Guy Hater

by Ethan Asher

  “Water’s fine.”

  She motions for me to take a seat and then disappears behind the desk emblazoned with Florence + Foxe. I sit in an uncomfortable but stylish leather chair that squeaks every time I move and sometimes when I breathe.

  “Here you are,” Heather says, handing me a bottle of mineral water. She jerks her hand back and then runs it through her hair as she quickly turns around and trots back to her chair. Her cheeks are a few shades pinker when she sits down, clearing her throat and shuffling papers around.

  I sip my water, waiting for Christiana to appear. And Charleigh. My nerves finally catch up with me as my mind turns to Charleigh. She was pissed when she saw me in Deanna’s kitchen a few mornings ago and even more pissed when she found out she’d be working with me. I’m not exactly thrilled either, even more so now that I see how difficult it will be to work together.

  “Mr. Finch,” a familiar voice calls out.

  I look up and find Christiana smiling warmly at me. Her silver hair is pulled into a tight bun at her crown, not a strand out of place.

  “Good morning, Christiana.”

  I stand up and offer my hand. She grips it, shaking it a few times. “I’m so sorry about Lana. We had no idea she was being headhunted by other firms.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m in no rush.”

  She smiles. “You may not be, but I assure you we’re going to honor the initial deadline.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Come,” she says, motioning me to follow her.

  The main office space is an open concept with low-walled cubicles spread throughout the center. Exposed vents and ductwork weave around the lofted space. Artisanal lighting hangs from the ceiling, but most of the light streams through the large windows that surround the space. It's bright and airy and if it weren't for the patches of greenery and wood accents, it would feel a bit too cold and industrial. But then again, I'm not an interior designer.

  As we walk toward the conference room on the other end of the building, it feels like I'm playing whack-a-mole. Heads of employees pop up, glance at Christiana and me, and then pop right back down as we pass by. But as we near the conference room, almost everything around me seems to fade into the background when I spot Charleigh.

  She’s sitting at the end of a long conference table with another woman next to her. She’s chewing on the inside of her mouth as her left leg bounces up and down. Given our textual relations over the past few days, I find it difficult to believe that she’s nervous. Maybe it’s not nerves. Maybe she’s trying to stop her anger from boiling over.

  Both of them stand when Christiana opens the door. The blonde next to Charleigh almost imperceptibly elbows Charleigh before taking the lead. Christiana doesn’t seem to notice as she begins the introductions.

  “This is Andrea,” she says, nodding to the blonde.

  "It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Finch," Andrea says with an unusually high-pitched voice.

  She offers me a limp hand. I glance at it, trying to figure out how to shake the curled, limp thing offered to me. I grab her hand tentatively and then proceed to have the most awkward handshake ever.

  “Andrea,” I say with a nod.

  She reluctantly steps aside, allowing me my first full view of Charleigh since the awkwardness at Deanna’s house. It’s not difficult to see why I hadn’t recognized her at The Lookout. Little of her reminds me of the girl I knew over a decade ago. Her hair is no longer wild and frizzy; it now rests on her shoulders in silky, straight tresses. The glasses are gone. The braces are gone. And now there’s a confident air about her.

  “And this is Charleigh Holiday.”

  I offer my hand to her along with a smile as an armistice. She stares at it, arms folded beneath her chest. She’s still chewing the inside of her mouth, and she’s wearing the interior struggle on her face.

  “Charleigh?” Christiana says, verbally nudging her.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I just blanked for a moment." Charleigh turns the charm up to a hundred as she reaches out to shake my hand. I've never seen her smile like this before. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Finch. I can't wait to help turn your dream into reality."

  Her voice is so saccharine that if she keeps it up, I’ll have diabetes by the end of our meeting. Jesus Christ is all I can think as I bear witness to this monstrosity in a Charleigh suit. I stare at her blankly, wondering how long she’ll be able to keep up this charade.

