“Then help her up and get out of my office. We’ve got some serious work to do, and Cris is going to be here in…” Her eyes flick to the clock on the wall. “…a little under fourteen hours. Because apparently he’s decided that’s a long enough work day.”
She rolls her eyes as if that’s the craziest thing she’s ever heard, but it makes sense to me. I wonder, if Cris weren’t around, if India would’ve ended up having a heart attack right alongside Jack. It’s not impossible. She’s like a human pressure cooker. I’m glad he seems to be able to help her let off some steam, no matter how much it may annoy her. But it’s possible she’s genuinely grateful and has a weird way of showing it. Evans seems to find her more sympathetic than I do, but maybe he has information I don’t. Or maybe he’s a more generous person.
That’s when I notice the hand in front of my face, so I reach to grab it. Evans has nice hands. Dry and warm, almost but not quite soft, and strong. Yep, even though you wouldn’t think it to look at him, he’s got that wiry, unexpected strength and I like the way it doesn’t seem to take much effort for him to help me off the floor.
I try to get the pillows and blanket back onto India’s couch in some sort of order, but quickly, because she’s strode to her desk and is setting her stuff up. When I’ve tossed the throw over the back of the couch and am about to leave, I’m stopped by her voice again.
“Hey, Lucy?”
“Yes, Ms. Burke?”
She looks up from the pile of papers she’s started shuffling through, and as soon as our eyes meet, I know. “Coffee’s coming right up.”
She smiles, a brief but satisfying reward, and then shoos me away with a flick of her wrist. “Thanks, Lucy. And keep them coming. It’s going to be a long day. No calls, from anyone.”
“Yes, Ms. Burke.”
*
Lucy
After I get India the first of many cups of coffee, I head back to my desk and try to get a handle on the next piece of this report. It looks as if I’m going to have to learn how to use yet another website. This one’s named EMMA, though, which at least sounds friendly. I suspect EMMA and I will be spending more time together in the next year than I will be with my actual friend Emma, who’s still in LA, still waitressing, still trying to make it big.
I’m about to format a chart for assigning responsibilities for various pieces of the required reporting when the phone rings. Would India be mad if I shut the damn thing off? Who’s calling now anyway? All the workaholics I know like working on or near the holidays because they can actually get things done since no one’s calling them. Who is this person not honoring the pact?
“Good morning, Burke Consulting Group. This is Lucy.”
“Hi, Lucy, it’s Greg.”
I can practically hear him choke on the “Wu, from Phoenix” that wants to come spilling out of his mouth, but he swallows it down, with a “Just Greg.”
“Hi, just Greg. What are you doing in the office? Shouldn’t you be in Minnesota?”
“Flight leaves this afternoon. Until then, I’m trying to catch up on some things so I won’t be facing a piled-high desk when I get back in the New Year. I could ask you the same thing.”
“Ditto.” I don’t bother explaining the current disaster we’re dealing with and that I won’t be heading home for the holidays at all. That doesn’t explain why he’s calling us, though. Unless—“Did we owe you something and I forgot to send it?”
I start flipping through the notepad I keep on my desk. I try to keep neatly organized lists to help me stay on top of my workload, but this week it’s dissolved into cat doodles, scribbles, and word salad. I’m this close to launching into my profuse and professional apologies, but Greg cuts me off.
“No, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Oh, phew. Well, India’s here, but she’s not taking calls. I can leave her a message if you like or you could try emailing her. You know she can’t help responding to email.”
Greg laughs, because I’m sure he’s gotten emails from her at three in the morning too. “I wasn’t calling for India, actually. I was calling for you.”
What? What possible reason could Greg Wu have for calling me? Unless I made a mistake in the report and he wants to give me a chance to fix it without mentioning it to India, which would be much appreciated. She’s gotten way better with the yelling, but I hate that icky feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I disappoint her, like someone left a bottle of milk in the fridge too long and it’s all curdled and chunky.
