“Can I help?”
“Ohhh, uh…” The thought embarrasses me—Mark Winterson crouching next to my desk in the dark office, seeing how perplexed I am by Excel? Maybe it would even put my job at risk. “No no, it’s fine. I’ve got this.”
He insists on going first so he can spot me. And it’s good that he did, because as I’m climbing down, there’s asnap,and I slip with a shriek. I got these shoes at TKMART for cheap, and the pressure from the rung must have broken the heel clean off.
“Oof!” Mark Winterson exclaims as I crash into him. His chest is warm and solid against my back; his arms wrap around me, stopping my fall. He chuckles, and I feel the vibration in my spine. “Got you,” he says, hot breath tickling my ear.
He promptly lets me go and I spin to face him. He’s gazing down at me, lids half closed, and—am I imagining it?—his soft brown eyes look pained, like he wants something he can’t have. His lips part slightly, and for a second, I’m convinced he’s about to kiss me.
Instead he blinks a couple times, takes a step backward, and delicately clears his throat into his fist. Like he’s committed tobeing a gentleman,but in this moment it’s a struggle.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Oh…yeah. Thanks.” I stoop to take off my broken shoe. “Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” The corner of his mouth tilts up as he retrieves his jacket and dusts it off. “I’msorry your shoes got ruined. This is my fault—it was my idea.” And he plucks thebroken shoe out of my hand, flipping it over and hunting for the size before I can snatch it back. “Let me replace them.”
“Oh no. No no.” I wave my hands. He’s not serious, right? It’s probably a thing rich people toss around, likewe should get lunch sometime.
“I—I should really—” I point behind me.
“Of course, right. I’ll walk with you.”
I’m quiet most of the way back, and so is he.
But when we’re moving down that narrow hall I’d never seen before, almost back to my department on the eighth floor, I start laughing.
Mark Winterson glances over at me, laughing too. “What’s funny?”
I just shake my head, and he gives me a sleepy smile. “You sure you’re going to stay?” he adds.
“Yeah! Yeah, I’ve got to.”
“Burning the midnight oil, I respect it. Glad I could get you to take a break, at least.” He walks me to my cubicle and raps the wall with his knuckles. “Good night, Ruby.”
True to form, he heads for the stairwell. Once he’s gone, I let out a long breath and slump against my cubicle divider.
It’s clearer to me, in retrospect: Sure, he’s sickeningly attractive and makes my heart flutter sometimes. I’m only human. But until tonight, I’d classified him in my head asNot a Person I Would Actually Like on the Inside.
But as I make a Cup Noodles from the vending machine, I keep replaying our conversation from the roof, that wistful note in his voice, the moment he caught me. And I think:Well, Ruby, maybe you were wrong about him.
Chapter
21
I massively underestimated the amount of work this was going to be. My eyes are closing as I watch an Excel tutorial on YouTube.
I spent the past hour reading through Erica’s notes about the aesthetic she wants for the presentation, and went down a rabbit hole on color schemes and font pairings—then remembered, with a start, that I still don’t actually understand the data she’s supposed to present.
My cheeks are bloated from all the sodium I just housed—two vending machine Cup Noodles, back to back. I can practically feel the sebum rising to the surface of my face.
The lights turn on suddenly, and I have the strange urge to scuttle under my desk, like the cockroaches caught out when I’d turn on the light in my New York apartment.
There’s a woman’s melodious laugh, and a man’s voice, warm and familiar. Sarah and Greg come into view, walking over to her cubicle from the elevators.
I can hear snippets of their conversation out of context, things I can’t make sense of.
“You won’t believe—”
