Somewhat personal for the office. I was really struggling to tell whether this guy was generally a nice person or just a player. I found it hard to believe that someone could actually like people that much.
“It’s good to be here.” Guy gave another one of those squinty, closed-mouth smiles you give to a little kid or an old lady. You know, the kind George Clooney gives in every movie preview or magazine shot you’ve ever seen of him.
Why I was analyzing Guy’s every move I couldn’t tell you. All I knew was that there was something about him that I didn’t trust; something that seemed to threaten my security. Reading people was one of my many talents. I could smell a liar a mile away, and Guy certainly stank. But was it deception I smelled, or masculinity spritzed with cologne?
Pushing the bad thoughts to the back of my already crammed brain, I walked out with Guy trailing me like a lost puppy. We breezed by the conference room which was diagonally across from my beautiful corner office. The jealousy over my clearly superior view and airy, spacious workspace didn’t bother me, or last long, thank goodness. Besides, I’d earned that office. It was even bigger than Bill’s, but he had this thing about being in the very back, away from the front entry. Yes, I was confident. I used to worry that some thought me arrogant, but I truly had proved myself, and anyone will tell you I’m a team player. I’m not just out to make myself look good.
I began to pick up the pace without realizing it. Unfortunately, Jayne was MIA from her office, so my dumping plan was out the window. I had to get back to work, so the abbreviated tour would have to do. I caught Guy shooting me awkward and confused glances as he tried to keep up with me. Even in my heels I could speed walk with the best of them.
Next we blasted by the kitchen area, which was actually more of a break room. I waved a hand in its direction as we passed by.
“We usually have coffee here if you want it. Not many of us use the kitchen other than to grab a quick snack or for the occasional party.”
A twinge of guilt set in as I sped past some of our writers, who rubbernecked and waved at the new stranger. They can meet him later; have a nice long chat. Guy attempted a helpless, half-hearted wave to Adam as we passed his office. Adam smiled, bobbing his head to his usual tunes that played from the speakers attached to his computer. Something from Stevie Wonder tailgated us and then faded as we burned our trail. Then the only sound heard as we padded down the hall was my heels snagging on the carpet.
I figured the place I should make the final stop was the place Guy had been waiting to see: the “geek cave,” our equipment room.
“This is where we keep our onsite back-up as well as extra computers and other equipment.” I couldn’t stop my voice from sounding like a tour guide at a museum. I’m sure he sensed my lack of enthusiasm.
When we stepped into the room, his expression said it all, but still he said, “Looks like your magazine isn’t the only thing that needs a redesign.”
A bit bold for a newbie, but I let it slide since he was right. Everything seemed to happen so fast around here that it was tough to keep up with the tech stuff. In our defense, we had been in the previous building only for about a year. When we moved, we took all our old, crappy equipment with us. When New You first started, it was a small company in a large, one-room office that was divided into a few cubicles. That’s where I got hired about three and a half years ago. I’d had a huge impact on the success and growth the company experienced since then. But, this was the one part of the business I hadn’t made a priority.
Unfortunately, my boredom at this point in the tour had me distracted. I didn’t notice an old rolling printer cart next to the doorway. Absentmindedly, we both tried to squeeze out of the doorway at the same time, like some Three Stooges movie, and my backside rubbed up against the cart.
“Oh, excuse me,” Guy said, sticking his arm out and offering the open path.
I took it, but when I passed in front of him I heard a little snicker. I paused, then turned to face him, not too thrilled to see his expression. “What?” I asked, one hand on my hip, toe ready to start tapping.
“Um … there must have been some dirt or ink or something on that printer, cuz you’ve got some ….” His face scrunched up. Then with his hand he made a circular rubbing motion on his backside.
“Oh no!” You have got to be kidding me. I had just gotten that suit—a cream-colored, custom-made, Tom James pantsuit that went perfectly with my Cole Haan bag. I didn’t normally care so much about designer names, but Howard said I deserved it and talked me into to buying it. For off-white, you can’t believe how good it made my butt look. I tried to crane my neck to see the spot, but it was too far back there. Guy must have taken my helpless expression as an invitation to dive right in, because in an instant he was lunging toward my ass with his hand stretched out.
“No, don’t!” I shouted, trying to halt him in time. My whole body stiffened and flinched like I was getting a booster shot as his hand ran along my backside. What idiot doesn’t know you don’t rub an ink stain? Either he suddenly realized he was copping a feel or he noticed the ink smearing across my ass because he jerked his hand back as if he had touched a hot stove.
“Ooh, sorry,” he said, glancing around looking for some sort of back-up. “I was just … trying to help. I guess it was some of that printer dust. I thought I could brush it off, but it kind of smeared.” He shrugged and begged forgiveness with his eyes. If I wasn’t so pissed I might have fallen for those big puppy-dog eyes.
