How to Fail at Flirting

by Denise Williams

  He reached across me and plucked the tote from my hands before I could stop him, his forearm grazing my breast, making me recoil. “Allow me.” He leaned against my car, my bag over his shoulder. I stepped back, but unsure who in the milling crowd knew what, I was desperate to avoid a scene.

  “It won’t work, though, pretty girl. He can’t save your job. I could, though, if I was so inclined.” His voice held the same rogue confidence it always had. He laid a hand gently on my shoulder, and I flinched and shrugged it away. “It’s been a long time.”

  Davis smiled—it was a rueful gesture. His hand returned and his thumb stroked the side of my neck. A cold flash ran through me. Over his shoulder, I saw Jill eyeing us, her normally cheerful expression turned into a frown. Does she know? She looked away quickly, and my face heated. Behind her, I saw another cold stare. Jake’s expression was impassive, but he was staring at Davis and me. When he looked at me, he always seemed to see so much, so I hoped he’d read my expression for what it was, even from that distance, but he didn’t.

  I jerked back, but the damage was done, and Jake had turned away.

  “Don’t be like that. You know I get what I want in the end.” Without another word, Davis pushed off from the car and strode toward the assembled group; he was still holding my bag, leaving me to follow along behind him like a lost, scared child.

  I ducked into the back row of the van, hoping others would seek spaces with more leg room and I’d be left alone for the drive, but I’d miscalculated. Davis crawled into the back next to me, claiming the rest of the bench seat, his legs and arms spread wide. He leaned close to my face as he fumbled with his seat belt, and his hand brushed the outside of my thigh. “Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” He said it under his breath, the consonants hard and cold, even in a whisper.

  My mind screamed say something, move to a different seat, or slap him, and I tried to remember Wes’s voice from my self-defense class, but my body retreated to old reactions. I flinched, goose bumps rising on my arms. From the front seat, Jill shot cutting glances in my direction, and a familiar sense of helplessness filled me as this cycle seemed to be starting again.

  We turned out of the parking lot, and Davis said in a voice loud enough for most passengers in the van to hear, “So, Naya, feel free to ask me about anything you don’t understand when we get there—I’m happy to help.” The two people in the seat in front of us smiled at Davis over their shoulders—two of his former cronies—and they all exchanged pleasantries.

  His voice lowered, and I was sure the others couldn’t hear it over the sounds of the road and their own conversations. “You can beg, too. I liked it when you begged.”

  I recoiled, curling into the smallest possible amount of space I could take up on the seat. “Leave me alone, Davis,” I muttered. I wanted to strike him or punch him, to hiss at him. Everyone would hear, though. Above all, I wanted to fly under the radar, as I had done for years, and sink into the seat.

  “You’re blushing. You remember.” To anyone observing, his expression would have looked professional, collegial, maybe even engaging, like we were discussing my research or his recent golf outing. A flash of heat glinted in his eyes when he referenced my humiliation, though; a glee that jumped from his dark irises. “Good,” he said in a hushed, cold voice filled with malice.

  I shook my head, shifting away from his touch while a chorus of react and you’re stronger than this rang in my head.

  To do: . . .

  I had nothing. I didn’t know what to do.

  Forty

  We arrived at the site and crowded into a meeting room. All around us were large windows that looked out over a path leading through the forest to the lake beyond. With fifteen of us squished around a table designed for twelve, elbow room was at a premium, and the smell of coffee and a variety of colognes and perfumes filled the small space.

  My breath caught when I spotted Jake at the head of the table with Carlton. All my thoughts scattered, and my body responded to him on instinct. He looks good. Does he miss me? He needs a haircut. My fingers itched to stroke the curls at the nape of his neck. What did he think when he saw Davis touching me? Did he sleep with Gretchen? Be professional! He looks good. His eyes met mine for a millisecond and then darted away. Does he hate me?

  I sought Jill in the crowd, to explain what she might have thought she’d seen between Davis and me, but she stood near him, eyes down, and didn’t meet my gaze.

  Two things about the weekend became clear as we introduced ourselves around the table: It would be difficult being around Jake and insufferable being around Davis. I struggled to remember what I’d ever seen in him, and the fear and disgust I’d felt in the van extended, for a bit, into sheer annoyance.

  Davis’s chest puffed out, and he somehow took up more room at the table than anyone else during his rambling introduction. When I spoke, Carlton nodded and smiled, as he had with everyone else. Jake gave a curt nod without glancing up from the sheet of paper in front of him, where critical notes required his full attention. Well, what did I expect?

  Jake and Carlton and their two staff members were there to listen to our opinions and experiences and ask questions, to help them interpret all the data they’d collected. After an hour, the dull ache in my stomach was joined by a low throb in my temple. The headache wasn’t about Jake.

  For the fourth time, Davis had repeated something I’d just said and claimed it as his own idea. For years, I’d let him convince me he was smarter and more capable, but it was evident here that he wasn’t.

  My gaze shifted to Jake every time he did it. I hoped to see a reaction, amusement at Davis’s ridiculous behavior or outrage on my behalf, an eye roll or a sympathetic glance. He didn’t react at all, short of a few shared looks with Carlton.

