by Ellie Hall
I felt like I was playing Santa’s elf as we walked around, distributing the drinks ten minutes later—well, elf to a particularly attractive and fit Santa Claus. Hazel's very presence seemed to brighten everyone's day as she passed out orders. Not only that, she seemed to know exactly what everyone was working on and how their day was going. We eventually ended up back at my cubicle, each of us carrying our own drinks. Mine was a hot chocolate because I couldn't do caffeine in the afternoon, and Hazel had some sort of sugary Frappuccino that looked pretty tempting. Or maybe it was just the way she carried it with her hip popped out like that.
We stood for a second, another one of those awkward moments of silence we were perfecting. Then, at once, we both tried to talk.
"Thanks for coming—"
"Thanks for the—"
I shuffled my feet, and a nervous twittery laugh came from Hazel.
Where had my composure gone? "Thanks for the break. I needed to stretch my legs." There was nothing special going on between us. Definitely no Cupid's arrows in this vicinity. I mentally brought out an invisible shield and placed it firmly between us.
She put more of her weight on her back foot, clearly not realizing her stance just further highlighted her curves. Or maybe she did, and this was all part of her and Cupid's plans. "Of course, it was great to have an extra set of hands."
Those hands of mine were currently itching with nerves. "Yep, well, I'd better get back to work."
"Me too," she said, promptly clipping her way down toward her office.
Swallowing hard, I eased into my chair. I didn't know what I thought I was doing, but I was playing a dangerous game with myself.
6
Hazel
My bladder was about to burst. I looked at the clock one more time. Dang it, still only 11:05. That second cup of coffee had probably done it. Monday mornings just seemed to call for two cups, though.
As much as I wanted to test the limits of my internal organs, I knew I couldn't hold it for another hour. I pushed up from my desk, resigned to take the long walk past Owen’s desk. It was funny how, in the last week, I started measuring everything I did by whether it would take me past that cubicle.
I discreetly pulled out my compact mirror and checked my hair and make-up. I mean, it wasn't for Owen, obviously. I just wanted to make sure I looked presentable in case there was anyone else in the bathroom.
Stepping into the aisle, I eyed the space between me and the exit. Thirty-nine steps. I'd counted. Several times. I took a deep breath and threw my shoulders back.
Pushing aside my trepidations, I nodded and smiled at everyone as I walked. I liked creating a friendly office environment, one where people felt happy coming into work. Plus, it was my second nature. I was the person that couldn't help saying hi to people in line at the grocery store or waiting at the same bus stop.
As I reached Owen's desk, I tried to lighten my steps, praying he'd have a pair of headphones on or would be too absorbed in his work to notice me.
The second I got within his peripheral vision, however, he turned and gave me a slow smile, one of those kind that warmed me from my head to the tips of my toes.
I knew Owen was a well-qualified computer tech—at least that's what his resume said—but at the moment, I questioned if he did any work here or if he just spent his days waiting for me to come around the corner.
"Headed out to lunch?" he asked, fingering a pencil.
Regretfully, I slowed my steps. "No, just a quick bathroom break." I clasped my hands in front of me, my fingers curling themselves into a knot. "Don't forget, we have a company lunch meeting today." I gave him a smile—a purely professional smile, just like the one I’d bestowed on Paul from IT five minutes earlier. See? I didn't like Owen and his perfect set of shoulders any more than I liked grouchy Paul. "We have a tendency to over-order, so come hungry."
"Good thing I can eat a lot," he said, that smile of his spreading so I could almost see all of his dental award-winning teeth.
Against my will, I breathed in the clean aftershave smell that followed him everywhere. My insides were melting. I was a pizza with extra cheese, stuffed crust, and a little of that powdery Parmesan thrown on top for good measure.
Although, to be fair, I was coming to realize my vision of Owen as a coldhearted playboy wasn't as accurate as I'd thought.
More than once, I’d noticed him going out of his way to help people this week. When Sharon jammed the printer like she did every week, he was the first to jump up and show her the correct way to put the paper in so it came out smoothly. And despite the fact that Doug came out on an almost hourly basis to ask if Owen had found the issue, Owen never responded with anything but polite tones. I was pretty sure a weaker man would've blown a fuse by now.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Owen wasn't the bad guy I'd made him out to be. My mind settled into this new theory like it was an overstuffed La-Z-Boy.
And then, in one move, he brought me back to reality. Reminded me exactly who I was dealing with.
He sent me a wink.
His wink.
The one he probably used on every breathing female he'd ever interacted with.
Without another word, I turned back to my office, only realizing halfway there that I was going the wrong way. Clenching my jaw, I spun and stomped back toward the bathroom.
I couldn't help noticing Owen snicker as I clipped past. It took all of my energy not to reach out and slap him.
He couldn't fix that computer bug soon enough.
One hour later, I found myself welcoming everybody to the company lunch in the conference room. Whether by accident or on purpose, Owen had sat in the front row, right within spitting distance. I had a few diabolical thoughts running through my head that were definitely not HR-approved.
Luckily, I was able to turn the meeting over to Doug and find a chair as far back as possible.