“It’s fine,” I answered a tad too coolly. I know I shouldn’t have blamed him, but for some reason he seemed to rub me the wrong way—no pun intended. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have a say in his being there, or maybe it was because someone new in the office always put me on guard. I needed to protect the magazine and my strategically built career. Especially when that someone had access to my electronic files. I still had a way to go on my climb to the top, so I couldn’t let anyone get me sidetracked or trip me up. If he was the snooping around type, he’d discover something that could completely crush me—something I’ve been able to keep hidden for years. “I’ll just go change. You can wait at the front if you like, or we’re pretty much done here.” Leaving that hanging in the air, I thought he might get the hint that he could leave.
No such luck.
“You have extra clothes here?” he asked me.
“Of course. You never know when you’re going to need them, obviously,” I added. “Well, if you have any other questions or need anything, let me know.” Then I walked back toward my office.
I grabbed my spare clothes and headed to the lounge to change. My back-up outfit was a black-and-tan blouse with black slacks. I quickly changed and checked myself in the mirror. Then I touched up my lipstick, brushed a tissue under my hazel eyes. I hadn’t noticed until then how much darker the off-white suit made my skin look. The golden tan I obtained in high school and college had since faded, so I needed all the help I could get. That’s what being a workaholic will do to you.
I left the lounge, hoping Guy would be gone when I got back. But whom was I kidding? Guy was going to be around. I would have to find a way to accept that. Really, I hadn’t even given him a chance at that point. I was starting to think that I might have been a touch unfair. It wasn’t unheard of for me to be a bitch, but I had been getting better about keeping it in check. Or at least discovering it before Jayne pointed it out to me. That was the control freak in me coming out.
I decided to start looking at the Guy situation in another way. He could become a real asset to me—and to New You. I was sure I could find a way to use his skills to my advantage, I meant to the magazine’s advantage. I just needed a great plan; my specialty in life. Okay, now I’m feeling better. Talking myself down from a crisis was hit or miss. The only other person who could do it successfully was Howard. He always had a way of making me see that things were never as bad as I thought. He took over for Pop—my grandpa—in that sense. Howard was my rock.
“We need to be there by seven at the latest,” I said in the phone as I held up a finger to Guy. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. We’ll just grab some wine on the way there. OK, love you, too.” I hung up the phone, trying to control my impatience with Guy’s sudden reappearance.
“That must be great,” Guy said, leaning against my doorway like a GQ model.
“What’s that?”
“That was your husband, Howie, right?”
What the hell? Now he was into my personal life. And what was with calling him Howie already? I didn’t like the nickname, though pretty much everyone but me called him that. But hadn’t Guy only been hired five seconds ago?
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I was talking to Nannette while you were changing, and she got the call from him.”
“Oh.” I gave a big “ah-ha” nod and waited.
“I just think it must be nice to have someone that you can always count on.”
Yeah, yeah, real nice. He was actually right, though I didn’t particularly want to get into it at that moment. But it did mean everything that Howard was there for me. I could always count on him to take care of me. But it was mutual. You wouldn’t know it sometimes, but I’m a very supportive person and I try to pull my weight in my relationship with Howard.
“It is very nice. Was there something else you needed?” I asked, trying to get the conversation steered in the right direction.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot to give you my card,” he said, leaning forward and handing it to me. “All my info is there. Feel free to call me anytime. If I’m not available, you can get help from my partner, Matthew. He’s great.”
I took the card and laid it on my desk without looking at it. “Great, thanks.”
“All right. I guess I’ll catch up with you later, then.” Guy smiled awkwardly. Then he slowly backed out of my office like he was giving me one more shot at a conversation.
I didn’t flinch.
“And thanks for the tour.”
Chapter 3
“No funny business tonight,” I told Howard as we stood outside Bill’s place. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black, long-sleeve shirt. When I wore heels we were about the same height; tonight he was taller. Dinner here was a fairly casual and regular occurrence, so I wore my brown capris and a white, button-down shirt.
We had arrived right on time for our semi-regular monthly dinner with Bill and his wife, Eleanor. I say semi-regular, because I do allow myself an out once in a while. Last time I told Eleanor that Howard had the stomach flu. I felt a little guilty about that one, although Howard did have some bad gas that night. The Berkleys are sort of like our makeshift parents. Their son was grown and lived out of state. I lost both of my parents at a young age. My mother died of cancer when I was eight years old, my dad when I was in college. Howard doesn’t get along with his parents, so it kind of works out well for all four of us.
“What? I’m always good here,” Howard replied with a guilty smile followed by a wink.
Good is a relative term. It seemed like every dinner at Bill’s ended with Howard getting Eleanor smashed. Howard worked his way through college by bartending. His forte was inventing his own drinks; he was damn skilled at it. Still is, really, and his dream is to open his own pub one day. Somehow he would work one of his creations into the conversation, at which point Eleanor would “love to have the recipe.” Then Howard would offer to make them right then, and of course Eleanor had all the ingredients. By the end of the night those two were in the kitchen drinking and laughing while Bill and I sat on the couch talking shop or watching the golf channel.
I rang the doorbell, attempting not to laugh. I didn’t want to encourage him. “I mean it, Howard, not this time.”
