Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  Fib number three. I hadn’t been laughing. Not even close.

  Though I was giving the story a light spin, I felt disgusted at the remembrance. I pushed my plate away, appetite gone.

  “To cut to the chase,” I continued. “He didn’t mind giving up the licking because the real show, apparently, was the bagpiping.”

  Seeming bewildered, Janie asked, “He brought… bagpipes?”

  “No. No, he did not,” I issued three rapid staccato shakes of my head. “I learned something new. See, when a man and an armpit love each other very much, they engage in an act called bagpiping. Google it. Or don’t. It will ruin the pipes for you. All I know is that I am scarred for life. I’m ticklish and have sensitive skin, we would have never worked. I told him to hit the bricks.” With a small sigh I said, “C’est la vie.”

  In reality, the experience had been disturbing. I hadn’t simply told him to ‘hit the bricks.’ He had used his strength and weight to try to strongarm me into cooperating. We scuffled, which, in retrospect, could have easily ended a lot worse for me than the few bruises on my arms and back. But I had kept calm throughout the short altercation—more incredulous and angry than scared. I was scrappier than I looked, and I had been bolstered by the knowledge that I had back-up.

  I knew he noticed the high-level of security: the thumbprint scanner the doorman used to let us in, and the watchful, black-clad guards in the lobby. I knew he noticed and so, with delusional confidence, asked him if he was stupid.

  You think your face hasn’t been recorded since before you set foot in this building?

  You think there’s not at least eight elite security team members ready at a moment’s notice to take you down?

  Fuck you.

  Somehow my tactics worked. He pulled away from me and released my arm. For a moment, I didn’t think he’d leave.

  Shaking with rage, he pointed a finger at me. The tendons in his neck bulged.

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “I don’t give a shit,” spittle fell from his mouth, “about Obama!”

  He turned from me then and stormed for the door. Before he left, he yelled, “I’m not afraid of Obama!”

  The crazy asshole thought Barack Obama, 44th President of the United States of America lived in my building.

  I locked the door, leaned against it, and said with heartfelt sincerity, “Thanks, Obama.”

  Chapter Four

  *DKM*

  I loved my sister, I really, really did. But sometimes… Sometimes I wanted to be an only child.

  I was on my third call of the week with her. She was in a flurry of wedding plans—all of which she felt the need to discuss and complain about. And, it was fine. Really. Because I loved her.

  But this week’s calls were morphing into something different.

  Now, her sights were set on me.

  “You need to text me your measurements,” Kari said impatiently, by way of greeting.

  The demand annoyed me greatly. Not only did I not know my measurements off the top of my head, but I was very busy settling into my new position at BKC Memorial. She knew this. Also, the wedding wasn’t until the end of October. It was now the beginning of July. I didn’t feel like my measurements were a pressing issue at this stage.

  What really set my teeth on edge was that she assumed I was going to be part of the wedding party. This was never discussed until now. For the record, if my sister wanted me in her wedding, I’d be there in a heartbeat. But she had a terrible habit of making unilateral decisions for people and not discussing it with them beforehand. This part of her personality was the source of most of our, admittedly few, arguments.

  I couldn’t let this stand.

  “Hello, and good afternoon to you, too, grump,” I said, giving the grumpiness right back to her.

  “Hi,” she said quickly. “I need those measurements very soon, Ken. Brandon and I have decided on the style of suit we want the groomsmen to wear.”

  “I don’t recall ever being asked to be a groomsman, Kari.” She made a choking sound and before she could launch into a tirade, I continued. “Being a groomsman in your wedding is going to require a commitment and responsibilities. Don’t you think we should discuss this?” I imbued my tone with a slight chiding.

  It was true, after all. Her wedding was going to be a weekend event on Mackinac Island in northern Michigan. I was looking at fittings, a bachelor party, a rehearsal dinner, and an entire weekend of being bossed around and forced to endure nonsense like riding in horse-drawn carriages, fudge tasting, and probably pumpkin picking, all for the sake of photographs. The least she could do was ask.