“Um, why?” My voice is small and flimsy, as if he could break it with a word, which he probably could, though Greg’s never been that guy.
Another laugh, which should make me feel silly, but all I feel is the lightening of relief. I didn’t do anything wrong. He wouldn’t laugh if he were going to yell. And I like it when Greg laughs; it’s kind of a funny sound, which makes it infectious.
“We have a position opening up in my office and I thought you might be interested. How do you feel about Phoenix?”
Whoa. Never have I gotten a phone call like this before. He thought of me for a job? I suppose other guys have thought of me for jobs before, but usually it’s for the hand- or blow- variety.
“I’ve never been.”
“It’s nice here. And I hear we’re on the rise.”
“Sure.” I’m so stunned I’ve lost my ability to make chatter, which is one of my core competencies as a secretary.
“Our office manager is retiring rather abruptly, and I thought you’d be a good fit for us. You’re a hard worker, you have an eye for detail, and India speaks very highly of you.”
“She does?”
I mean, I know India and I have been getting along well for a while now and she keeps giving me more responsibilities, which I’ve somehow found the time for, but I didn’t know she’d go so far as to say nice things about me to other people. Especially not nice enough things that would make them want to poach me.
“She does indeed. Plus, being able to survive working for that woman for—what is it, going on seven years now? That’s probably the best endorsement a person could have.”
I do sometimes feel like a soldier who’s made it through a long battle and it’s nice someone else recognizes how challenging it’s been. “What exactly would this position entail?”
There, that’s a nice, sensible thing to ask.
“Administrative work, supervising less senior admins, keeping the office well-supplied, helping format and proof reports, assisting with organizing public and internal meetings. And if it’s not a deal breaker, India raves about the coffee you make for her and I’d like a taste of that. Of course, I’m a two-cup-a-day kind of guy, whereas your current boss…”
He leaves off meaningfully, and I can picture him smiling on the other end of the line. Yeah, not having to fetch India’s coffee a dozen times a day would totally add some productive time to my day. And aside from managing other admins, there’s nothing in that list I haven’t done before. When Jack left, Jerome left too, and I had to take over ordering all the office supplies. It’s actually fun, picking out pens and Post-Its. No one gets to say boo when half of them are pink.
“When would I have to let you know by?”
“I’d understand if you wanted to wait until you’d had a chance to come out here and see the office, meet the people you’d be working with, but I’m in a bit of a spot. It would be amazing to know by the New Year, since if you don’t take it, I’ll have to start a formal search process and that business takes forever. Usually I’d be required to do it for this position, but I got a waiver from HR for you. Really, you’d be doing me a favor, so I hope you’ll seriously consider it.”
It would probably be the smart thing to do to go to Phoenix first, but I don’t want to put Greg out, and besides, how would I be able to find the time anytime soon? I don’t want him to change his mind.
“I will, Mr. Wu. Thank you for thinking of me. That’s very…well, it’s very flattering.”
>
“And I will be very flattered if you accept, especially if you can stop managing to call me Mr. Wu. But for now, I’ve got to give Joe a call and make sure he’s got the kids all packed up to leave this afternoon. Merry Christmas, Lucy.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, Mi—I mean, Greg.”
Chapter Seventeen
‡
December 23rd
Evans
It’s eleven-thirty, and I’m so worn out it may as well be eleven-thirty at night. I open the desk drawer where I’ve restocked my guilty pleasures: those vending machine cupcakes that are disturbingly resistant to going stale. I can’t imagine there’s anything of nutritional value in them whatsoever, but they make me briefly happy.
After I’ve chowed down on one and am about to start in on the second, there’s a knock on my door. I shove the crinkly wrapper of evidence back in the drawer, even though why should I care if someone sees me eating junk food? The way things have been going this week, they’re lucky it’s not a flask. Or a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.
“Yeah?”
The door swings open, and Lucy’s standing there, looking dazed.