  “Great,” I say with a snort, glancing at Christiana, who seems to be eating up Charleigh’s performance.

  But as soon as Christiana walks past us, the facade falls, and I see the Charleigh I recognize: pissed. She mouths something to me as I follow behind Christiana, but I ignore it.

  Christiana sits at the head of the table, and I take the seat next to her while Charleigh and Andrea are opposite me. I don’t even have to glance across the table to know that Charleigh’s staring a hole in me. I can feel the heat of her gaze on my skin, bubbling and sizzling as she silently seethes.

  Good to know after all these years she still holds a grudge.

  “Now, Mr. Finch. I know we’ve already been through this with Lana, but I was hoping we could cover your expectations and goals one more time so Andrea and Charleigh can familiarize themselves with them. Is that okay?”

  I drag my attention back to Christiana. “Sure. There isn't much to it, really. As you know, it's been more than a few decades since there have been any upgrades to my house, and I'd like to breathe a little life to it. You know, bring it into the current decade. Century, really."

  Andrea brays with laughter as though I'd said the most hilarious thing ever, and both Christiana and Charleigh slowly crane their necks and stare at her. Her cheeks flush and she mutters something as she sinks lower in her chair.

  I clear my throat and continue detailing my ideas. I love the rustic feel to the house, and I want to ensure that the design captures that feeling. Nothing too modern with perfect, clean lines, and none of that gray color I see everywhere. Earth tones. Stone and wood and metal. I want the house to feel like it belongs in the mountains of Colorado.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve talked, but by the time I finish, I notice that both Christiana and Andrea have multiple pages of notes and are rapt with attention on me. I glance at the pad in front of Charleigh as they continue to scribble away. It’s empty, and as I draw my eyes upward, I see her arms are still folded across her chest. A few more inches upward and I find her eyebrows are raised so high that they look like they’re trying to escape from her face.

  “Again, I’m pretty easy to please, so I’m sure that any of the designs you come up with will be perfect.”

  Charleigh snorts, leaning forward. “I’ve found that the people who say they’re the easiest to please are the most difficult people to work with.”

  Without skipping a beat, Christiana sets her pen down, removes her glasses, and turns to Charleigh. “Can I have a word, Charleigh?”

  It’s not a question that Christiana expects an answer to, and Charleigh knows it. Her face blanches immediately and Andrea does her best to contain her glee. They get up without another word and I watch Christiana march out of the conference room with Charleigh in tow.

  “I’d like to apologize for my colleague,” Andrea says, reaching her hand out as though I need comforting.

  “It’s no problem,” I say as I lean back into my chair. I knit my fingers behind my head as I look over at Charleigh and Christiana through the glass. It’s not my fault that Charleigh can’t keep her cool for more than a few minutes.

  Although I have no idea what Christiana is telling Charleigh, her message is clearly displayed through Charleigh’s demeanor. She seems to have lost a couple inches as she visibly withers in front of Christiana, whose lips haven’t stopped moving since the door closed behind her.

  “I’m in love with your ideas,” Andrea says, trying to draw my attention back to her. “They’re absolutely brilliant, and I can’t wait to see
the property and get to work. I—”

  Christiana opens the door and pokes her head inside the room. “Mr. Finch?” she says, motioning to me. “Could you come here for a moment?”

  “Sure,” I say, standing up.

  I cross the room and step through the door Christiana holds open for me. Charleigh is staring at her feet as I approach, but when I finally reach her, Christiana clears her throat and Charleigh looks up.

  “I want to apologize for what I said in there,” she says. “It was rude and uncalled for.”

  "It's no problem." I'm pretty sure that later on tonight I'm going to get a novel-length text from her detailing everything I did in the meeting that annoyed her.

  "Well, I'd just like a few more minutes of your time, Mr. Finch. Could you join me in my office for a few minutes?"

  “Sure.”

