by Kate Gilead
Besides, that’s what it takes to be attractive to a man like Kyle…oh, shit.
Is that why I’m doing this? Am I trying to up my game for him…or to represent for Nancy?
Both?
Checking myself out in the change-room mirror, I stare into my own reflected eyes for a moment.
He’s way out of my league. He’s a bone-bred, tight-ass professional and I can barely apply make-up.
What am I doing? Do I even have any idea?
Sigh.
An hour later, I have a couple new skirts, some blouses with frilly necklines or other details that make them a bit more oomph and less plain-Jane.
Some blazers that fit properly, too. All classic stuff that never goes out of style.
And I even scored two pairs of nearly-new and very sexy ankle boots and and a pair of black patent pumps. Perfect!
The following morning, Tuesday, I take extra care with my look, putting my hair into the same painfully-tight, neat and tidy professional-looking bun as yesterday.
Again, I carefully apply the lipstick and eye-liner that I usually never wear. Like always, I have to try a couple times, but, finally I get it right.
I think.
I don’t look quite like myself, but that’s what I’m aiming for, isn’t it?
Just make the best of it and you’ll get through it, Heartie old girl, I say to myself. You can look like an office-drone with the best of them.
Aunt Nancy’s counting on you.
When I breeze into the executive office suite, ready with a cheerful greeting and yes, I suppose hoping for some witty repartee…there’s no one there.
When Kyle finally does make an appearance just before lunchtime, he says hello, gives me a tight smile, then rushes into his office and closes the door.
An hour later, he comes back out, pausing in the doorway to the little elevator lobby serving the executive suite here on the top floor. “Oh, Heart? I’m going down to R&D for the day. I’m not sure I’ll be back before quitting time,” he says. “You can text me if you need me, but otherwise, just go ahead and leave at five o’clock, okay? Don’t wait for me.”
Then he makes a beeline for the door to the stairwell.
“Oh….” I start to answer him, but I can already hear the echo of his footsteps fading away down the stairs. “…kay,” I finish, lamely.
Then I get back to work.
I only see Kyle once more that day. He stops by my desk long enough to explain that he’s deeply involved in some de-bugging problems which have been trickling in since the release of the new software. He’ll be spending his time on a lower floor with the dev team until they sort it all out.
“Don’t wait for me if I’m not back by quitting time,” he says again, before disappearing.
Being alone in the office is good, I tell myself. Because I can get a lot of stuff done.
And, by quitting time that day, the pile of work is down by about half. “Fitty percent,” I say out loud as I get ready to leave. “Fitty-fitty, nitty gritty,” I sing-song, then I look around guiltily, feeling stupid for talking to myself in this empty office.
I guess when you spend a lot of hours alone, you do end up needing to hear a human voice, even if it’s only your own.
I send Nancy a quick text to let her know it’s going well, then consider doing the same for Kyle.
But then I realize it might look like I’m asking him to congratulate me for doing the job I’m getting paid to do, so I just go home.
Wednesday.
Another morning spent getting my look just perfect, only to spend the long day alone, during which I hardly see Kyle at all.
And I only get about, say, another twenty-five percent through the backlog of work.
That’s because of getting bogged down by some problems that I have to wait on input from other departments to solve.
I hate waiting for other people, so I use the time to finish up some spreadsheets that Aunt Nancy was working on.
That’s when I notice–really notice–how darn quiet it is in here, too.
The phone hardly rings, which I’m thinking is because no one knows I’m here yet.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe people are simply not aware that Nancy has a replacement and they can call me with work and assignments or, hell, even just to bitch about the weather.
I’m too new here to make work-friends, and maybe too isolated up here in the executive suite.
“Up heah in The Ivory Towah,” I say out loud in my best Katherine Hepburn impression.
Well I haven’t even been here a week yet. These things take time, after all.
But boy…yeah. Is it ever quiet in this office!
Next morning, Thursday, I take special care with my look again.
But I only see Kyle just as I’m leaving for the day, when I bump into him on the way out.
“Oh, by the way,” he says, “Friday’s are casual dress days. Wasn’t sure if you knew that.”
“Oh? Thank God,” I say, and laugh. He gives me a puzzled look. I wave it off, smiling back. “Oh, Kyle? The backlog is cleared up now. Just thought I’d let you know.”
“Great work, Heart. See you tomorrow.”
Dismissed, like usual.
He barely knows I’m alive.
Yeah. The work keeps me busy but working alone in silence all the time is gonna make me go stir-crazy.
I make a mental note to ask Kyle if I can bring in some speakers to hook up to Nancy’s computer.
It has built-in speakers, but, they’re kind of shitty. The tinny sound that came out of them when I tried playing some background music made it seem even lonelier in the office somehow.
Like elevator muzak in purgatory or something.
I’m already dreading spending another day by myself in this posh, well-decorated but empty, silent office.
Sterile. It’s like one of those Ikea showrooms where everything looks pretty but there’s no life there.