“Hey, Luce. What’s up?”
I’m reasonably sure India’s still in the office, so I don’t think the answer is going to be “Let’s fuck,” although I’m so braindead right now I’d probably say yes anyhow and damn the consequences. I’d get fired for sure if India caught us, but what a way to go.
Lucy’s still standing in the door, not having said anything. “Luce?”
She blinks and cocks her head as though she’s surprised I’m here. It is my office… But with the confusion written so clearly on her face, I look around to make sure, hoping she doesn’t notice. Nope, still totally my office.
Eventually she shakes her head and those red brows that curve so perfectly at her brow bone crumple together. “I got a job offer.”
“You… What? I didn’t know you’ve been applying to other positions.”
A ridiculous part of me comes roaring to life: You were planning to leave and you weren’t even going to tell me? Which is silly. Why would she have told me that? We’ve been friends, and now we’re banging buddies who have a lot of filthy and pseudo-public sex, but that doesn’t mean she has to report the details of her life back to me. Though I wish she would. Over a bottle of wine at the end of a long day or in bed right before we fall asleep next to each other…
“I haven’t been. Lately.” I can’t honestly fault her for that. I sometimes window shop for jobs, and a couple of times have actually polished up my résumé and written cover letters before deciding no, I’ll tough it out. But even though this job can be hard—like put you through the wringer, spit you out on the other side, and then stomp on you hard—it’s ultimately worth it. I do good work, I help people, and I get paid pretty well for it.
Then something occurs to me, something I’m not quite ready to say out loud. If Lucy gets a new job, then maybe we could date. Like, for real date. Not banging in the office, though I’ve heartily enjoyed that, but it can’t go on forever. It is, in fact, coming to a rather harsh and abrupt end in a couple of days.
I’d like to take her out to dinner, figure out what else she likes to do in her spare time. Maybe go dancing. Lucy seems like the kind of girl who’d like to go dancing. Especially in one of those full skirts she sometimes wears. I see her occasionally in the kitchen or the hallway doing a twirl to make the fabric spin out and it’s freaking adorable. If she wants to go dancing, I’d have to take dance lessons because I’ve got three left feet. Yeah, three. I know the expression is two, but sometimes I make such a mess of it, I’m pretty sure I’ve grown an extra limb, over which I have absolutely no control.
But I don’t know if Lucy would want to date me. It’s one thing to have furtive, dirty sex in the office, another thing to go out in public with someone and acknowledge you’re together. Yet another to introduce someone to your friends. Your family.
I can’t imagine what crass thing Darren would say if I ever brought Lucy home. No, scratch that, I can and it’s not pretty. “Wow, Super Chuck. How much does a date like this go for?” Yeah, Darren can be a real piece of shit.
The ideas are so busily spinning around in my head I almost don’t hear what she says next.
“It wasn’t something I applied for. Greg Wu from Phoenix called. Their office manager’s retiring and he offered me the job.”
Her eyes have gone bright and wide, as though she can’t believe her good fortune. My stomach, on the other hand, is making like it’s going to toss that ill-advised cupcake onto my desk. Phoenix? So not only would I not get to see her every day, I’d get to see her, what, never? That is…nonsense. I’d like to use a stronger word, but unless we’re fooling around, I don’t like to use bad words in front of Lucy.
“So you’re going to Phoenix?” I try to keep my voice neutral, but if it’s not, she doesn’t notice.
“I don’t know. He just asked me. I have until the New Year to decide. And I should probably ask for a formal job description and salary and benefits and all that. If I were really smart, I’d go visit and meet my potential coworkers, but I don’t know if I’ll bother.”
Gah, if she’s talking about dental insurance, this is not some passing compliment you enjoy like an attractive person who smiles at you in a bar. This is serious business, and I already feel my chest getting cracked open. It’ll be slow and painful, and at the end of it, the best thing in my life right now will be headed off to Phoenix.
