Mostly.
Mariah looked up the second I came through the glass doors and narrowed her eyes with the kind of focus usually reservedfor suspicious expense reports and men who thought “per my last email” could substitute for a real apology.
“Why you smiling like that?”
I kept walking. “Why you in my business before I’ve even put my things down?”
“Because your face changed in the elevator,” she said, swiveling in her chair to follow me. “That’s my department.”
I set my lunch on the edge of my desk, draped the blazer over the back of my chair, and gave her the look she earned.
Mariah leaned back, unbothered. “Was it the same man from the mixer?”
“You ask questions like you get paid for them.”
“No, I ask them like I care about standards.”
I sat down, woke my screen, and pulled the sponsorship deck back up like the right combination of fonts and budget numbers might save me from myself.
It did not.
My phone buzzed beside the keyboard.
I looked at it immediately, which was my first mistake.
Micah: You disappeared after that last message.
I stared at the screen for a second, then set the phone facedown.
Mariah, still half turned in her chair outside my glass wall, caught enough of my face to grin.
“Oh, wow.”
“Please leave me alone.”
“Absolutely not. That was a face.”
“It was not a face.”
“It was a face that said, ‘This man is beginning to interfere with normal operations.’”
I hated that I laughed.
Mariah pointed at me through the glass like she’d just won litigation. “Exactly.”
I picked the phone back up.
Me: I have a job. Some of us do community service before lunch and return to the office after.
His reply came while I was still pretending to review a vendor estimate.
Micah: So this is what you do? Save the city by day and leave men on read by appointment?
A smile pulled at my mouth.
He was annoying in a way I could work with.
Me: Depends on the man.
