Whenever that is.
“Where did you see this?” I ask weakly, hoping that there’s some way to do damage control. Maybe it hasn’t spread that far yet. But if it hasn’t then how does everyone at work know? I think dejectedly, my stomach dropping all the way to my pointy-toed black pumps.
“Well, I saw it on Jezebel,” she says, looking away. “But I heard a bunch of people in the break room say it’s trending on Facebook, too.”
“Oh my god,” I moan, dropping my head into my hands again. “This is a nightmare.”
Suddenly, there’s a voice from the doorway. “Well, well. If it isn’t our resident YouTube star. Last night’s date went well, I take it?”
Jake.
As if this couldn’t get any worse.
“Go away!” I call, muffled through my arms. I hear him chuckle.
“I take it this wasn’t your planned global debut.”
I lift my head to glare at him, wishing for a swirling space vortex to come suck one of us out of this universe, preferably me. Damn, he looks smug, dressed up to the nines again in his perfectly-fitted suit, with a perfectly-fitted pair of pants over his perfectly-fitted ass—
Focus.
“Yes, OK, I uploaded it by mistake,” I sigh. “Thanks for the support. Are you here just to gloat or can we actually get to work?”
“I can multitask.” Jake strolls over and snaffles one of the doughnuts from my desk. He bites into the sugary goodness and licks frosting off his face. “Mmmm, tasty.”
“Umm, I guess I better be going,” Skye says as she edges towards the door. “Good morning, Mr. Weston,” she purrs on her way out. Great.
“You can call me Jake.”
“OK, Jake.” Skye gives this little giggle, and practically winks as she flounces away.
“Hands off my assistant,” I warn him. He holds them up in surrender.
“Hey now, I didn’t do anything.”
“Nope, but I can see you want to. She’s too nice for the likes of you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Jake takes a seat. “Rough night?”
“Sounds like you’ve already heard all about it,” I snap, stuffing consolation doughnut into my mouth.
“Who hasn’t?” he says with a smirk. “You’re trending all over. There’s even a hashtag on Twitter. Good job, I guess.”
Wait, he thinks I wanted this humiliation?
“Look,” I start, staring at him over the top of my glasses, “I don’t know what happened. I was trying to send a video rant to my sister, and somehow I guess I pressed the wrong button . . .”
His mouth twitches like he’s trying to hold back a smile.
“I was just messing around!” I yell. “You can’t possibly think that I uploaded it on purpose? Maybe you’re not paying enough attention, but this is just a tad embarrassing, you know?” I sputter, sure my face is bright red now.
God, I hate having pale skin that betrays my every emotion.
“So you’re really going on strike?” he asks. “Seems a little extreme. I mean, it was just a bad date, right?”
The strike? Now I remember that part.
I groan. “Yes. No. I don’t know. What else am I supposed to do? Guys these days wouldn’t know romance if they passed out face down in it.” I can’t resist the dig, and by Jake’s wince, it’s clear he’s finally remembered that little debacle too. “Maybe I should go on strike,” I sigh. “At least then a guy might be motivated to show a little imagination.”
“Withholding sex to get expensive gifts, got it.” Jake gives me a know-it-all look that makes my blood boil.
“That’s not what I said!” I protest. “This isn’t about money, it’s about romance.”
“Same difference.” He shrugs. “It’s all just window dressing in the end.”
“Says the guy in a thousand-dollar suit,” I shoot back. “Look,” I say, pushing my glasses up on my nose imperiously, or as imperiously as I can, considering that I almost died of embarrassment a few moments ago, “Just because your cold bitter heart is closed and you think women are only good for fucking doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t looking for something real. And if I have to take these goods off the market to find a guy who actually has some substance, well maybe it’s worth the shot.”
“Good luck with that.” He smirks. “And for your information, you’ve got me all wrong. I respect women.”
“Oh yeah?” I answer sweetly. “So you’ve just been a regular serial monogamist since whatshername, Isabel? I bet you haven’t fucked the same woman more than twice since that New Year’s.”
He clenches his jaw in a way that makes me know I just hit the bullseye. “At least I’m not making false promises, or using sex as a weapon to manipulate people into doing what I want.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that. But there’s something pretty sad about a man in his thirties who’s never had a real relationship.” I can’t resist a final dig. “Better keep trawling for those twenty-two-year-olds, because soon they’ll be the only ones who can’t see through this whole bitter, broken act.”
Jake’s eyes flash with something, and I realize I just stepped way over the line. Shit. Why do I do this? There’s just something about him that drives me crazy, in the “claw someone’s eyes out” way, not the “tear all my clothes off” sense of the word.
Although now that I think about it . . .
I force my imagination back under control and clear my throat. “So, we should probably get to work. On sourcing the exhibit. Since that’s our actual job.”
I open up my laptop and pull up my to-do list for today and hit print. It’s basically a list of all the pieces I’d love to have for the exhibition, and just looking at it gives me palpitations. I’ve already made a bunch of preliminary calls to narrow things down, but still, there’s a ton to do to bring this all together.
If we can stop talking about my sex life—or lack thereof—long enough to focus on actual work.
The paper comes sputtering out of the printer in the corner, and I get up and grab it.
“How do you want to work this?” Jake asks, his voice cool. “I work best alone.”
“Great, me too.” I rip the list right down the middle.
“Here,” I say, handing him half. “No cooperation—or conversation—required. In fact, we don’t need to talk at all.”
He looks down at the list, then back up at me. Is it my imagination or does he actually look a bit surprised?
“Fine,” he says evenly, “if that’s the way you want it. I’ll send you an email update when I’ve finished this.” He holds up the piece of paper, then heads for the door.
“Can’t wait!” I yell after him as it shuts.