Page 3 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

“I was coming in to give you the report.” I pry it off his desk and hand it to him. The pages are wrinkled from being sat on, but if holding a piece of paper with the imprint of my ass bothers him, he doesn’t mention it.

He gives it a quick once-over. “Thanks for dropping it off.”

And for the embarrassing show, I add silently.

“Sales numbers looked good this week,” I say instead.

He nods approvingly. “That’s great.”

Humiliation burns my face, made all the worse by how hard I’m trying not to notice that the sleeves of his white button-down are expertly rolled up to just below his elbows, giving way to tanned forearms leading to veined hands. Hands that I can still feel the phantom warmth of on my upper arms. I jerk my eyes up, but the rest of him is no better. Short dark brown hair that curls at the edges, equally dark eyes that are impossible to read. They’re what make it difficult to guess his age, though I’d wager that he, Krystal, and I are the youngest trio in the office by at least a decade.

“Do you need anything else before I head out?” I ask, never quite sure how to end conversations with him. He’s the one person in this office I can’t figure out. Like me, I don’t think he’s keen to let anyone in. Which should be comforting, but his lack of familiarity gets under my skin. He’s made it clear my use to him lies in successfully herding everyone into the conference room for the monthly All Hands meeting and bugging Debra for the weekly report so he doesn’t have to. If his Post-it note prodding is any indication, I’m sure he’s already come to his own conclusions about how efficient I am at the latter.

“I’m all set. Have a great weekend, Brianna.”

It takes everything in me to hold in my bristle. I don’t like when people call me by my full name, but since Brianna isn’t even my actual name, it’s doubly insulting. At first I let it slide because he was new, then a week turned into two and now here we are. But between the water jug and Debra’s evasiveness, I need to start earning a little respect around here. “Actually, it’s—”

“Deb?” Luke calls out, brushing past me. His knuckle grazes my wrist and a jolt thrums through my body. “Can you stay a few extra minutes? I have some questions about the report.”

Frustration burns away the remainder of my embarrassment as I exit his office while Debra slides past me. I wait until Krystal and I step into the hall to go off.

“Whatever questions he has, he could have asked me,” I fume, stabbing my finger into the down button on the elevator. “All Debra does is click a button to generate the report. I’m the one who actually looks it over.”

“I’m sure he just didn’t want to keep you longer,” Krystal says as we step in. “He probably assumes you’re going home to some hot stud who will beat him up if anyone inconveniences his beautiful babe.”

“Is the beautiful babe in the room with us?”

She laughs, hooking her arm through mine as we exit the elevator and walk into the parking lot. “Come on. With that gorgeous head of hair,” she says, then blows a frizzy brown curl out of my face. Her breath smells like bubblegum. “And smoldering face—”

“I’m pretty sure most people call it an RBF—”

“Luke’s probably dying to go deeper with you. I mean that literally and physically. You should have seen how fast he speed-walked to his office when he saw you go inside. Olympic-worthy stuff.”

“Yeah, right.” I wrinkle my nose, tucking the loose curl behind my ear. The ends fall just past my shoulders and are lighter because fully cutting off my grown-out highlights would have resulted in a bob. That would have been too receptionist of me. “I also fell on his desk.”

“I know. I watched the whole thing. Pretty sure anyone who was still here did. It was a slow Friday.”

I groan. “Then you’ll understand why I have to move to Alaska and change my name. Which reminds me—Luke can’t even get my name right! He called me Brianna again.”

“Maybe she’s your gorgeous, sexy alter ego dying to bang her boss.”

“I think we can give Brianna higher standards than a man who chalks decor up to a WORLD’S BEST BOSS mug. Besides, keyword here is ‘boss.’ Off-limits.”

Krystal rolls her hazel eyes at that. “He’s middle management. The peak of his power is controlling the thermostat, and as fresh meat, he probably doesn’t even know how to do that yet. I doubt he’ll last long. Seems overqualified. But enough about Luke. I want to talk to you about something else.”

Like every day, our cars are parked side by side. We stop at our trunks and she fiddles with her keys, uncharacteristically hard-pressed for words.

“Am I in trouble?” I joke.

She laughs. “No, not at all. I just wanted to invite you to join Amelia and the girls and me for Thanksgiving. If you don’t have any plans, of course.”

A knot forms in my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs. Thanksgiving. A holiday to spend with family and loved ones. I knew it was coming up, but I hadn’t realized how close it was.

“Oh, that’s really nice of you,” I force out. “But I—”

“You don’t have to let me know right this second,” she cuts me off, sensing the denial. “It’s still two weeks away. We just do a casual thing with my in-laws. And Aurelia’s been practicing for the turkey musical at school and plans to put on her own rendition of the performance, so there will even be entertainment. For a kindergartner, the kid’s got pipes.”

I try to imagine it. Sitting around the dining table in Krystal’s home with her wife, Amelia, and their two young daughters. Her in-laws asking me if I want gravy on my mashed potatoes. Trying to keep a smile on my face while the memory of last Thanksgiving gouges out the last morsel of my will to live. Which makes me feel awful, since Krystal is the proud sponsor of that last morsel to begin with.