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Elian chuckles. “Is that a yes? You’ll meet me for dinner?”
My heart speeds up to double time. “Oh! Well, I suppose. But it would either have to be pretty late to give me time to get home and change, or right after work and I just wear what I have on.” The rambling really needs to stop. He doesn’t care about my wardrobe.
Or does he?
“That’s fine. What time do you get off work?”
“Five. Where do you want to me-”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up in front. See you later!”
“Wait! I’m not sure… hello?”
But he’s already hung up.
Still in a state of shock, I stare at the receiver blankly until it begins emitting a loud buzzing noise.
I hate landlines.
Chapter3
The day seems to crawl by, each second ticking agonizingly slow. I still don’t have much to do, aside from some vague sketches of a warehouse and an endless pile of corporate policy documents to sign off on. I draw for a short time, get my desk phone set up and finally finish all the new employee BS I have to complete, and then stare at my computer screen. Normally I’m super on task, all about completing assignments well before they’re due.
However, Elian and his roses have completely thrown me off. My mind sorts through every memory of him I’d squirreled away from our nights working catering together. I pour over each moment with a new perspective. Every hour we’d shared that felt as if it almost could mean something, could lead somewhere, only for him to wish me a bland ‘goodnight’ and traipse off.
Honestly, I always assumed he was dating, like his brothers, or at least hooking up with girls, and I just wasn’t cool enough to be in the circle. Finding out he’d been just as interested as I had, but unable to do anything about it, is a shock I’m still trying to wrap my head around.
But then, if that was the case, why didn’t he say something? He could have easily told me he liked me, but was focusing on his studies and didn’t have time to date. I would have believed him. Right?
Hmm, hard to say.My cheeks warm as I realize it’s just as likely I might have jumped him immediately, given half a chance.
My eyes flick to the upper corner of the computer where the time is displayed, and I can hardly believe it’s only been a few minutes. Seriously, as we near the end of day, I swear time is getting slower.
I wonder if he’ll pick me up in the Beemer. He had a sleek BMW sedan through college. Nothing flashy, but nice, especially compared to my second-hand Nissan. Old Reliable is waiting for me in the building garage, and while we have permit parking I hope I will not get fined for staying past business hours. Surely that isn’t a thing?
I check the clock again, and my pulse slowly begins climbing. Just a few more minutes now. Frank has already cut out; based on yesterday and today, his habit seems to be shutting down about fifteen minutes early and spending an inordinate amount of time washing his coffee cup, before wandering to the bathroom and just never coming back. A quick glance around the room tells me most of the associates are wrapping up their phone calls and cleaning for the day, so I duck behind my monitors and use my phone’s camera to touch up my makeup. Ordinarily, for a date I would choose something a little sexier than a Calvin Klein sheath dress, but I didn’t know I was having a date tonight and this look screams ‘businesswoman.’ My first proper job out of college, I’m trying my best to be taken seriously in an office of all men.
Plus, I got it on the clearance rack at TJ Maxx for a literal steal. I feel bad for anyone who buys their dresses in a department store. They’re just throwing money down the toilet.
One more check of the clock tells me I have two minutes left. The rest of my coworkers are gathering their things, taking a slow approach to their escape. When I interviewed for the position initially, AJ was very clear that business hours are important to him. He pays us to be here from nine am to five pm, minus lunch, and he expects us to be here. Obviously, people like Frank have found their own way around it, but the culture seems to stick pretty tightly to that schedule. It’ll be interesting to see what it’s like on Friday.
I draw in a steadying breath, admire my roses once more, then log out of my computer and tuck a few loose pens away in my desk. Standing, I straighten my dress and grab my purse, making sure my badge and keys are inside before I stroll toward the glass-enclosed reception area.
Rebecca is still there, the phone cradled between her shoulder and chin while she tidies her work space. When I open the door, she glances up in surprise. “Miss King, did you need something?”
It’s painful to swallow, but somehow I manage it. “No, sorry to startle you. I’m… um… expecting to be picked up. Out front.”
“Okay! I was just about to lock up. You go ahead.” She fishes a set of keys from her bag and tells the person on the other line a quick goodbye.
My nerves are ramping up. It’s 5:01 now, and there’s no one parked out front. Traffic zooms by and I have a sudden sense of dread that I’ll end up waiting, then having to hike all the way around the block to get into the garage and drive myself home in a fit of tears. It’s completely irrational, but I somehow can’t stop myself from imagining it.
“Do you want to wait inside?” Rebecca’s expression is polite but concerned, and I realize my mistake immediately.
“Oh, no, I’ll be fine. You go ahead and lock up. I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”
“I don’t mind waiting a few minutes to make sure your ride comes,” she replies with a smile. “It’s a long walk to get to the garage if you can’t cut through the building.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind, but I’m sure-”