I know it’s only been a few days, but, I’m already wondering if this gig is going to work out after all.
Friday.
When I wake up this morning, I start picking through my new selection of clothing before I remember it’s casual day.
After my shower, I blow out and style my fringe but leave the rest of my hair to air-dry on my shoulders. It curls up and looks messier after it dries, but who cares?
It’s a welcome change from that tight, itchy bun. Scalp-screamers, I call ‘em, because to get them to stay put, you have to fasten them so tightly.
After some thought, I put on a pair of flare-bottom, indigo-blue jeans, and don a peasant blouse with an embroidered vest over that.
I swipe my mascara brush over my eyelashes and use a little gloss just to moisturize my lips.
Now, I look more like myself. And I feel more like myself.
And before I leave, I grab my spare set of mini-PC speakers to plug into Nancy’s computer.
First opportunity I get, I’m gonna ask Kyle if I can plug these babies in and blast some life into the place.
Chapter Four
Kyle
Driving to the office on Friday morning, my plan for the day is to go straight to R&D to get back to work.
With every new software release come some bugs, and part of the on-going service process is to deal with them as they come up. Naturally, I like to make sure it gets taken care of quickly, so I stay involved through the whole thing.
Sitting in the infamous stop-and-go Toronto rush-hour traffic, I have lots of time to think about it.
There weren’t all that many bugs with this new release, thank God.
Me and the boys should have them solved by the end of the day today. We’re already so close, who knows. Maybe it’ll be done by lunchtime and we’ll have the first patch compiled and ready for release Monday.
Knowing that Heart will be upstairs taking care of everything else has been really helpful.
She’s really an impressive young lady.
Maybe a li
ttle too impressive.
Even a bit…intimidating, although I think some of it’s that serious, I don’t-need-any-help attitude she has. It comes off as a little severe…kind of like that bun and eye-liner she wears.
I can’t help feeling a little amused when I think about it though.
Her smile, and how she let some of her real self slip out during our interview makes me feel kind of…soft towards her.
Intrigued.
While I admire her work ethic, I was disappointed when she turned down my offer to help her out that first day.
Yep. Must be getting soft. I mean, she’s beautiful, for sure. But beautiful young women are a dime a dozen. I learned that lesson long ago.
My thoughts wander back to that small misunderstanding in the hallway that first day where she all but told me off.
Something about that just…grabbed me.
Women usually kiss my ass. But Heart…it’s like she’s just all business.
Heart doesn’t need me.
Do I want her to?
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I think…yeah. Yes. I do want her to need me.
Why?
She isn’t here to be my girlfriend. She’s Nancy’s niece, any thoughts otherwise would be completely inappropriate.
Wouldn’t they?
I’m not sure why Heart seems to be on my mind so much.
She’s hot, for sure, but that’s not even close to all of it. Something sweet about her, something soft and sweet and mysterious.
Something different about her.
And I want to find out what it is.
Mulling it over, I briefly consider if it could it be that I just need to get laid.
Ahh…fuck no. The thought of having any more boring, mechanical sex with over-eager sluts just about makes my balls contract.
Once you realize you can fuck anyone you want, it’s like you don’t want to fuck anyone anymore.
Pulling forward now, moving slowly in traffic, I try to remember the last time I had sex.
Was it…shit, I think it was…yeah. It was over a year ago. A woman I dated for, what? A month.
Tanya. Hot Russian immigrant, who threw herself at me. Made it easy…too easy. Turned out, her whole thing was to find a rich man to get married to. As soon as I realized that, of course I had to bail.
Even if she hadn’t been a gold-digger, I’m wasn’t ready. It wasn’t part of The Plan.
So what’s this obsession with Heart then? Am I just grasping at straws?
Am I hoping for something more just out of loneliness?
It’d be foolish to try to start something with her that’s not going to go anywhere, anyway. Foolish to risk scaring her away from working for me until Nancy comes back.
Foolish to risk my good relationship with Nancy, most importantly.
No matter what weird shit I’m going through right now, I have my life laid out. Sticking to my intentions has always seen me through hard times. That’s the whole point of having a plan. It’s a roadmap of your life that will always be there to follow.
And Heart obviously has a roadmap of her own. When I’m ready for something serious in a few years time, she’ll still be so young.
In five years, she’ll still in the early stages of getting her design business happening. Maybe she’ll be like a lot of young women these days and not even want to have kids.
Unless…she changes her mind.
Maybe I shouldn’t even be thinking this way.
But I can’t seem to help it. Bemused, inching along in traffic, I can’t deny the fact that I do want to get to know her better.
But I want to get to know the real girl, not just her professional side.
Suddenly, an idea pops into mind.
After parking my Beamer in my privileged spot on the top level of the garage, I skip the executive suite entirely and go straight to R&D.
Casual Fridays are usually more laid back but today, we’re all pushing to get shit done. Everyone’s on board and most of the department is already there, early like me.