  Stop expecting anything.

  When I disagreed with two colleagues, saying that promotion policies disproportionately favored people in science and business, Davis chuckled.

  That asshole just laughed at me?

  He addressed his comments to the head of the table, where President Lewis, Jake, and Carlton sat. “Unlike Drs. Smith, Bradley, and Carmichael, Naya doesn’t really have much experience with those policies, having not yet earned tenure herself.”

  I clenched my hands in my lap and swallowed the sharp retort building. It wasn’t fear of Davis building this time, though. I didn’t want to make a scene. Don’t react to him. It’s not worth it.

  “It’s a complex process, and not everyone understands the fine nuances of it, especially those with so little experience.”

  Don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

  “It’s just your opinion, and of course, Naya, you’re allowed to have it,” Davis said, turning to me, his face drawn into something resembling pity. “It’s great you’re jumping in!” He might as well have been reaching across the table to pat me on the head.

  I seethed at his condescension and cut my gaze to Jake again. You see this, don’t you?

  He didn’t look at me, his eyes remaining on his notes.

  I didn’t want him to say anything. I didn’t need him to fight for me, I just wanted him to recognize what was happening, to meet my eye and see that my fears were justified.

  Davis kept speaking. “But in my experience, the policies are heavily skewed in favor of faculty working in science and business. Those in English, philosophy, political science, and other liberal arts are left behind. In my extensive experience, it holds true at TU. Now, I—”

  Be professional. Be professional. Be prof—fuck it. It’s not like things can get worse.

  I interrupted him. “That’s what I said, Davis.” My voice was clear, loud, and confident. I clutched my fists under the table and willed my voice to remain steady. Though, my confidence hedged when no one nodded in agreement or said a word. Instead they all stared at me, all but one person. />
  “Excuse me?” Davis’s cocky smile faltered, a crack appearing in his Master of the Universe mask.

  Deep breath. “You demeaned my lack of experience and then repeated my point.” I glanced around at everyone. Had no one else noticed he’d been doing this all day? Faces around the table were frozen, and Jake finally looked at me with a steely expression.

  Davis’s eyes narrowed, then he chuckled again. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Naya. I was simply contributing to what Drs. Smith, Bradley, and Carmichael were saying.” He smiled at the man to his right and added, “So sensitive!”

  I unclenched my fists—I didn’t need to fake my confidence anymore. The anger at his condescending tone was a prod pushing me forward. I wasn’t scared; I was pissed.

  “Surely you can think of a few original things to say. Stop rephrasing my ideas and claiming them as your own.”

  Davis’s face reddened, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

  President Lewis interrupted. “Let’s break for now. Dinner will be down by the lake.” He turned. “Dr. Turner, a word in the kitchen?” Everyone else made their way to the front door to head to the picnic area by the lake. Davis’s eyes were trained on me, but he followed the crowd toward the door, all of them avoiding looking at me. Jill made eye contact briefly, but the cold and distant expression from earlier remained.

  Stand up for myself. Check. But not one of my best decisions.

  Jake didn’t look up from his notes, but I thought I saw a muscle in his jaw tic, and the hand resting on the table was in a tight fist.

  Davis’s glare made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  I guess it got worse.

  * * *

  President Lewis plucked a coffee mug from a cupboard.

  Most people had filtered out of the building toward the lake, and the muffled voices faded.

  I’m going to get fired.

  He held out the pot before filling his mug, but I waved it away. “So,” he said, leaning against the counter. “We haven’t had a chance yet to meet one-on-one since you took over for Joe.” His voice and posture were light and friendly, casual even, as he sipped the black coffee. “Thank you for doing that, by the way. He has a lot of faith in you.”

  I made a big mistake. I’d hoped to raise a rallying cry for the women around the room to stand up and be heard, but then no one rallied. I’d made a fool of myself in front of the president of the university. The same president who knew I’d slept with his highly paid consultant.

  “Thank you,” I answered. “President Lewis, I’m—”

  “Please, call me Flip.” He smiled, taking another sip from his cup.

  “Flip, I should apolog—”

  He stopped me again, interrupting with such grace I couldn’t take offense. “Do you know how I got that name? When your real first name is Archibald, it doesn’t seem you’d need a nickname, right?” He chuckled to himself. “Archibald came from my dad losing a bet with an old army buddy. My mom was fit to be tied, but there it was.”

  I nodded, brow creased. Where is he going with this?

  “But ‘Flip’? All my doing. When I was in college, I wanted to impress a young woman. I thought doing a backflip off the porch of my fraternity house would be the way to get her attention.” He smiled, wistfully. “Those ideas sound so logical when we’re young, don’t they?”

  I tilted my head and smiled politely.

  “Needless to say, it didn’t go well. I broke my arm in two places, and the first guy to get to me, some guy just walking by, called me ‘Flip.’” He chuckled and ran his hand over his left arm. “Hurt like a sonofabitch, I’ll tell you. But the nickname stuck.”

  “That’s a . . . good story,” I said, unsure of the proper response.

  “It is.” He laughed.

