Not hearing the catch in my voice or noticing the wateriness of my eyes, Emily said, “So what you’re saying is you’d like me to set you up with Adam’s friend?”
I shot her a look. “Ugh. No. That is not at all what I’m saying. That is the last kind of complication I need right now.” I bit my lip to hide my grimace. Because was it really? I acted busy and overwhelmed, but what did I really have going on right now? I was maybe facing an early mid-life crisis and secretly googling good apartment cats. I had started to worry about the amount of Diet Coke I drank and whether it was too early to start using an anti-aging serum. But other than that, Vera’s wedding was the most exciting thing I had going on currently. And it wasn’t even my thing.
How pathetic was that?
Emily’s phone rang, diverting her attention long enough for me to respond to Ezra’s email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: February 23, 2017 16:27:33 EST
Subject: Final Destination
Ezra,
I’ll swing by my apartment and grab the spice racks after work. I can drop them off at Lilou in an hour? I only have four of them. Wyatt was planning to let me in tomorrow. Is that okay?
MM.
Also, bikini it is! I’m changing the theme to tropical. Is it too late to cancel the peonies? We could do orchids instead. And leis. We’ll definitely need some tiki torches. Wyatt should roast a pig! How do you feel about a parrot or two? Three? You’re pure genius, Baptiste. Pure genius.
“Do you have the graphics for the new logo?”
I jumped, letting out a startled squeak. Henry Tucker hovered over my shoulder, his face too close to mine. I rolled back in my chair, forcing it over a random cord that acted like a speed bump in my hurry to get away from his coffee breath and invasion of my space.
He laughed at my expense. “Did I scare you?”
You always scare me sat on the tip of my tongue, but I wrestled it back. “I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”
His smile turned into a leer. “The graphics?” he pressed again. “Am I going to see them before the end of the day?”
I nodded. “I was just about to send them over. I have a few finishing touches and then I’ll upload them to our shared file.”
Henry usually emailed everything directly to Ethan or me. He said he liked personalized interactions and it was easier for him to keep track of our individual progress. I refused to communicate through email with him. After Tuesday, I’d asked him to move to our shared file with Ethan.
It was silly. And way over the top since we were talking about email. But I felt safer with Ethan involved. Henry didn’t use pet names in there.
“See that you do, doll face,” Henry said. “Will you be around later if I have notes on them?”
Something uneasy slid through me making my stomach clench. It left a trail of slime in its wake. It was a legitimate question. Only it reeked of fishing. I was suddenly grateful for Ezra’s email. “Actually, tonight I have a thing. Sorry. And tomorrow I’m only here in the morning. But save your notes in the shared file. I can work on it over the weekend.”
Henry’s smile turned thin and forced. “I should make you come in on Saturday to make up for all the time you’re missing, yeah? This is an important account.”
I shifted in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest and rolled back further. “We haven’t even met with the client yet.”
He barked out a laugh. “I’m just kidding, honey. Enjoy your weekend. We’ll hit it hard again on Monday.”
I tried to smile, but it wobbled and fell flat. “Sounds good.”
He winked at me. “But I want those graphics before you leave today. Can you handle that?”
Nodding confidently if for no other reason than to just get him out of here, I said, “Absolutely. Seriously, they just need finishing touches.”
He straightened, pointed a finger gun at me and said, “You’re a gem, Molly.”
I breathed out at the use of my actual name. It was refreshing to hear it after a week of honeys and doll faces and every other sickly-sweet moniker used only on females.
And I just wanted to make a note that I was not the kind of feminist that saw a man and ripped off her bra so she could burn it in effigy. I was more the laid back, equality means equal kind of twenty-first century girl. Hell yes, there should be equal pay. But I also acknowledged that lots of women chose not to enter the workplace at all because they’d rather raise a family. Good for them. We lived in a society where both kinds of women were celebrated and cherished and supported. And it was beautiful.
However, could we all just take a second to acknowledge the kind of backlash I would get if the next time Henry Tucker asked me to do something, I winked at him and declared, “You got it, champ.” Or “Bucko.” Or maybe, possibly, affectionately, “Dickhead.”
I glanced at Tucker Senior’s door and imagined him calling security to escort me out of the building for picking on his number one son.
My computer dinged and another email from Ezra popped up.
To: [email protected]
From [email protected]
Date: February 23, 2017 16:49:44 EST
Subject: You’re hilarious…
If you even think about bringing a bird into Lilou, so help me God, Maverick…
I found myself smiling at the computer screen. I pictured his eyebrows furrowed with fear, his mouth pressed into a firm frown. I imagined his long, elegant fingers tapping out a furious reply.
I might not like Ezra Baptiste as a human, but I seriously liked messing with him.
Dismissing the idea of sending another return email, I got to work on the graphics I promised Henry. I waited to send them until I had all of my things packed up for the day. I put my purse on my shoulder, sent the file, shut down my computer, and then bolted from the office without even saying goodbye to Emily.
I didn’t want to risk running into Henry again. I was officially off the clock.
Swinging by my apartment to grab the four centerpieces took longer than I wanted it to, but eventually I made it to Lilou and was able to balance all four of them in a precarious stack from cradled forearms to perched chin.
The hostess hurried to open the door for me and I squeezed between her and the frame, just barely managing to hold on to the spice racks.
“Can I help you?” the college-age girl dressed all in black asked.
“I just need to drop these off,” I told her. “They’re for a party tomorrow night.”
She stared at me blankly. “Is someone expecting you?”
“Yes,” I told her while eying the host stand and wishing Ezra had given me more explicit instructions.
“Who?” the hostess with the most-ess asked bluntly.
“Ezra, Wyatt, most of your kitchen staff.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’ll find Mr. Baptiste,” she offered.
“No, that’s okay—” But she was already gone. Belatedly, I realized I should have asked for the floor manager. Now I would have to deal with Ezra.
So help me God, Maverick...