For the first time since Nancy’s stroke, I find that I’m able to really buckle down and concentrate.
And for the first time since I met Heart, I find I’m able to push thoughts of her away…well, almost.
Some part of me remains aware of her, that she’s upstairs being admirably efficient…and that part of me is still intrigued and puzzled by her mysterious mixed signals.
My admiration for her has only grown over the last few days. She hasn’t complained about anything, hasn’t asked me a single question. No, she’s been calling other departments to get what she needs and finding her own way around.
She doesn’t need me. Not so far.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up before I even give it a try.
No. It’s not in me to give up.
Just gonna have to make it my mission to find some way in…and use any advantage I have.
By lunchtime, we hit our target and get the last of the code sorted out.
Then we gather in the conference room for the company-paid lunch that always follows the wrap-up of a successful launch week.
“Great job, guys,” I say, as everyone takes a seat. “As per usual, if anyone on the team wants to go out on the town tonight to celebrate and de-compress, RS&T will pick up the tab for the evening. Just remember to turn in your receipts first thing Monday.”
Discussion turns to who’s going out and where, while someone else writes everyone’s lunch order on the whiteboard. As is my usual practice, I take a photo of it with my iPhone so I can send it to Nance and…oh, yeah.
Scratch that. Send it to Heart, it’s her job now.
Thirty minutes later, there’s the unmistakeable thump-thump-thump sound of someone using their shoe to knock at the conference room door.
Getting up, I swing it open and…Jesus Christ.
It’s like a whole different Heart standing there.
Hands full with two bags bulging with styrofoam lunch containers, her long hair is loose, released upon her shoulders like a shiny copper cloud.
Her bright eyes looking so much bigger than before, I can see that she’s done away with the heavy makeup, letting her natural beauty shine through.
Even her casual clothing suits her much better than the proper office outfits she’s worn the last few days.
God damn. Just looking at her makes me…hungry.
As if she’s reading my mind, she flashes me a big grin and says, “Is anyone hungry or should I eat all this myself?”
“We’ll fight you for it,” I reply, smiling back.
Taking the bags from her hands, I say, “Come in and meet the dev team, Heart.”
Of course, every pair of eyes on the team checks her out as I make the introductions.
“Guys, this is Nancy’s niece, Heart. She’ll be filling in until Nance gets back on her feet.”
The crew introduce themselves individually and offer their well-wishes to Heart for Nancy’s recovery while I hand out the meals.
Then, everyone gets down to the important business of eating.
Except one guy.
George, at forty, the oldest member of the team, can’t seem to take his eyes off of Heart.
Frowning, I take a bite of my sandwich and listen as he engages her in conversation instead of eating his own food.
“Heart? Your name is Heart? How do you spell that?” His tone is flirty as hell.
George is known around the office as the perpetually single player-type, but since he keeps it out of the work environment, I have no beef with it.
Me and Ranesh, my head developer, glance at each other and roll our eyes.
Heart smiles kindly at George. When she does, his eyes light up and he sits up straighter.
Oh shit.
Yeah. Any remaining doubt that I want her–or whether I’m going to do about anything about it–vanishes along with the surge of unaccustomed jealousy that rises in my chest.
Shit’s g
etting real, I think to myself.
“H-e-a-r-t”, she replies, spelling it out. “Just like…”
“The organ that pumps blood,” I finish for her, before taking a ferocious bite of my sandwich and giving George the death-stare.
He’s too busy ogling her to notice.
“That’s right,” she says, flashing me a smile.
“Aren’t you going to eat with us, Heart?” Now, George stands up to pull a chair out for her, playing the white knight.
Ranesh catches my eye again. He cuts his eyes towards George and frowns slightly, as if to say “check this out!”
The rest of the guys are all busy trying to pretend they’re not watching what’s going on.
“No, thanks, I take my lunch in my office,” she says, taking a step back and turning away.
“Oh, too bad!” Unfazed, George sits back down and opens his food container, keeping his eyes on Heart’s ass.
As does everyone else in the room.
Nope. Not liking this at all.
To me, she asks, “So how’s it going?”
Before I can swallow my mouthful of food to reply, George pipes up. “Oh, wonderfully! With me showing these young bucks the ropes, we made short work of the issues.” Tucking his chin downwards, he glances around at the crew with a sheepish grin.
A chorus of groans and guffaws ensues. “Yeah, right, George,” one guy says.
“You can do the next batch yourself then,” another guy puts in.
Heart glances at George and smiles politely at his joke. Looking back at me, she says, “I put some documents for your signature on your desk. Legal says they need them back before you leave for the night.”
“Thanks. I…”
“Heart is a really interesting name,” says George, not giving up. “Any special meaning?” Glancing at me, he says, “Other than the organ that pumps blood.”
Turning back to him, she replies, “I’m named after my mother, Corazon.”
“Fascinating,” George says. “That’s Spanish, right? Your mother named you after herself?”