I get it, I do. Greg Wu is probably a lot more pleasant to work with than India, because let’s face it, who isn’t, and office manager sounds way better than assistant. Is that why she’s so excited about this? Because it might get her mom to stop calling her “just a secretary?”
“You definitely should get all the information before making a decision.”
She blinks at me, and the corner of her mouth screws up. “You don’t sound very happy for me.”
“I am, Luce. I’d…miss you. That’s all.”
She blinks again, and her mouth opens. I want whatever’s in there to spill out, in the hopes she might say, “I’d miss you too.”
But she doesn’t. Instead she looks at the ground and mumbles, “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Evans, you are a bad person. If you got offered a better job, she’d be thrilled for you. Step it up.
“It sounds like a great opportunity. You should get all the details, but it’s pretty awesome he asked you to take the job without even an interview or asking for a résumé or anything. India must have talked you up. She’s going to—”
She’s going to lose her goddamn mind is what she’s going to do. Lucy must be thinking the same thing because she pales.
“Don’t tell her, okay? Promise me you won’t tell her. If I decide to take it, I’ll give proper notice and all that, but I don’t need her sending eye daggers of death at me until I decide.”
“You never know, she might decide to woo you instead.” The look on Lucy’s face says not likely. And I can’t say I disagree. That woman is unpredictable, and I don’t want Lucy worrying about what India might say. “I won’t breathe a word until you give me the go-ahead.”
I’m doing my best to be supportive, but I’m screaming inside. Don’t leave me here. Don’t go. But why does it matter? If she stayed, it’s not as though we could date, and if she leaves, we certainly won’t. All of this seems suddenly, intensely unfair, and I’m torn between being a stand-up nice guy who says the right thing and being incredibly selfish.
The thing is, though, what if she’s waiting for me to ask her not to go? What if she’d rather stay and I act as though it’s six of one, half dozen of the other for me? She’ll think I don’t care, when the truth is, I care very deeply. If she’d stay, I’d never eat another one of those snack cakes ever again. I don’t know why those two things would be in any way related, but I’d do it. And more. Way more.
I’d give up wha
t little I have to myself, and I’d do it gladly—not like the grudging sacrifices I make for my family—because Lucy would appreciate it. She’d say thank you and give me what I need in return, not presume and take me for granted.
She’s still standing there, looking lost, her eyes darting around my office, fiddling with her fingers. Like a sweet, pretty, adrift deer. I wish I knew what she wanted me to do. I’d do it, whether it ripped my heart out of my chest or not. Because the truth is, I don’t just like Lucy. And I’m not just attracted to her. I don’t even just want to have sex with her all the time. I’ve had crushes on women before, but never like this.
It’s possible that, though I haven’t allowed myself to want anything this badly for a long time, I’d desperately like for Lucy to be mine. Because I’m pretty sure I love her. That’s what that is when you can’t think of anyone you’d rather spend time with and you can talk easily to them and have fun with them and also have mind-blowing sex, right? Because if that’s not love, someone’s going to have to explain it to me.
“Lucy, I—”
“I should—”
We’ve talked over each other, because of course we have.
“You go first,” I say with a lift of my chin.
“I should get back to work. Those tables aren’t going to proof themselves.”
“No, they’re not.”
“What were you going to say?”
Whatever you want me to say. Whatever you need to hear.
“Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll send you this section when I’m done with it, okay?”
Her gaze is tinged with uncertainty and I want to stand up and be that guy, but in this particular instance, I’m not sure what that guy should do, so I’ll just be me, sitting here behind my desk and not doing anything.
“Sure.”
She turns and walks out of my office, and as soon as I can’t hear her muffled footsteps on the carpet anymore, I slide open my desk drawer, take out the remaining cupcake, and shove the entire thing in my mouth. Maybe the sugar overload will zap this sick, sinking feeling and get me through this afternoon.
Due South (The Compass series Book 5) Page 17