"Welcome, everybody," Doug said. "First, thank you for all the hard work you’ve put in. This program is going to change..." He went on for another fifteen minutes, throwing out all sorts of vague, motivational phrases. I liked Doug. He was a good guy. But to be honest, he had no idea what went on in our company. Most days, he sat in his office, playing solitaire for hours. I guess he paid his dues, though, since he was the one that had to deal with all the donors and other bigwigs that funded our work.
I was so caught up in my thoughts I barely heard the tail end of his last sentence. It was actually just the name that called my attention.
"...Owen will give us a quick update of where he's at."
Looking as good as a movie star about to receive his Oscar, Owen strode the four steps to the front of the room, beaming his frustratingly perfect smile at all of us.
I focused my gaze on a dark spot behind him on the wall, mentally rehashing all the reasons Owen was completely undesirable. 1) His teeth were too perfect. He had obviously had braces, and I didn't know if I wanted to commit my future kids to a life of orthodontia. 2) He ran every day. He probably was a health nut who drank green smoothies and counted his almonds before he ate them. 3) He always smelled good. He had to be compensating for something.
“Good news, the bug in the system is almost straightened out." He clapped his hands, bringing me off of my mental warpath. "I think everything should be ready for the launch by this weekend."
That was a pleasant surprise. I'd only have to deal with his irritatingly proportional features and Good-Samaritan acts for the rest of the week. Then, he would be out of my life.
Why did the thought not feel as good as I wanted it to?
"Wonderful," Doug said, standing once again. "As you all know, our launch is the charity dinner along with a silent auction. The donors we have acquired for the event are amazing."
I forced my eyes not to glaze over as he described a list of gift cards and vacation rentals that had been donated for the auction. I'd been helping our PR manager all month, so I had every one of these details memorized.
"And just a
s a reminder, you are all invited to the event. I believe an email was sent around last month with a sign-up." He looked at me with lifted eyebrows.
I nodded and stood. "Yes, if you haven't already, please be sure to put down your name and the name of your plus-one so we have them."
Doug beamed as his eyes rolled around the room. "Oh, and Owen, talk with Hazel after this to get your name on the list. You're invited to the shindig too. Anyway, as a final..."
The rest of his speech was lost on me. Ugh, couldn't I just forward the email to Owen? Why did I have to have a personal conversation to find out exactly which gorgeous date he would have lined up for the evening?
I fingered the buttons of my pink blouse as the meeting ended. Everyone took their time moseying out, picking up seconds and thirds of the leftover pizza in the back. What I wouldn't give to sneak back into my office like them.
When Owen finally turned to leave, my feet made their slow approach. I was a company martyr. An HR representative forced into the line of duty.
"Owen, like Doug said, I want to make sure you know you're invited to the party this weekend." I ran my hands down my sides, only to realize I wore a skirt and therefore had no pockets. Awkwardly, I clasped my hands in front of me, then dropped them back to my sides, then changed my mind and folded them at my waist. Don't mind me, definitely not nervous or agitated.
His eyes followed my twitchy movements. "Sounds great. I'll plan on coming."
I swallowed and tucked some hair behind one ear. "Great, I'll put you down." I untucked the hair. "So, should I put you down for one or..." I let the question hang in the air.
He shifted his weight, his eyes studying my face. "Does everybody bring a plus-one?"
I shrugged. "Well, at least three-fourths of the people in this office are married, so they'll bring their spouse."
"What about the single people?” His gaze never let up. “Will you be bringing someone?"
I squirmed under his question. Would I be bringing a plus-one? I hadn't intended to. Most of these fundraisers, I spent helping the event coordinators make sure everything ran smoothly. "Uh...yes, of course I'll be bringing a...date." Confidence. Exude confidence.
He slipped one hand into his own pants pocket, and I was only slightly jealous of his ability to do so. "Okay, then I'll bring someone."
I felt a slight bit of rage build up inside me. He said it so casually, like he had a string of ladies that were just dying to go to an event with him. He’d doubtlessly play a game of Eeny, meeny, miny, moe to decide which blessed woman would be his arm candy for the night.
My head nodded robotically. "Great, I'll put you down for two. Can you email me your date's name? I want to make sure we have her in the seating arrangements.” There was an edge to my words now, sharp as one of my favorite four-blade razors, straight out of the package.
"Of course. I'll send it to you later today."
"Okay, have a good afternoon.” My hands were shaking as I settled into my chair a minute later. I grabbed a pair of headphones, intent on filling the next ten minutes with soul-crushing Sarah McLachlan ballads before getting back to work.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Owen sauntered past my office toward his cubicle. What was it about this man? What was it that made me so unsettled?
Whatever it was, it wasn't my concern. I grabbed my phone and clicked on my sister's number, forgoing my McLachlan tear-fest for a moment.
What was my concern was the fact that I needed to find a date in four days.
7
Owen
I chewed on a slice of pizza I'd brought back from the conference room, eyeing the email I was about to send Hazel.
I'd found someone to take to the party. Not necessarily someone I'd call a date, but at least I had a plus-one.
