I narrow my eyes. “Did you even go here?”
“Oh, I, uh—I didn’t, actually, but my little sister did. She had this whole teenage rebellion thing, demanded to go to public school, be among the people.”
Of course he’d be a private school kid.
He points to the freckled brunette chatting people up as she serves drinks, andoh yeah, Sandra Winterson! I remember.There actually is quite a strong family resemblance.
“She’s on the committee that put this thing on, and they were disorganized, and she called me to do an emergency beer run, and…” He stops himself with a bashful grin. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Yeah, I didn’t go here. But I’m glad you did, so I could run into you.” Mark Winterson raises his bottle, like he’s toasting me. “Actually—hold that thought.”
He pulls me out of the line with the gentlest tug on my elbow, and my stomach swoops at that light touch. Then he walks behind the table, says something to his sister, and comes back with a beer for me.
“Wow, full service,” I say.
“No shoes required,” he says, clinking his bottle against mine and taking a long swig. He loosens his tie one-handed, and more of his neck peeks out beneath his shirt collar.
Is he…nervous? The idea that I might fluster him makes me feel strangely accomplished.
I can just hear my roommate back in New York—what she told me once, in her flat tone, when I was debriefing about a mediocre date that followed a streak of very promising texting.Ruby, you just want someone to be obsessed with you.
It stung because it was true. If someone is obsessed with me,maybe it means I’m doing something right, without trying, even when I always feel like a failure.
“How was the family thing?” he asks quietly, and his eyes flick up and down, taking me in.
Such a short dress!
“Oh.” I force a weary smile. “I guess it’s less of a discretething,and more of an ongoing series of tasks. But thanks for asking.”
“Well, I mean it,” Mark Winterson says, taking a step closer. “If there’s anything I can ever do to help, let me know?”
Over his shoulder, I see Greg talking to Rebecca Turner, the girl he actually ended up taking to prom. She’s Rebecca from HR now, also a TKCORP employee.
Suddenly it’s as though the cinder-block walls of the gym have time travel properties. I can feel myself melting into a slouch. And Greg’s back is really…filling outthat suit? It looks broader than the last time I saw it, somehow. Must be all those lunchtime gym trips.
I rotate my shoulders, turning my attention back to the man in front of me. “So, what do you do all day, Mark Winterson?” I raise my bottle to him. “Walk me through it?”
He makes a circular gesture with his beer-holding hand. “Taking meetings. Talking strategy. Finding ways to boost our sales. And learning how things work here—keeping an eye on those margins, identifying opportunities to streamline operations…” He shakes his head. “Not that interesting, really.”
Mark Winterson takes another sip of his drink, and his eyes lock on mine. “Weren’t we going to get coffee sometime?”
DATE SOMEONE IN A HIGHER TAX BRACKETflashes like a neon sign before me. Maybe the scientific method isn’t that useful in this fluid situation.
“Friendly, professional coffee, obviously,” he adds.
Okay, we can start there.
“Yeah! I’d love to!” I say louder than necessary. “Have your people contact my people.”
Behind Mark Winterson, Rebecca is still talking to Greg, but for some reason he’s staring at me. And I see now that he has my shoes, dangling from two fingers.
“Mark! I need some help here!” Sandra Winterson calls from the drinks table.
“Oh, I should—” Mark Winterson jabs a thumb over his shoulder.
“Right, of course!”
“But we’ll be in touch.” He points at me again as he walks backward toward his sister.
Big on pointing, this guy! It’s a bit douchey and weirdly endearing at the same time (confusing!). Cartoonish, but at least it’s decisive—unlike Greg was back then, not even having the courtesy to reject me directly. At least Mark Winterson is direct. I’m talking toyou,my eyes are onyou.You you you.
