So That Happened: A Romantic Comedy, page 12
My gaze travels back to his lips. I bet he’s one of those super-confident kissers who knows exactly what he’s doing. And makes sure you know that he knows exactly what he’s doing…
“What?” Liam asks and I startle out of my thoughts.
I drag my eyes from his lips, praying my flush doesn’t betray me. What is going on with me? Snap out of it, Annie. STAT!
“Nothing!” I blabber. “Um, I mean, thank you. For this, erm, bountiful selection of food.”
Who in their right mind uses the word “bountiful?” Nobody in this century, surely.
Liam’s very distracting lips do that whisper-of-a-smile thing again, the corners tilting upwards.
“Shall we go over your questions?” I ask, somewhat desperately.
He wipes his mouth with his napkin, then throws it onto his empty plate. “Let’s do it.”
I cast a wistful glance at an extra-cheesy-looking quesadilla I was hoping to work on next. I hope it isn’t rude to keep eating… and isn’t it a myth that men only like dainty salad eaters, anyways?
Liam, like a magical mind-reader, pushes the quesadilla toward me. “You can keep eating, though.”
This man.
I take a huge bite. He nods in approval.
And then, the barrage of questions begins.
Twenty minutes later, I’m dripping with both stress and hot-sauce-induced sweat as we go back and forth over one of my key points—that people need more flexibility as part of their routine than this app allows for. V2 of the app needs to cater to this.
“But, the point of this app is to improve organization in every area of your life,” Liam says for the fifth time. “Doesn’t leeway defeat the point?”
“According to everything I’ve pulled, no.” I stand my ground. I know I’m right on this one, know it’ll help the user experience.
“What if your data’s wrong? Or more digging produces different results?” Liam crosses his arms, looking at me for an answer. “Do you have a backup plan?
I get the feeling this is an important question. A lot hinges on my next words.
I summon all the bravado I can muster. Grin. “I don’t need a backup plan.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m right. And this is not going to fail.”
Those dark eyes are on me again, and for a moment, I lose my train of thought. Gosh, Liam’s a beautiful man.
Warmth creeps up the back of my neck as he keeps staring at me. His face is impassive, but there’s a glint of something that tells me I’ve given the right answer. Passed some kind of test. This realization makes a thrill zip through me, head to toe. He’s impressed.
He takes me seriously. Takes my work seriously. And if this is what impressing Liam Donovan at work feels like, then I’m already looking forward to the next test.
“Liam!”
The excited shriek startles us both, and we look up from our massacre of cheese and guac (okay, my massacre). A drop-dead gorgeous woman wearing only a sports bra and capri leggings is prancing toward us. She has the most perfect complexion I’ve ever seen. Seriously, her skin is so clear, I can practically see my reflection in it.
My hand automatically goes to the pimple forming on my chin. Too late, I realize that my hand is dripping with grease, and all I’ve done is guarantee that this pimple will be big, red and glaring.
Wonderful.
I wipe my hands on my napkin as Liam nods at the woman. “Cassandra. What a surprise.”
Is it just me or is his voice totally flat?
“It is! I’m just getting a salad to go—had a late spin class down the road.” Cassandra holds up a very non-greasy box of chicken and greens, and she beams at Liam without casting me a glance. Not that I blame her. I probably look like the kid sister he brought out for dinner. “I haven’t seen you in, like, three weeks!”
Her voice is casual, but I get the impression that she knows the exact date and time she last laid eyes on Liam.
“Probably about that,” Liam says blandly. He doesn’t ask how she is. Doesn’t make any attempt to introduce me. Instead, he shoots me a quick, apprehensive glance.
What?
For the first time since she approached our table, Cassandra looks a tad unsure of herself. Not that I blame her.
Liam’s being, well, rude. Which isn’t super unlike him, but this woman looks like a goddess—shouldn’t he be drooling and not glaring at the table like it personally offended him?
She finally turns to me. Frowns. “I’m Cassandra.”
“Annie,” I reply, and she wrinkles her nose slightly, like she’s puzzled by my existence.
“Annie works with me,” Liam says swiftly. Too swiftly.
Cassandra’s eyes light with fresh enthusiasm. She touches her hair and giggles, turning all her attention back to Liam. “Well, we’ll have to get together soon. I’ll call you?”
He barely nods. “Sounds great. Good to see you.”
Which might sound like a nice thing to say. But the way Liam says it is more “goodbye, please leave now” than anything else.
As she walks away, he turns to me. Sighs heavily. “Sorry for that interruption. Where were we?”
I blink a couple times, lick my lips as I get my bearings. Weird as that interaction was, Liam’s intent was clear—move Cassandra along as quickly as possible while making sure she knows I’m his colleague. Which explains his apprehensive glance in my direction—he probably didn’t want her to think I was on a date with him.
Which makes sense. After all, that’s what I am: his colleague.
Actually, not even. I’m his employee. This is not a dinner date, it’s a business meeting. And while I may never be a soul-cycling, salad-eating goddess, I’m a damn good data analyst.
That’s what he pays me for. And that’s what I’m here to deliver. Period.