  “Kenny,” she coaxed, using my childhood nickname. I could hear the edge in it though, and I smiled, perversely enjoying her struggle to keep cool. “Would you please be one of Brandon’s groomsmen?”

  “I don’t know, I hardly know the guy.” At this point, I was being a dick and she knew it.

  “Shut up. You’re my only sibling. You’re in my wedding. This is one of those unspoken rules and I’m not going to grovel. Send me the measurements,” she demanded again, but this time with a laugh.

  “It’s an unspoken rule?” I asked. “I must love you more than you love me, because when I get married, I’ll just do it and not cause stress and inconvenience for all of my loved ones.”

  “I swear to God,” she grit out in warning. “Whatever Barbie doll you marry had better include me or I will cut her.”

  I laughed heartily, enjoying my sister’s pretend anger. She’d started calling my girlfriends Barbies when I was in high school. My first girlfriend, Rachel, kind of looked like Barbie, so the Barbie and Ken coincidence was something Kari never let slide. It didn’t help that I had a type, and my type was blue-eyed blondes with great smiles.

  “Speaking of Barbies,” Kari continued, sliding back into her drill sergeant alter-ego. “Are you bringing one?”

  I sighed and rubbed my free hand down my face. I was tired, and not in the mood for this conversation. My mother and sister acted as if my single status meant I was playing the field fast and hard. I think Kari assumed I had someone different in my bed every night. This was probably because I never talked about anyone specifically. Mostly that was because there wasn’t anyone to talk about. Apparently, my father had reasoned to my mother that residency and fellowship left me little time for relationships. But since I had completed it, Mom had been suggesting I should settle down and “find the right lady.”

  It irked me for several reasons. I didn’t like how marriage was treated as another box to tick off my Success Done Right Card.

  College: Check. Med School: Check. Residency and Fellowship: Check. Practice: Check.

  Wife and Kids: Pending.

  I didn’t want the person I spent my life with to be a checkmark on my list. I wanted them to be the reason I had a list to work on. I wanted my spouse to be my partner, my motivator, my cheerleader. And I wanted to do the same, be the same for someone.

  It also bothered me that my parents completely discounted my sexuality. When discussing Kenny’s future, the suggestion of a boyfriend or husband was never mentioned. My mother never so much as acknowledged my bisexuality, and my dad… Well, he acknowledged it. Briefly, loudly, and angrily—but only once. Since then, it’s not been spoken of.

  Another point that was frustrating was despite what my mom thought, I didn’t find it easy to meet people and talk with them. My face, my form, my job, these all helped, but a man had to be more than that if he wanted to find something real. I wanted real. I wanted lasting. Casual relationships never felt right for me. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to find what I was looking for. But, then again, I hadn’t been looking very hard.

  “Put me down for a plus-one. I’ll either show up with a date or I won’t. We’re over three months away from the wedding, Kari,” I said, trying to appeal to whatever sanity she had left.

  She sighed and went silent.

  “Kari?”

  “I’m just excited,
” she said quietly. “It’s been a long time coming, and I’m so happy. I’m getting the wedding of my dreams with the man of my dreams.”

  Her words caused a pulling sensation in my chest.

  “I’ll get measured this week,” I promised.

  After we hung up, I pondered the wedding date problem. I needed to bring one. It was going to be an issue if I didn’t. By ‘issue’ I meant lots of annoying questions from the family and offers to set me up with random women they knew in Chicago.

  Bringing a date to a three-day, multi-event wedding over four hundred miles away, came with its own set of headaches. The more I thought on it, the more ridiculous it seemed to bring a date. I was nowhere close to being in the type of relationship where a couple could endure that mess. The likelihood of meeting anyone who would fit the bill to go with me was slim.

  The easiest place to meet people was at work. My social life outside of the hospital was almost non-existent. But I knew firsthand that using the workplace as a dating pool was a recipe for disaster.

  There was the gym, and I did, from time to time, engage in light flirting. That’s all it ever was, though. Superficial. Maybe occasionally, there were half-hearted attempts to cast a net. But, there again, I didn’t particularly want to shit where I ate. What I needed to do was spend my time off trying to meet new people. Thinking about the difficulty I found in that task made me sweat. It meant leaving my comfort zone and extending myself.

