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“Why do you always relate everything back to blowjobs?” Chelsea giggled. “I think you’re obsessed with—”
“Chelsea, now is not the time.”
“Fiiinneee.” She paused. “Anyways, there is a website that can transcribe calls and recordings for you. Just pay them to do it for you.”
“Oh, I didn’t know there were services for that sort of thing.”
“Polly, there are services for everything. I am going to text you over the name of the company I know of. They will likely charge more for a faster transcription, but I guess you have no other options.”
“Mom and Dad are going to love seeing this random charge on the credit card bill next month.” I sighed, but I knew I didn’t have many other options. I couldn’t type fast, and frankly I found transcribing boring. “Did you send it over to me yet?”
“Yup, just sent it.”
“Thanks, sis. Got to go now, but I will call you later. Maybe we can go to Colorado’s Finest Beers later? If this works, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Awesome. Bye.” I hung up quickly and looked toward the elevator to ensure that Max hadn’t made his way back into the office without me seeing him. I quickly pulled up my email on my work computer and opened Chelsea’s email. I sighed a huge sigh of relief as I clicked onto the website she’d sent. I’d just finished signing up for an account and uploading the file when Max came back into the office.
“How’s it going, Ms. Campbell?”
“Fine, thank you, Mr. Whitlock.” I looked up at him as I pretended to be typing. I adjusted my earset and put on a look of high concentration as Burna Boy played in my ear. I’d been introduced to the Afrobeats singer after his song with Ed Sheeran “For My Hand” had come out, and now I loved all of his music.
“You can call me, Max, you know.” He stopped by my desk, a small smile on his face. “We don’t have to be so formal.”
“I think I prefer to call you Mr. Whitlock, thank you.” I looked away from his inquisitive gaze. It was making me feel slightly uncomfortable.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Max said, grabbing a pen from in front of me. “When we first met.”
“When you were rude to me and accused me of wanting to be with you in that elevator?” I glared up at him. “Like you were God’s gift to women or something.”
“Well, you were undressing me with your eyes.” He grinned and then shook his head. “Anyway, now that you’re an intern here, we should just address our very first meeting.”
“You were totally inappropriate.” I stopped typing and took off my earpiece.
“You also told me you graduated first in your class from Harvard Law School, and you told me you were Mrs. Nightingale, or did you forget that?”
“Hmmph.” I averted my face again as I remembered my lies. Who knew he had such a good memory?
“I will forget those lies because I assume you were just reacting to my comments.” He shrugged. “I just want to ask you if there are any more lies I don’t know about.”
“Of course not,” I said, looking at him with big, offended eyes. “I was just trying to manifest that I will go to Harvard and graduate first.”
“Is your boyfriend’s last name Nightingale, then?” he asked, his eyes alight. “And you were trying to manifest being his wife as well?”
“Uhm…” I knew this was the time to come clean about being single, but I felt too embarrassed and ashamed. Plus, then he would think I’d really been coming onto Travis and possibly even him. And I didn’t want him to think that I wanted him. He had an ego the size of Texas, and I didn’t want to be responsible for it growing even bigger.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes, it is.” I looked down at my desk. My hands were clammy, and my neck and face felt hot. “I do hope that he will propose soon.”
“So it’s serious, then?” He moved a little closer to me, and I felt his fingers moving my hair away from my face. I looked back over at him and swallowed hard. “He’s the one?”
“I think so,” I said, almost breathlessly. Fuck. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to jump up out of the chair and take his shirt off. I wanted to sit on his lap. I wanted to feel his hands pulling my hair as he stripped off my clothes. “He’s perfect for me.”
“Pity,” he said, stepping back. “You nearly finished typing up that call?”
“Nearly,” I said, nodding as my phone started ringing.