As if to prove my point, I shove another nacho in my mouth.
“We were talking about bending the rules,” I say through a mouthful of chip.
14
LIAM
Ways to make a casual dinner with your colleague awkward:
Panic order her every last thing on the menu.
Find yourself totally unable to stop looking at her mouth as she eats, so try to “fix” the problem by asking her a bunch of work questions with military-like precision and force.
Get approached by a relentless dance-mom from your niece’s class who’s asked you out no less than four times in the past year.
So, all in all, another typical interaction with Annie. Spending time with her is like holding up a giant disaster magnet to my life—one that sucks in carefully arranged things at an alarming rate and flips them on their heads.
We’ve finished our food, but we’re still lingering at Maria’s Cantina, talking business. Our current topic of conversation is about flexibility when it comes to the rules. It’s a topic I am not happy with. One, because we already know what that leads to: inadvertent illicit cuddling of your pretty new employee. And two, because I can’t focus on what she’s saying when I know I need to explain what just happened.
I don’t like explaining myself.
“Why don’t we present this to Wiseman as something we’re still exploring. Seeing if it would resonate well with existing users as an optional feature,” I toss out as a compromise.
I also don’t usually like compromise.
But Annie has done her homework. She knows her stuff, is confident in what she’s saying. And I know better than to let a personal preference affect my ability to run my company. Plus, she maybe, just maybe, might have a point. It’s unlikely. But possible. I’m not going to be a stubborn jerk and ignore her work.
Even though I’m not convinced she’s right.
She offers a small smile. “Sounds good. I think you’ll see it my way eventually.”
“We’ll see,” I reply. I’m not sure I’m capable of seeing any way other than mine, but Annie makes me want to try. And that’s more than I can say for most people.
She wipes her fingers on her napkin. “Thanks again for dinner. I’m so full.”
“Should we get out of here? Walk and talk?”
“Of course. I’m sure you have other places to be. People to see.” Annie’s eyes flicker to the restaurant door as she speaks. The same door that Cassandra exited a few minutes before.
It’s now or never.
I suck in a breath. “Sorry about Cassandra.”
“Don’t apologize.” Annie frowns. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I was rude,” I correct. Pause for a moment before, perhaps against my better judgment, adding, “she’s been quite persistent in, um, pursuing me. Romantically.”
Annie’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh?”
“Her advances are”—I search for an appropriate sentence ending—“flattering, but unwanted. As I’ve made clear to her more than a few times.”
Annie’s eyes widen further. I’m not sure who’s more surprised that I’m revealing this information: me, or her.
“You don’t need to tell me this,” she says quickly. “You weren’t rude to me.”
“I just didn’t want you to think that I make a habit of being rude to people.”
Annie smiles cheekily. It makes her face sparkle.
“Ruder than I have to be, I mean,” I clarify with an accepting nod of her teasing smile. “I, uh, told her I don’t date.”
Anymore.
But I leave that bit out.
“Oh,” Annie says again, but this time, the tiny word manages to pack a whole different meaning.
There’s a slightly awkward (what’s new) silence before Annie nods. “Well. Should we get going? Finish work before midnight?”
“Absolutely.”
The evening air has cooled significantly in the time we’ve been in the restaurant. In fact, time’s flown by. I’m officially late to take over watching Legs for the night, but if I’m honest, the thought of Luke itching with curiosity pleases me. Serves him right.
I’m glad I called Legs before we went in. I had a feeling this evening would take longer than expected and I’d miss her bedtime.
It’s not like this super-long-dinner business is a common occurrence for me. Most of my meals over the past few years have been about efficiency—optimal levels of nutrients and calories in the quickest, simplest way possible. I usually eat alone standing at a counter, or with my immediate family at my sister’s dining table.
This meal was… different.
Beside me, Annie shivers in the breeze. I reflexively shrug off my jacket and hold it out to her.
“Oh no, I’m fine.” Her jaw tenses as she tries to keep her teeth from clattering.
“I insist,” I press.
I’m not being pushy, I don’t think. I mean, she’s shivering!
Annie smiles and moves to let me drape the jacket around her. She shivers when my fingers graze her shoulders, and I try to ignore the way my heartbeat picks up.
My jacket is comically huge on her, hanging off her petite frame. I like the way it looks on her. I just hope that Cassandra’s not lurking behind a trashcan, ready to spring out and yell “gotcha!” before dragging me on a date.
Dramatic? Yes. But I don’t like the woman one bit.
Annie’s quiet as she walks. I usually like quiet, thrive on it. Most people say altogether too many words in a day.
But Annie is not most people. And I realize I like all the crazy, strange things she has to say.
To the point that, right now, I’m overly aware of the quiet. Disrupted by it. It’s not like her.
“What’s on your mind?” I blurt.
Annie looks up in surprise. Smiles. “Honest answer?”
“Yes.”
“I was thinking about how, the last time we ran into someone, I told them you were my boyfriend.” She snorts at the memory. “Did I ever apologize for that? Like you apologized for what happened with Cassandra?”
I shake my head, unable to keep a small smile from forming on my lips. “No apology necessary. The whole thing was kinda funny, actually.”