  I follow Christiana into her office. It only takes ten minutes to finish my business with Christiana before I'm back in the main office space. I scan the room, looking for Charleigh, and I find her talking with a coworker on the opposite side of the building. Andrea attempts to lure me into a conversation, but I politely excuse myself after a few minutes and head back to Charleigh.

  Unfortunately, she’s nowhere to be seen.

  Guy: Can we talk?

  A few minutes go by and there’s no response, so I try calling her. Almost immediately I hear a song playing. Your phone isn’t on silent? Bad office etiquette, Charleigh. It sounds vaguely familiar, and I whip my head around to gauge the direction it's coming from. There are a few spurts of laughter, and I head in their direction, phone still in hand and ready to redial Charleigh's number.

  I don't need to because there are multiple women poking their heads out of their cubicles, cheeks flushing as they try hard not to laugh. There's one cubicle, however, that doesn't have a head poking out of it. And when I reach it, I find Charleigh with her head down, phone in hand.

  I hit her contact in my phone again, and this time the ringtone comes in loud and clear as Fergie belts out, “Shut up, just shut up, shut up. Shut up, just shut up, shut up.”

  “Interesting ringtone, Charleigh.”

  There are muffled laughs around us as Charleigh silences the call, takes in a deep breath and then looks up at me, her cheeks bright red.

  “Thanks. I think it’s fitting.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She nods exaggeratedly. “Yup.”

  “Are you always this charming around your clients?”

  “Only when they deserve it.”

  I rest my forearms on the top of her cubicle. Her eyes narrow on mine. “I’m not the bad guy, Charleigh. And if I recall, you thought I was a pretty good guy not so long ago. ”

  Charleigh turns an even brighter shade of red as she stands up and leans into me.

  “Don’t bring up that night ever again. It was a mistake.”

  “Some mistakes are worth repeating.”

  She sits back down and then swivels her chair so her back is to me. "If you'll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

  I stare at her back for a few moments, wondering if it’s worth the effort. I pat the top of the cubicle a couple times and then walk away. I only make it a few steps before Charleigh says, "I think we should limit our interactions because it's clear that we just don't work together."

  I pause for a brief moment, my back still facing her, and then start to make my way out of the office again. She wants so hard to believe that I’m a bad guy. Well, if that’s what she wants, maybe I should indulge her fantasy version of reality.

  7

  Charleigh

  “I can’t do it. I can’t work with Guy.”

  Jamie sips his coffee, eyeing me as though I'm a kid seconds away from a tantrum. He’s not too far off the mark, but instead of a toy being snatched away from me, it's my possible promotion to lead designer because I know working with Guy is going to drive me to do something that will get me fired. I mean, it's happened already.

  “I’ve already gotten reprimanded once because of him.”

  Jamie arches his brow. “Because of him? How did he get you reprimanded?”

  I bite the inside of my mouth, which is now raw because I can’t stop chewing it. It’s a nervous habit that I thought I’d outgrown, but with Guy thrust back into my life, old habits seem to be popping up everywhere.

  “He said something silly and I had to correct him.”

  My brother sighs, rubbing his fingertips into his eyes. I gawk at Marissa, hoping she’ll back me up. Instead, she offers the rest of her cinnamon scone to me, which is just as good in my book.

  “I think what Charleigh’s getting at is that it’s complicated between her and Guy.”

  I nearly choke on my scone as I laugh, crumbs exploding from my mouth. Both of them look at me with concerned expressions, and I raise my hand, letting them know I’m fine as I swallow the remaining crumbs with my decaf latte.

  “How complicated could it be? Guy needs his house renovated. You’re a designer.” Jamie holds his palms out, shrugging as though he’d just laid out a simple addition problem, a + b = c. Except that he forgot the tiny part where if you mix a and b together, you create a nuclear explosion capable of wiping out all of humanity, or at the very least, Whispering Pine.

  Marissa and I both glare at Jamie, but he shrugs it off. “I just don’t get it.”

  “We know,” both Marissa and I say in unison.

