1
My boss is so generous. She gave me three whole days tolook forward toour meeting this morning. Isn’t that just the sweetest, most considerate employer of all time? In myanticipation,I’ve spent the last seventy-two hours having no less than a dozen one-on-ones with her in my mind. After all, she never said what the meeting was in regard to, only that she wanted to talk to me about something important on Friday morning.
My mental scripts have ranged from approaching her office like a recalcitrant student about to be reprimanded by a stern principal (which isn’t really fair, as Sofiya Bondaruk is more like Glinda the Good Witch inThe Wizard of Ozthan Ed Rooney fromFerris Bueller’s Day Off) to the even more improbable scenario my housemate, coworker, and best friend, Keri, speculated—the promotion that always seems to take place around the holidays.
In the cases of extremes, the answer usually lies somewhere in the middle. I just haven’t been able to figure out what that middle is, and it’s spiking my anxiety.
The clock on my computer screen ticks off another minute. Itake a deep breath and stand, my momentum pushing my rolling office chair a little too far out behind me. It crashes into the long table used as a second row of communal desks.
I flinch, heat blooming in my cheeks as if an invisible spotlight burns down on me. I duck my head so I don’t have to see my coworkers staring over their MacBooks. If Kryptonite is Superman’s weakness, then being on the receiving end of the attention of others is mine. Even now, pinpricks of uncomfortable awareness press into my skin, as if Lincoln, Frank, and Rosa’s gazes were needles that could actually pierce flesh.
Quietly, and as unobtrusively as I can, I push the chair back where it belongs and straighten my maroon sweater dress. Like it or not, it’s time to face my boss and get this meeting over with.
The tips of my brown leather ankle boots bob in and out of my view of the polished concrete floor as I make my way from the industrial-sized main working space to Sofiya’s office. I look up in the nick of time to avoid colliding with a pair of broad shoulders encased in a perfectly ironed button-up dress shirt. Even before the man with impeccable taste turns and looks down at me with brown eyes that have a ring of amber around the pupil, I know who the shoulders belong to.
Jeremy Fletcher.
Up close and personal.
A queer feeling twists low in my gut.
Usually, my glimpses of Jeremy are furtive. Quick, secretive snatches no one sees that I tuck away to be pulled out in private. We’ve worked together for almost two years. Which means I’ve been pathetically pining over this elite specimen of a man for nearly as long. The same amount of time that he’s barely been aware of my existence.
We’ve talked before, of course. If you count me barely squeaking out athank youafter he’s opened the door for me as satisfactory interactions. But while I’ve hardly said more than two words to Jeremy in as many years, I’ve had innumerable conversationswith him in my head. In those instances, I’ve always been impossibly witty, undeniably charming, and not the least bit tongue-tied.
So basically, my complete opposite in real life.
Jeremy tilts his head toward Sofiya’s closed door. His layered brown hair sweeps in a perfect wave over his brow, every strand in place. I’ve read in books about heroines seeing a man’s hair and wanting to run their fingers through it and tousle the strands. The idea seems almost like sacrilege to me. Jeremy is sculpted perfection. Why would I want to dishevel him?
He looks back at me and lowers his voice. “Know what this is about? Why Sofiya wants to see us?”
I open and close my mouth like a baby guppy. It’s really not that hard to talk. Until you’re put on the spot and someone is looking at you expectantly. My brain finds that too much pressure to function under.
The door swings open, and Sofiya stands on the other side, beaming at us with a glint in her eye.
If my boss wasn’t the sweetest woman on the planet, I might be more scared of her. Forget every caricature of an office boss a laThe Devil Wears Pradaand think more along the lines of a Russian Cinderella. Tall and willowy with long, light-blond hair and skin like porcelain with a natural blush highlighting her prominent cheekbones. Even as Sofiya nears sixty-nine, her complexion is flawless. The kindness shining out of her pale blue eyes belies the inner strength I know she possesses.
“There you two are. Come in and sit down.” She pivots and heads to her desk.
Jeremy moves to the side so I can enter the office first. I claim the seat on the left, and a moment later he lowers himself into the other chair on my right. It takes all my willpower, but I keep my fingers from fidgeting on my lap. My eyes, however, don’t know where to land. My gaze bounces around the office, catching first on a Better Business Bureau award nailed to the wall behindSofiya’s desk before flitting off to the layer of dust collected on the fake rubber plant in the corner.
Sofiya smiles warmly at us. “How are you two doing this morning?”
Oh, yay. Small talk. My favorite.
I force a smile and saygoodeven though my insides are twisted into a knot because I still haven’t figured out what this meeting is about, even after three days of obsession.
Jeremy props an ankle over his opposite knee, physically relaxed and showing zero signs that he’s worried about the outcome of the next few minutes. “It’s been a crazy morning already, but that just means the day can only get better, right? What about you? Did you enjoy the orchestra last night?”
They go back and forth for a few minutes, conversation flowing comfortably between them while I wilt into the office chair’s cushioned seat.
“So, you may be wondering why I requested a meeting this morning.” Sofiya’s words put immediate starch back in my spine.
Jeremy chuckles. “I was just asking Mackenzie that very thing when you opened the door.”
Her eyes bounce to me, the curve of her lips suppressed to a smile instead of the wide grin it wants to be. I still, hoping she doesn’t expect me to respond in any way.
With a small chuckle, Sofiya sits back. “Well, I won’t make you wait any longer. The reason I wanted to talk to you both is because there’s a new position opening up in the firm, and with the strengths you two individually bring to the table, I’m confident that either one of you would be an asset in the role. It’s a supervisory position, but you both have shown leadership skills in the past. There will be more interaction with our clients than either of you may have experienced, but again, I think both of you are up to the task.” She regards each of us in turn. “The hard part, really, is going to be deciding between you two for the job.”