  Unbidden, images of Steven Thompson came to mind. I had, in a way, extended myself last week in Buzzy’s. So much of that interaction had been cringe-worthy, yet… Yet, I’d nearly enjoyed myself. His perusal felt invasive and intense, but, as I reflected on it, I realized I liked it, was excited by it. He was attractive. Smart, funny, self-assured. I thought, maybe if I spent time with him, he’d rub off on me.

  Oof, I wiped my hand down my face and nearly groaned aloud. Mental images of Steven rubbing off on me in the literal sense were too alluring. He may have been kind of hot, but I didn’t get the sense he liked me all that much. I didn’t really give him much to like, since I started out on the wrong foot, but the truth was, I wasn’t going to go out of my way to change his opinion or chase him. I wouldn’t chase anyone.

  In a flash, a hard truth sprang to mind. Maybe that’s why you’re still single.

  * * *

  “Uh, hey.” Dr. Sweet greeted from somewhere behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see he wasn’t addressing me, but Dr. Menedez instead. “Hey, Nat.”

  “Morning, Colin,” she replied. “How are you today?”

  I returned to my coffee prep, uninterested in whatever awkward exchange was about to go down between Colin and Natalie. I hadn’t been on the job long, but I’d been here long enough to witness more than a few cringey exchanges.

  “Doing well.” He lapsed into a long pause before continuing in a rush, “So, I was thinking, I mean, I was checking the listings for the Music Box last night, and I noticed that they’re playing The Sound of Music. I remembered you said you liked old musicals.”

  Colin routinely launched into spontaneous conversation with Dr. Menedez whenever he could get her attention. It was hard to watch. He never seemed to have a plan for the conversation, and he had no game.

  In fairness to him, he did seem to have a particular plan this morning. I just didn’t think nervous, insecure, and desperate was the way to play it.

  The best plan was to fake it ‘til you make it. Plan your words and actions carefully, take plenty of time to sow the seeds of attraction. Glances, smiles, banter. Above all else, we men had to come across as confident and not invested in a yes. More often than not, it worked.

  Dr. Sweet was definitely coming across as invested. The pressure was on Dr. Menedez. She was going to ruin his whole day and she knew it.

  And, of course, she was. My opinion of her was that she was smart. Not just intelligent, but wise. Wise enough to not bring needless drama into work. Colin wasn’t wise. He was thinking with his eyes and his dick. Besides, she was a surgeon and he was an anesthesiologist, for God’s sake. There were lines people just shouldn’t cross.

  I capped my coffee cup, eager to leave before I had to bear witness to the crushing of his dreams. But before I stepped away, he said something that caught my attention.

  “If you didn’t want to see The Sound of Music, they’re also playing Akira, The Gremlins and Mystery Science Theater 3000 this week.” He said this all hurriedly as if to prevent a premature refusal.

  Before I thought better of it, I interrupted. “The Music Box plays television shows?”

  Colin twisted toward me, his eyes widening a fraction with incredulous surprise. “What?” he asked sharply.

  “Mystery Science Theater. That’s a TV show, right?” I asked.

  At this, he narrowed his eyes, plainly annoyed with me for the interruption. “They made a movie too,” he said dismissively, turning back to Natalie.

  “Oh, okay. Thanks.” I left the cafeteria quickly, unconcerned that Dr. Sweet was most likely plotting my murder. I had thought to invite him to play racquetball, but that was probably a non-starter now. Oh well, it didn’t matter and was totally worth it, because he’d just handed me a plan. And a man always needed a plan.

  Chapter Five

  *Steven*

  Tuesday afternoon, my cell phone rang out the tune of *NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye,” alerting me that Elizabeth was calling. A glance at my screen showed that she’d called twice before. I’d been too busy for the entire morning to take any calls. First, I’d had a brief meeting with Carlos Davies, Cipher Systems Chief Operations Officer, to talk about the payroll budget for a second receptionist and an accounts manager position he filled the day before to help with the tasks Janie was unable to do.