  I stepped away from the counter—standing straight was better for an apology. “But, President, er, Flip, I need to apologize for what happened in there.”

  “Do you know what else is interesting about that story, Naya?”

  Is he not noticing me speaking? “What, sir?”

  “I did impress the young woman, eventually. Hell, she agreed to marry me before the cast came off. And the guy who gave me the nickname? Been my best friend for over fifty years. And between you, me, and these four walls, I think I’ve made it as far in my career as I have because my name stands out in a pile of resumes. Not many Flips around.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress a smile.

  “Sometimes things that seem dumb, stupid, even dangerous at the time—hell, things that most certainly are dumb, stupid, and dangerous—sometimes they work out. And sometimes those bad decisions? They end up being the most important decisions we ever made. Especially when you have a good head on your shoulders to begin with.” He eyed me over the rim of his coffee cup.

  Touché, Flip. I nodded slowly, wondering which of my dumb, stupid, and dangerous decisions might end up being my ticket to happiness.

  “To address the elephant in the room, I would have liked to know about the relationship between you and Mr. Shaw. I’ve shared that with him, and I’m telling you. I’m disappointed you kept it a secret.”

  I glanced away. “I’m sorry I didn’t disclose it. I know I should have.”

  He nodded. “I imagine you do. These things can be complicated, but I still think you’re an important voice in these conversations. In the future, please speak up. If you’ll give an old man leeway to say so, you’re good at it.

  “As for what happened in there?” He took a sip of his coffee, then dumped the rest in the sink. “It’s commendable that you stood up for yourself. And it needed to happen. Those old boys’ club rules don’t apply anymore, and I’m sorry I didn’t step in myself. I will do better. Would you like me to speak with him?”

  I shook my head. I appreciated his offer but didn’t want to give Davis chances to spin more lies.

  President Lewis patted me twice on the shoulder and said, “I don’t think we need to discuss anything else.” He left the room to join the others at the lake. The screen door clicked as he exited the building.

  Forty-one

  Okay. That went better than I thought.

  Flip walked away from the cabin toward the tree line, beyond which was the lake where everyone had gathered for dinner. I needed to get down there before they came looking for me, but first I wanted to take a few minutes to collect myself before seeing Jake. I stepped out the door but headed in the opposite direction, into the woods. With Davis by the lake along with everyone else, I could finally take a deep breath. The early-evening sun cast everything in a muted light, and I focused on the crunch of sticks and loose dirt beneath my shoes before sitting on a large boulder in a clearing. Talking with Flip had made me feel better, more in control. I loved my job and had worked hard, but I realized as I inhaled in the fresh air that I’d been using my job as a hiding place.

  To do: Review my tenure materials. I can’t have real power in this place until I earn it, and I’m ready. I’ve done everything required to be promoted.

  To do: Invite Jill and other early-career women to start a club or organization, some space to connect with one another.

  To do: Get Jake back.

  I’d been considering what I could say to him to make things right and how to choose the perfect words and ultimately realized the perfect words would be the ones I opened my mouth and said out loud. I need to be honest with him. I took another deep breath and stilled my nerves, calling up every reserve of confidence I had. I’ll find him. I’ll beg him to listen. I’ll grovel if I have to. I turned to the lake when footsteps sounded behind me.

  I whirled around.

  Davis laughed, a dry, grating sound. “Did you tell on me?” His voice was low, menacing, and he approached me quickly. “Convince Flip I was being mean to you?”

  “I didn
’t say anything about you, okay?”

  He advanced, making me step back. “You know if you do, you’ll regret it. It would be so easy to share a photo or two. I’m sure your boyfriend will have plenty of time to look at them after we fire his company for unethical conduct. Maybe I’ll convince Flip to bring suit against them for the lost time and resources.”

  My pulse raced as I took another step back, the snap of twigs under my feet, the distant sound of the birds suddenly louder. “I’m not going to say anything to Flip. Just leave me alone, Davis.”

  He ignored me, holding up his phone. I couldn’t take back the photo, like I couldn’t take back the years of manipulation. I had to live with the consequences of both. The bruises he’d left on my arms, the hateful words he’d said, and the violence he’d threatened weren’t in the photo, just in my memory, and I couldn’t take that back, either.

  I will not cry in front of this asshole.

  “I’m not having this conversation with you, Davis.” I used my most detached voice and tried to move around him, though he blocked my path and stepped forward, edging me closer to a tree. He’d always used his size to box me in, to make me cower, but I was so sick of being scared. My adrenaline surged.

  “You want to leak the photos?” I stopped backing up and stood squarely in front of him. “Then do it. I’m done with your games and your threats. I’m done with you hanging this or anything else over my head. You don’t get to control me anymore. You can’t hurt me now.”

  His smirk froze in a mirthful grimace. The scent of his cologne assaulted my nostrils. I’d loved the smell of Polo before meeting him, but after we split, it turned my stomach. A moment later, when I pushed at his chest, trying to get around him, he backed me against the tree.

  As soon as I hit the bark, my synapses fired in all directions and I tried to remember what I’d learned from Wes. I was tired of being scared, but fear coursed through me just the same.