The guy must’ve decided that was good enough for him because he nodded. “I’ll post this now. Add it to his story and all that.”
“On it.”
My boss hadn’t helped much, but the guy still aimed his gratitude Tripp’s way. “Thank you, sir.” He hustled off as quickly as he’d arrived.
Tripp leaned in, making me all too aware of how close we were standing. But he simply muttered, “Let’s get the hell out of here before they think of something else they need.”
I tried to force my face to remain blank, but I was having trouble holding back my smile. “Good idea,sir.”
He blinked down at me. “Isn’t it usuallyboss?
“Yeah, but I think we need variety. Not sir, then? How about boss man? Big cheese? El Capitán?”
He held my eye contact for a few seconds too long. Just as I was beginning to think I’d irked him after a long day, he rumbled, “Sir works.”
And then he started for the door, leaving me scrambling to catch up.
AfterI got my brain working enough to do that.
We managed to avoid anyone else as we made our way outside. Once we were in the clear, I slowed my steps to repost the newly tagged video.
Tripp watched over my shoulder, scowling his disdain. “You don’t need to worry about that social media shit.”
I worked to keep my voice neutral so he didn’t hear my disappointment and give me the work out of pity. “Are you going to hire someone else?”
“No.”
I arched a brow. “Are you going to do it yourself?”
“Also no.”
“Then I’m handling it. It’ll be easy.” I thought about him and his camera. “We can share some of your photography. People will eat that up.”
He smirked. “We’ll start with the pictures of you.”
“You mean the ones you deleted?”
“Sure, let’s go with that.”
“I’m serious, though. Posting is a necessary evil.”
He looked like he wanted to argue before conceding as we reached my car. “Fine. You can show me what the fuck I’m supposed to do so it isn’t all on you. We’ll start at dinner. You feeling Italian? I’m thinking pasta and a shit-ton of breadsticks.”
As badly as I wanted to accept, I couldn’t. If I put my paper off any longer, I would never get it done in time. It might only be one grade in one class, but the idea of bombing it filled me with an impending sense of doom. Like the prospective employer to my dream calling would somehow find out about that single low grade and decide not to hire me, leaving me as purposeless as ever.
It was illogical, but that didn’t lessen the anxiety tightening my chest until I worried my heart would be smothered to a stop.
Grudgingly—because I really could’ve used the distraction, pasta, and good company—I slowly shook my head. “I can’t tonight.”
I expected more of a fight. And, honestly, I would’ve folded at his first charming attempt.
But he just gave a stiff lift of his clenched jaw, his expression showing his exhaustion. “You still good with tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there early afternoon,” I said just as someone approached.
“Mr. Carter!”
Damn, we pushed our luck too long…