  He stares at both of us for a moment. “I think it’s time for me to get a refill,” he says, standing up slowly before retreating from the table. Once he finally leaves earshot, Marissa jumps into the line of questioning she’s been bursting to ask me this entire time.

  “What the hell are you going to do?” she shout-whispers.

  “I have no idea,” I say, munching on the last of Marissa’s cinnamon scone as I wonder why anyone in their right mind would ever bake a pastry without chocolate. And don’t get me started on people who think nuts in ANYTHING is a good idea. Because it’s not. There’s a special place in hell for people who ruin a perfectly good brownie with walnuts. And an even more exclusive place for people who put raisins in their cookies.

  “You’re not going to quit,” she says matter-of-factly. “You can’t.”

  My financial situation is a step above what people would call dire straits. A half step, to be honest. But I know Marissa isn’t hinting at that.

  “Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s still under your skin.”

  I hum. She's got a point. Besides, it's not like I'll be working with Guy every single day. The work will be front-loaded, and then once everything is approved by him and Christiana, the process takes on a life of its own as our contractors take over. I mull it over as Marissa continues.

  "It's an amazing opportunity. I know you've been feeling a little underappreciated at work, and this project could really help you shine. Show Christiana that you've got the chops to step into a lead designer role. I've seen what you can do, Charleigh, and it's amazing. Christiana will see that if you take this on."

  I can feel my cheeks begin to redden. I’ve always felt awkward when people praise my accomplishments because they don’t feel all that special to me. It’s work, and I do the best that I can.

  “You sure know how to lay it on, Marissa.”

  “You’re a queen of design, and I’m surprised you aren’t running your own shop yet.”

  “I’ve only been in the business for a few years. That sort of responsibility is waaaaay down the pipeline. If it happens at all.”

  Marissa sighs. "Don't shortchange your accomplishments. You'll be running your own place in a few years. And this job is your first step. Besides, Guy can't be that bad, can he? You kissed him, remember?"

  How could I forget? My cheeks flush an even brighter red as thoughts of that night flood back to me. But then I remind myself who I’m dealing with. I’m conflicted, to say the least, about this whole situation.

  “I think I still have that text
describing him to me. Adonis incarnate? Hmm…” Marissa reaches into her purse. “I can check for the exact wording.”

  I reach across the table and place my hand on hers. “No, that’s perfectly okay.”

  On a surface level, I understand that the advice Marissa is giving me is perfectly appropriate: I should focus on my future and not the past. But I don’t know how I’ll be able to pretend the years of Guy being an asshole never happened. Sure, he wasn’t a completely horrible person, but when the teasing comes from someone who used to be your best friend, which Guy was for a time, it hurts a lot. More so when there never was an apology or semblance of guilt in the intervening years.

  I tried to push it away, but as soon as I saw Guy pass in front of the conference room, the memories came right back. For most of the meeting, I kept replaying his greatest hits over and over in my head. And when I finally had the chance to speak, I snapped at him.

  “So are you going to do it?” Marissa asks after a few moments of silence.

  I mumble something unintelligible and then groan.

  “Charleigh?”

  I chew on the inside of my mouth again, but it’s so tender and raw that I stop immediately.

  Marissa bobs her head around trying to get me to look at her in the eyes. “Come on. Look at me.”

  When I finally look at her, she wiggles her eyebrows as though to ask the question again.

  “Okay, fine,” I rattle out quickly.

  “Yay!” she squeals. “You’re doing the right thing. And maybe…” She narrows her eyes as though concentrating on something. “Just maybe Karina and Finn will—”

  “No! Nothing is going to happen between us, especially not that.”

  “Well…” She lets it hang in the air for a while before finishing it with, “You never know.”

  She may never know, but there’s one thing for sure that I know: that will never happen. Never.

  “You guys ready to head out?” Jamie asks us.

  Marissa looks at me with the widest smile and then says to Jamie, “I think so, Jay-Jay.”