my throat, nervous that they’d find my ideas weak or poorly conceived. “To start with, I’d like to create automated tools to pre-craft social media posts so authors will have an easier time sharing their articles on other platforms.”
I stopped talking and waited for any kind of reaction.
Nothing.
After a beat, I lost confidence in my own proposal and added, “It’s just a first step. Lots of blogging software already has similar functionality.”
Dave frowned and breathed in. I expected him to tell me he didn’t understand or say it wasn’t feasible, but he surprised me. “Yeah, our web presence is pitiful, and this seems simple enough. Could you write it up and set up a meeting? We can hammer out the requirements later this week and design within the month.”
“Sure.”
He gave me his full attention. “Let me know any other ideas you have.”
“Will do.”
Meeting adjourned, I bounced to the kitchen, eager to get some caffeine and settle in to write up the requirements for the proposal. While the coffeemaker sputtered out a dark, sludgy liquid, I sensed a presence behind me and spun around to find myself face to face with a dark-haired, dark-eyed, well-dressed Gabriel Sanchez who I recognized instantly from his byline. I started to speak, but my throat produced a sound eerily like the over-used coffee machine.
He must have taken my reaction as some kind of insta-lust because his lip curled into a mischievous grin. “Well, hello. And who might you be?”
I stuck my hand out. “Layla. Layla Beckett.”
Gabriel wrapped his hand around mine. His smile grew and he showed his perfectly white teeth. “Layla? Should I get down on my knees?”
I grimaced but forced out a pitiful laugh. “Heh.”
“I’m Gabe. Or you might know me as Gabriel Sanchez. I’m one of the head writers.” He leaned against the counter, looking as casual as one could in the middle of a brightly lit half kitchen.
The temptation to take a picture and post it in the forum overwhelmed me, but I mastered my face to get my surprise under control and managed to play it cool. “What do you write?”
That was the wrong tack to take with him. He straightened up and pressed his lips together briefly. “I hope you’ll figure that out soon enough.”
Nervous words spilled out. “I’m getting up to speed.”
If he had been any other writer, I might have casually mentioned I’d read all his reviews, and it would have been mostly true. I’d done my homework before coming to work here. I wanted to know the names of all the staff writers and freelancers. But I hadn’t needed to research Gabriel Sanchez. I had a guilty obsession with his reviews because he’d become increasingly hostile to the bands I loved most. Particularly Walking Disaster.
Ever since the magazine had hired Jo, Gabe seemed to go out of his way to pan anyone remotely connected with her. I secretly doubted the magazine cared enough to make such elaborate plans, but try telling fans their opinions amount to ridiculous conspiracy theory.
He retrieved a mug from the pantry and slid it over, taking the opportunity to edge closer to me. “How are you enjoying it here?”
“Fine.” I added a packet of sugar to my mug then stepped around him to give him free access to the machine. “There’s so much to do. The work is interesting so far.”
“And what work is that?”
“I’m the new social media manager.”
