For years, I respected and appreciated her; however, it wasn’t until a month ago that I learned she was ashe.
Despite our frequent friendly email interactions, I’m the CEO of Mont Business, which isn’t a small operation, and she’s just one of many low-tier assistants. I sayIconfirmed her hire because of where she lived, but before I ever saw her resume, she’d already interviewed with other members in my company. I picked her out of a small pool of acceptable applications because I, in short, have control issues about who I let work for me, even distantly.
And August and I work about as distantly as one can get.
We’ve never been on a phone call or in a meeting together. We shouldn’t even be talking to each other in email. All she’s supposed to do is filter through the more menial jobs of my subordinates’ subordinates.
Which is to say, there’s not a single logical reason for us to be in contact. Except for the fact that shortly after she was hired, she looked up my email address in the company and sent me a greeting that was so hilarious I’ve been hooked on our budding friendship ever since.
Until recently, there was no way for me to know August was a girl.
It’s illegal to ask for gender during an interview process, her resume was entirely text-based, and I received no such detail from the employee who interviewed her.Augustis a gender-neutral name, and, in this day and age, I’m not going to assume that someone is female just because they managed to recommend half a dozen romcom animes in their opening spiel.
From the first greeting—Hello, hopefully benevolent top one percent, allow me to introduce myself as your most recent peon—August fascinated me, but I refused to let myself breach our professional relationship on fascination alone.
I held to that belief…until about a month ago.
When she signed an email:Actively menstruating without chocolate.
That’s all it took for me to toss our already quite thin professionalism into the void, send her chocolate…and look her up on Leopard.
Her account, while private, had a public profile picture.
And that’s how I learned that my hilarious, sweet, and dramatic underling…was exactly my type.
I stared at her beautiful freckled face for an hour, then I called my grandmother to tell her I was in love and would need to visit as soon as I calculated the least disturbing way to explain the process of how I’d fallen face-first into feelings.
I didn’t expect my grandmother to know August personally.
I also didn’t expect my grandmother and her friends to be waiting on a binder specifying August’sperfect male leadat that exact moment. Needless to say, I rearranged my schedule, packed a bag, got in my car, and drove.
Normally, I don’t act on impulses like these. Normally, I have a better plan before I make a move.
But, normally, I’m not in love with a woman who entices my very atoms into doing her bidding, whatever that bidding might be.
“You’re probably regretting this already, huh?” Wynnter mutters. “Y’know, it’s never too late to take that stupid wig off, explain everything, and just tell her you like her.”
Wouldn’t that be simple?
I’m terrified if I justtell herthat I adore her to no end, she’ll think I—a regular white-collar businessman—am beyond dull,just like everyone else in my life always has. She deserves effort. A whirlwind romance. She deserves to have someone do their very best to meet her in the magic where she lives.
She deserves to be shown that someone is willing to try, for her.
Nevertheless, I still ask, “Would that work?”
“Absolutely not.” He points his spoon at me. “But once she stops laughing, this insanitymightget featured in her next book. And then you’ll have something to hug while you mourn your lost love.”
I believe that’s what one might call abad ending.
Sighing, I poke at my instant oatmeal. “Speaking ofher next book, I didn’t get a chance to ask for her pen name, what with my inability to breathe and all. Do you think your grandmother would know it?”
“Yeah, probably.”Crunch. “But also she doesn’t have a pen name. It’s just her name. August Winslow.”
Slowly, I lift my attention off my food and pin it on August Winslow’s brother.
He bares his canines in a wolfish grin.
Shaking my head while I retrieve my phone from my pocket, I say, “What’s this address?”