“You didn’t think I was a crazed psychopath?”
“Oh, I definitely thought that.” I look at her, dead serious, and her mouth pops into a little O before she bursts into that contagious laughter again.
“I have to say that this has been one of my less conventional starts to a job,” she says, shaking her head. “But in a weird way, it’s worked out.”
“It’s certainly been interesting.” I like that we’re having this conversation. Glad to hear verbal affirmation that everything is okay between us.
“I guess I should explain myself, too.” Annie lowers her lashes. “Like you did.”
“That’s okay,” I say, even as I find myself leaning toward her. I normally never take this much interest in the lives of my employees.
“I want to.” She grits her teeth, and I wait patiently. Then, that determined look of hers—a look I’ve grown to like—moves over her face. “Justin and I were coworkers at my last job. We met, fell in love, dated for three years, then broke up. It got a bit messy after that.”
“Is that why you moved to Atlanta?”
Annie wraps my jacket tighter around herself. Looks off into the distance. “Not… entirely.” Then, she seems to grit her teeth. Straighten. “I moved because it was the right thing to do. And I got presented with the right opportunity.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
Her head whips around, sending auburn strands across her face in diagonal lines. “Really?”
I nod, amused by her surprise. “Yes. I can already see how much you bring to the table. And I’m glad we didn’t lose you over last weekend’s…”
“Accident?”
I almost chuckle. “I was going to say ‘incident.’ But I think I like accident better. There can be happy accidents.”
“Was the Econo Hotel one?”
At this point, we’re outside our office building. I meet her eyes, hold them for a long moment. “I think it was. You?”
She breathes out slowly, and the sound is almost shaky. It’s a sound I want to hear again. “Yes, I do.”
I slip my key out of my pocket. Push the door open. “After you.”
She slips by me and I smell her shampoo. It’s that sweet, totally unique ocean smell again. So typically Annie. I bet my jacket smells like her now.
I follow her into the elevator, which suddenly feels about six sizes smaller than usual. Six times warmer too, despite the fact that I’m missing my jacket.
We stand close. So close, our arms are almost touching.
“Annie?” I say, not looking at her.
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth.” I keep my eyes trained on the stainless steel door. “Sounds to me like you were too good for that guy.”
Annie shivers and the motion tickles my arm, pricking it with sensation.
“Or maybe he was just the wrong guy for me.” Her voice is scratchy.
I swallow. “Maybe.”
The elevator hums to life, and as we leave the ground, my stomach drops from more than just the motion of gravity leaving my body.
15
LIAM
It is a truth universally acknowledged that elevators are not sexy.
Or at least, it should be. For some reason, people seem to fixate on those scenes in movies and TV shows where two people in an elevator together end up in a quintessential passionate embrace, all to set up for a B.S. happily-ever-after. Like in that New Girl show my sister watches, where the annoying, loud guy and the quirky girl end up kissing in the elevator after minutes of screen time showing them running around and missing each other again and again.
In real life, after all of that cat and mouse, I’d be feeling sweaty and annoyed, not romantic. It’s total sensationalism.
The point is, elevators are for efficiency. You enter one for the sole purpose of moving from point A to point B.
A cold, hard, metal box. That’s all it is.
I certainly wasn’t feeling anything toward Annie during the ride in that cold, hard, metal box last night—a ride which took all of thirty-five seconds, but felt like it lasted an eternity. Didn’t think about how her skin flushed pink as her shaky voice put the emphasis on her ex being the “wrong guy.”
Like there was a “right guy” out there for her.
Wasn’t thinking about that at all.
Okay, fine. It was all I could think about. And still am even now, dammit. Eighteen freaking hours later.
It’s like I inhaled too much of her ocean scent and it drugged me.
It’s not helping that she’s currently splayed out on the floor again, mere inches from me. Has been for most of the day.
She’s in my office, and she’s in my head. Big time. And now that I’m actually admitting that to myself, I’m not sure how I feel about it.
At that very moment, Annie looks up and catches me staring. A small, questioning smile plays on her lips.
“I have to leave early today,” I say suddenly, mentally kicking myself for getting caught. Unfortunately, my sentence sounds almost like a question.
Great. Now I’m asking our brand new hire for permission to leave early.
“Sure thing, boss man,” Annie says easily. “Getting your Friday plans started early?”
“Nah, just being spontaneous,” I joke.
Annie snorts with laughter, and my lips tip up at the corners. She watches my expression, and her deep hazel eyes draw me in for half a second. My stomach stirs as I remember the tension that zapped through me as we stood next to each other. Butterflies, I believe people call them.
I wouldn’t know—before Annie, my romantic life was more stale, old and moth-ridden.
But when it comes to Annie, it has to stay this way. She’s off-limits. Thinking of her in any other way is a disaster waiting to happen.
“Hot date on the docket?”
“I don’t date, remember?” I reply reflexively. This is veering dangerously close to small talk territory. Of a rather personal nature.
I know I shouldn’t get personal with Annie, but we had such a great conversation last night, I somehow want to keep talking. Surely that’s not off-limits.