He slapped my butt as I heard the door unlock. I did a tiny jump. Eleanor opened the door and gave us a giant smile with open arms ready to gather us in. She hugged us both at the same time, following her usual routine.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you two,” she wailed. Her hair was bleached blonde set in a loose bun. She had on one of her standard desert-colored pantsuits with a triple string of pearls around her neck. I saw Bill over her shoulder sitting in a chair. He didn’t bother to get up and just waved us over. As we walked in, the smell of garlic caught my attention, and I remembered another reason we continued that tradition; Eleanor was an incredible cook.
“Have a seat.” Bill motioned us over without even looking up from the television. He had to be watching golf. Bill was obsessed with it. He loved playing it, watching it, and talking about it. He even got me golf lessons for my birthday last year.
“Bill!” Eleanor snapped. “Don’t be so rude. Offer our guests something to drink.”
It’s funny because it seemed like the only time Eleanor wasn’t smiling was when she was scolding Bill. It was what they did, like a comedy routine they played over and over. She’d lecture him, he’d ignore her or roll his eyes. But the real Bill and Eleanor were nothing like their performance. I’d often catch them holding hands for no reason at all, or Bill would wink at her across the table. Those are the type of people that should have children and grandchildren around them.
“Get in there, get in there, get in there! Dammit!” he screeched at the golfer attempting a long putt. And there was the other side to my boss. You didn’t see it often, but when his fuse was lit, watch out. At one of our first dinners together, Eleanor pulled me aside. She thanked me and told me I was the reason Bill had mellowed a bit. That because I lightened his responsibility load, Bill had fewer blow-ups.
With his eyes still glued to the television, he responded to Eleanor’s request with, “Help yourself, you two.” Howard and I just ogled each other and shrugged. Eleanor threw her hands in the air and walked toward the kitchen. “Gotta check the chicken.”
Yeah, I guess that’s what it would be like to have parents. I decided to see if she needed any help, so I followed her back while Howard sat down next to Bill. Considering Howard’s profession—he was a rep for a sports uniform company—he wasn’t much of a sports fan, but he was easy-going enough to be flexible for Bill, and for me.
“It smells delicious, Eleanor,” I said, leaning against the kitchen island. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Eleanor used to be a wardrobe assistant, but gave it up when her son got to high school. She said it was the most important time for a mother to be home. That sounded about right to me. She’d made a ton of contacts in the movie and TV industry and became friends with quite a few stars. Thanks to her, we already had two big name actresses slotted for our new monthly guest article.
“No, dear, I’ve got everything under control.” She stirred a pot of some kind of vegetable mixture on the stove. Then she put a pan filled with rolls in an upper oven. Her kitchen reminded me of ours, everything in its place. That’s how Howard preferred it and since he did most of the cooking, I complied.
I watched her happily working and wondered if that was what my mother would have been like. I have very few memories of her, but I do remember that she liked to cook and bake. Or maybe I remembered the stories my Pop told about her. I tried to pretend that it didn’t make that much of a difference, that I had turned out just fine anyway.
But growing up without a mother is difficult. I often wondered if I would have been softer—a girl’s girl. Maybe I’d have had more fri
ends if I’d had a mom. Maybe I’d have learned love and sacrifice. Maybe …. My father tried his best, but unfortunately his best was sorely lacking. I don’t blame him for not wanting to face reality. Who does? Pop was the only one who did. He picked up the slack for my dad. And believe me, there was a lot of slack.
The ringing of the doorbell yanked me from my thoughts. I asked Eleanor if she wanted me to get it.
“Yes, please, dear, thanks so much,” she answered, bending down to pull out the chicken. As I walked out and headed toward the door, she said something that made me flinch. Something that sounded like, “Oh, that must be Guy.”
Guy? What would he be doing here? Maybe she was referring to someone else. As silent prayers dashed around in my head, I reached for the doorknob and turned it. It was like Monty Hall sent me to open the prize door I selected, and I opened it to discover I won a pile of cow dung. It was Guy.
I quickly summoned my fake smile. “Hey, Guy.” I stood there stunned, blocking the doorway. My eyes scanned his body for the package he must have been dropping off before making a quick exit. Unfortunately all I found was his ever-present smile lurking beneath his blue eyes.
“Hi, Emma. Good to see you again.” Guy waited about half a second for me to either invite him in or move to the side, which I didn’t. Then he squeezed by me. Whatever he had bathed in smelled like fresh pine. It trailed him and lingered under my nose before dissipating. He seemed to have no problem making himself right at home.
I stalled in the doorway a moment longer, preparing my game face and trying to shove back the fact that I was just a little pissed that Bill didn’t tell me Guy was going to be there. Maybe he was only dropping by for something and wouldn’t be staying for dinner.
Wishful thinking didn’t usually work out for me. I learned that a long time ago. That’s why I’m a woman of action, so I decided to head over to find out what the deal was.
“So, Guy,” I said right after Bill had introduced Howard and Guy. “What brings you here?”
The Tech Guy Page 2