Finally chancing a look at Benny, I’m relieved to see he doesn’t appear totally at ease with the news. He’s sitting forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped tightly in front of him. He clearly hasn’t given himself the relax-your-jaw command yet. I hope he doesn’t get a headache.
“We won’t be keeping score or anything, episode by episode,” Margie offers, her tone a bit softer, almost conciliatory. “The competitions are mostly for entertainment value. But youroverall performances and the skills demonstrated will be taken into consideration when it’s time to make further employment decisions.”
“Right,” Aiden says shortly with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So, assuming we have both of your consent, we’ll go ahead and get started with plans for the coming episodes!”
Our consentisbasically assumed. Saying I’m not interested in openly competing for my future career prospects in front of a camera feels like an option in theory only. Aiden is so jazzed about the idea already, in part on behalf of Geoffrey Block, CEO, that I’m not sure his brain would be able to process “no” as an answer. And if I was to say no, to be the buzzkill or the difficult one, wouldn’t I be all but wrecking my chances at the job?
So, after exchanging one of our now-familiar I-guess-we’re-doing-this glances, Benny and I agree.
Later, back in marketing, Margie checks in with me, her voice hushed. It’s clear she doesn’t want to put me on the spot in front of our coworkers. “Are you sure you’re good to go with this new direction, Reese?”
I turn from my spot at the TV-tray desk, pasting what I hope is a relaxed smile on my face. “Sure. It’s a little nerve-racking, I guess, being pitted against Benny on camera. But I can handleit.”
She doesn’t look convinced, leaning against the file cabinet with her arms crossed, and I wonder for a second if I should be more open with her and own my vulnerability. I don’t think she’djudge me, and she might actually be helpful. But the inkling of doubt, the worry that showing any weakness will ruin my credibility, is enough to stop me.
“Okay,” Margie says. “Well, please feel free to reach out if that changes, or if there’s anything more you need on my end. I want you to succeed.”
My eyebrows raise and I nod, pretty much speechless as she walks away. She looked like she meant that. I want to believe she meant the most generous interpretation of her statement—that she wants me to succeedoverBenny. Lord knows I could use a supporter higher up the FoF ladder.
Benny tries to talk to me about it, too, but I’m resistant, continuing to ignore his texts into the evening, even when he stoops to communicating inStar WarsGIFs. I would be lying if I said the image of R2-D2 with a closed caption that says[sad beeping]didn’t tempt me to give him something. If I was anxious about the growing pull I felt toward him before, that anxiety is quadrupled now. I can’t let myself get any closer, any more attached than I started to feel at the cookout.
So I keep at my Extreme Erranding on Margie’s behalf the next day. I’m getting a little heated from all this running around like a chicken with its head cut off, though, so when I settle in at my desk for a few minutes, I slip off my cardigan and hang it on the back of my chair.
It’s only after I’ve taken a bathroom break and am back in the marketing office that I realize two things: I forgot to put mycardigan on before I left my desk, and it is no longer on the back of my chair. I might not have realized it for even longer, except that in its place is a piece of printer paper crookedly taped to the chair back with a message scrawled across it in what has to be my pink highlighter.
It reads:
THIS JACKET HAS BEEN ABDUCTED BY THE DRESS CODE JUSTICE FAIRY.
LordhaveMERCY.
All my plans for avoiding Benny fly out the window, replaced by a mix of irritation and something like amusement, though I’m trying to block the latter out. I snatch the note, then turn on my heel and stomp back out to the hallway to look for that exceptionally ridiculous boy.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take much searching. I find him standing at a counter in Prep Kitchen 2 sharpening knives. I approach cautiously, trying to stay out of his peripheral vision to prevent either one of us getting stabbed.
“Benjamin Franklin Beneventi.”
He turns his head at the sound of my stern voice, looking wholly unsurprised and not even flinching when I slap the note down on the counter. “Not my name.” He gingerly sets down the knife he’s holding before turning to face me. “But hi, how are you? I was starting to think you might be avoiding me.”
So that’s the game he’s playing, huh? I feel my cheeks heat butforce myself to keep looking at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where’s my cardigan?”
Benny glances around the kitchen as if looking for the thing he has stolen within the last five minutes. His perusal of the room reminds me of the half-dozen other people in our vicinity, occupied with their own tasks but close enough to overhear this showdown. So, too close.
I reach out and grab the hem of Benny’s T-shirt between two fingers, then turn and pull him along behind me as I look for someplace more private. I walk with purpose, as if I have a spot picked out already, which I totally don’t. But when I come upon an unoccupied pantry, I pull Benny in after me.
Closing the door, I turn to face him. And find his facereeealclose to mine. The corners of his mouth are starting to tick up in a smile in spite of his efforts to hide it.
“Hey there.”
I swallow the heady feeling I get at the sound of his voice this close, low and rumbly. There are only a couple of inches between our chests, no more than that between our faces, which are almost level. This would certainly be easier in, say, an open field.
I press my back flat against the door and clear my throat. “My cardigan. Give it back.”
“I enjoyed our conversation on Saturday,” he continues in that smooth bass as if I haven’t said anything.
“What kind of kidnapper leaves a note identifying themselvesas the kidnapper, anyway? What are you playing at?” I bite out with a frustration that is quickly fleeing my body.
Benny’s eyes flit down to the floor almost sheepishly. “I don’t enjoy what brought on our talk at the cookout, or hearing what you go through. But I was honored that you told me, and I like talking to you. I’d listen to you talk like that every day if you letme.”