Ava and I had met at a developer conference years ago and had been good friends ever since. We had a uniquely platonic relationship—a situation both of us were happy with. Which was exactly why I had begged her to be my date in a text an hour ago.
Not that Hazel would know that.
I tried not to smile, remembering the way she’d squirmed when we'd talked about the party. Obviously, the idea of me bringing a date bugged her. I couldn't figure it out. She was the one who said she'd be bringing someone first, so why would it matter if I did too?
If I was honest, there was a small part of me that wanted to ask Hazel if we could go together. Be each other's plus-one. I was convinced my early premonitions about her had been incorrect.
Hazel was anything but desperate.
In fact, I was pretty sure she was the lifeblood of this company. Her cheery smile and bubbly personality seeped into every desk and cubicle in the office.
But when it came to me, she'd put up a wall. Her smiles were always stilted, and her eyes never contained the full warmth they did for others.
It was my own fault. I was the one that had wedged the awkwardness between us by bringing up the running incident. Ever since that conversation, she'd never seemed fully sure of herself around me.
I blew out a breath, my eyes dancing back to my message on the screen.
Without allowing myself to dwell any longer, I clicked send, confirming that Ava Marks and I would be at the charity dinner together.
Too bad Ava wasn't the plus-one I wanted.
The problem with finding the computer bug was that it was only the beginning of the work. I'd spent the last week going through all aspects of the system, making sure every issue had been resolved. Tedious was a nice way of putting it.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, glancing at the time. Six. No one should be sitting at work at six o’clock on a Friday. I just needed to wrap up these open items and I could leave.
My stomach rumbled, and I wondered if there were any more of Sharon’s sugar cookies left in the break room. I pushed away from my computer and made my way toward the back. As I suspected, every desk was empty—even Hazel's, although she had left her light on.
I let my eyes rove around her space, taking in the cheery floral prints and decorative cork boards she'd hung on the wall. I grinned. It all fit her so well. I flipped off her light before continuing my walk. I’d just passed the supply closet when I heard shuffling, almost like the sound of mice.
Pausing, I glanced around. Silence. Maybe it was in my mind? Just as I was about to continue, though, I heard it again. This time, it sounded more like shuffling papers.
"Hello?" I called out, feeling a little eerie.
The noises stopped for a split-second before a feminine voice answered, "Hello? I'm in here!"
The anxious voice was unmistakable. Hazel. Without pausing to think, I reached for the handle of the supply closet and barreled inside like a modern-day Superman. "Hazel, are you—"
Superman must've had more finesse.
There was a loud crack against the door, and the next thing I knew, Hazel's slumped form dropped to the floor in front of me.
Oh, crap. Had I knocked her out?
I dropped to my knees, scooping her up until her head was cradled in my lap. "Hazel? Hazel, can you hear me?"
Her eyelids fluttered, the dark lashes like feathers across her cheeks. She moaned, a hand immediately coming up to one side of her head.
"O-Owen?" Her voice was croaky.
"Hey, you hit your head. Are you okay?" I lifted my hands, although I didn't know what I was about to do with them. Did I pat her head? Did I pat her arm? Were any of those things HR-approved methods of comfort?
Her eyes focused on me for a split-second before she bolted upright. "Ouch!" Both her hands went to her head now, grasping it in obvious pain.
She hadn’t gotten a concussion, had she? “Look at me for a second,” I said, turning her shoulders so she was forced to face me. “How many heads do I have? Am I blurry?”
She narrowed her eyes. “One and no.”
“Okay, what is two plus two?”
Her hand dropped from the side of her head. “Four. Why are yo
u asking me this?”
“One more, can you follow my finger?” I waved my hand slowly back and forth in front of her eyes.
“Yes, will you stop it?” she said, swatting my palm away. “What happened? I was calling for help, and next thing I knew, you bludgeoned me with something.”
Well, at least it didn’t seem like she’d gotten a concussion. I cleared my throat. This was going to sound dumb. "I, um…I heard you in here, and so I...dashed in, trying to save the day." I bit my cheek. “I accidentally smacked you with the door.” Why had she been in here in the first place?
Her eyes darted to the door that must've closed shut when I bent to help her. "Oh no!" She jumped to her feet, reaching out to grab the doorknob. "No, no." Her hands fruitlessly pulled, the door not budging.
And that was about when I realized our predicament.
We were locked in the storage closet. Together.
I scratched my head. "So, I gather you were calling out because the door was locked?"
She looked at me, exasperation on her face. "Yes. Now it looks like you're stuck in here too." She lifted her eyebrows. "Clearly you need to work on saving the day."
Nice. Using my own words against me.
I eyed the small space, the shelves lined with endless reams of paper, pens, and extra staples. Quite cozy. If nothing else, we had enough blue ink to write our last will and testaments in here.
Hazel settled back on the ground, as far away from me as the space allowed. She drew her knees up, her chin resting on them.
I'd gotten us into this mess—sort of (I actually wasn't sure how Hazel had gotten here)—so I'd get us out. "You don't have your phone on you, by any chance?"
She lifted her empty hands. "No, I just came in here to grab some more paper for the copier. I hadn't expected to stay."