  I went into that meeting slightly peeved and defensive, still unconvinced we needed to hire a new accounts manager. I was handling Janie’s job—and my own—without issue. When I said as much to Carlos, he gave me an exasperated look and replied, “You’re VP of Financial Operations, Steven. You don’t need to spend time fielding customer relations calls. And I don’t need to tell you how fast we’ve been growing. We need more help. According to Quinn, we shouldn’t hold our breath for Janie returning any time soon. There’s no reason for you to do it all.”

  I knew he was right, but the conversation I’d had with Janie made me worry that there were some behind-the-scenes concerns that I wasn’t able to hold down the department in her absence. I didn’t like that it bothered me, and I needed to get used to the idea that we needed more help.

  Then, later, because Dan had other appointments, Quinn came in to sit in on a call with the Schmidt-Fischer Project Manager. When our receptionist, Keira, sounded the Code Pink alert over the intercom, warning everyone of Quinn’s imminent arrival to the office, I had a Pavlovian urge to flee to the break room. But, alas, as everyone else tried to make themselves scarce or invisible to avoid exposure to our boss’ foul mood, I was left to hole-up with him in his office for the call. The meeting, though productive, lasted longer than usual. It was now past lunchtime and I was ravenous.

  I shoved a potato chip in my mouth as I answered Elizabeth’s call. “I’mna eat wil wuh tck,” I mumbled in greeting.

  “Busy day?” she asked with a laugh.

  I swallowed. “Yeah, so far. How about you? I see you’ve called a couple of times. You must not be too busy.”

  “I am, actually, but I’ve been calling you every chance I had because I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay, shoot.” I grabbed my bottle of green tea and took a long swallow.

  “Why is Dr. Ken Miles calling me for your number?”

  I choked on the tea. What in the world? DKM wanting to talk to me seemed unlikely. For one thing, I got the impression that having a conversation with me was distinctly distressing for him. And by all accounts, he was straight, so there couldn’t be an element of attraction. I was also a friend of someone he disliked. What could he possibly need wi
th me? Maybe…

  “Maybe he wants me to help him get back in your good graces,” I proposed.

  Elizabeth snorted. “That’s not a possibility. He and I are both fine with the way things are. If he wanted to use you to get to me, he wouldn’t have come to me to get to you.”

  It was sound logic, I supposed. “I’m out of ideas. What did he say?”

  “He was his charming self,” she said with faint sarcasm. “As soon as I called him back, he answered with, ‘Elizabeth, I need to get in touch with your friend, Steven Thompson.’” She affected a decent impression of Ken’s deep voice and tone, even if his haughtiness was exaggerated. “No, ‘Hello, how are ya.’ That annoyed me, so I asked him why. He said it was a ‘private matter.’ I told him your number was a ‘private number.’”

  I laughed, imagining DKM’s annoyance.

  “But,” she continued. “I told him I’d give you his number and you could do what you wanted with it. So, call him, then call me back. I’m perishing from curiosity.”

  I heard noise in the background, and voices speaking close to Elizabeth.

  “I need to go, but I’ll text you his number right now.” She clicked off.

  True to her word, within thirty seconds, I had Dr. Ken Miles’ phone number displayed on my screen.

  Though I was curious too, I had lunch to eat and two reports to finish before I’d let myself call him. But even then, when the afternoon became slow and I had ample time to make the call, I delayed.

  I told myself it was because he was likely busy and then we’d have to play phone tag. I would rather call when we both had time to talk. My reasoning made no sense, considering I had absolutely no idea when a good time would be for an ICU doctor. Was any time a guaranteed opportune time?

  I was being uncharacteristically hesitant. It wasn’t like me to put off tasks—even unpleasant ones. When things needed to be done, I did them. If things needed to be said, I said them. Putting things off always made them worse, I reasoned, so I never dilly-dallied. Weirder still, was that I didn’t anticipate the conversation was going to be unpleasant for me. I imagined it was going to be rather amusing. No, my problem was that I wasn’t sure how I felt about DKM, nor could I imagine a plausible reason for him reaching out to me.