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“But um, that’s Tatum, my nanny,” I add. “I’m not married.”
“Oh, really?” Something sparks in her eyes, something I’m not even remotely interested in. I’m so not interested, I have to fight the urge to cringe as she moves closer, leaning a hip against my desk. “Wow, I thought for sure you’d be married. You’re so good looking and successful. And over thirty, right?”
“I’m thirty-three,” I say, wondering what that has to do with anything as I scoot my chair as far away as I can get without rolling off the thick plastic beneath my rolling wheels.
“My mom says all the good ones are married by thirty,” she says, adding hastily as if she’s worried that she’s offended me, “But thirty-three isn’t that much older, you have time. And you were probably married before, right? Since you have a kid and all?”
“I was, yes, for a short time,” I say, clearing my throat. “But I’m divorced now and I’m also…busy.” I soften the words with a smile. “I need to get this environmental report to my clients by two, so…”
“So, you want me to order lunch in?” she says, taking the hint. Sort of. “I can go get Philly cheesesteaks from the food truck the next street over. They’re real good. I don’t know if they taste like they do in Philadelphia, but the peppers are super tasty with the cheese. Do you like peppers?”
“I do,” I say, thinking of the peppers in my scramble and Tatum and how much I wish I were with her and Sarah Beth right now instead of Marjorie. “That sounds great. You can drop that off at one, please, but I’ll need to focus until then.”
“Okay, no problem,” she says, starting for the door only to turn back and ask, “Have you ever been to Philadelphia? I hear it’s cooler than most people think. Like, lots of museums and a cool bar scene and history and stuff.”
“No, I haven’t.” I cast a pointed look toward my computer monitor. “I really should get back to this.”
Marjorie laughs, a high-pitched bray that sets my teeth on edge. “Yeah, sorry. I know. I’m just a little scatter-brained on Wednesdays. It’s two for one taco night at The Dirty Taco and I look forward to it all day. Can’t stop thinking about those discount margaritas, either. I always have too many, but I’m never late to work the next day. Just hung over.” She brays again before suddenly sobering and asking in a suggestive voice, “Would you want to join us tonight? A bunch of us from the office are going to meet up there at six-thirty. Should be fun.”
I’m about to say no and encourage her to leave me alone again nicely one more time before I guide her out and lock the door but hesitate…
The Dirty Taco does have great food and margaritas. More importantly, it has the sexiest redhead I know sleeping right above it on the second floor. Two-for-one taco night would be a great excuse to spend more time with Tatum and the work gathering offers a perfect cover. I’m not violating our “purely business” policy, not at all. Inviting her to join us would just be good manners. Hell, it would be rude not to ask her if I can buy her dinner and walk her back to her place after.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I say. “Though I may have to bring my daughter if my mom can’t watch her.”
“Oh sure, that’s fine. I’d love to meet her,” she says, striking what I’m guessing is supposed to be a sexy pose against the door, with one arm up and her hip stuck out at an angle. “And to see you after hours, big boy.”
I cough uncomfortably, at a loss as how to respond.
In her sensible brown wool dress, brown orthopedic shoes, and tan stockings, Marjorie doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’s overflowing with sexual confidence, but she clearly doesn’t have a shy bone in her body. And that’s great—more power to her—but I haven’t given her any signals that I want to be anything more than her boss.
Have I?
I rack my brain, but I’m positive I’ve only been polite and friendly, nothing more. She may just be the kind of person who needs to have things spelled out clearly.
Even though I hate to make things awkward or hurt her feelings, I force myself to say, “Thanks, but I’m not up for more than friendship right now, Marjorie. Not with someone I work with. I hope you can understand.”
She smiles, her hips swaying slightly as she points a finger my way. “But I don’t work here, Andy. I’m just a temp. I’ll be on to my next gig in a few weeks and…who knows what might happen then. I make a mean Hot Dish, by the way. I do something special with the tater tots that no one ever sees coming. Play your cards right and you just might find a casserole dish on your doorstep. I know where you live. It’s in the company files.”
