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Or Carol, who seems to view him like the brilliant son she never had. Which is a weird vibe, honestly.
Before I even look up, I know Mark is over my shoulder again, hovering like an overgrown fly. I toy with the idea of asking him to buzz off and leave me alone.
If only a little honesty didn’t make easy enemies.
Though he must not notice I’m visibly annoyed.
He’srelentlesslypositive. Almost to the point of denial, like he wants to paint over all of life’s imperfections so he doesn’t have to deal with them.
“How’s it coming, Destiny?” he asks like he didn’t just ask the same question half an hour ago before his coffee run.
Like I’ve written a single thing in that time.
I resist the urge to dig my hands through my hair.
I’m not a single sentence closer to winning over Mr. Crankyface, and I know it.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m sucking so bad at this that he’s actively avoiding me. Maybe he has a sixth sense for failure.
I’ve sent him emails, tried to schedule a meeting, and even waited outside his office, hoping he’ll emerge like a hibernating bear so I can prod him with more questions.
If I could just find out what his top concerns are with an initiative like this, I could nail them.
But he always has a full calendar or he’s just stepped out.
And no matter how pleasant Hannah Cho seems on the outside, she’s quick to politely remind me that Mr. Foster keeps a godlike schedule.
I get it.
He’s a busy man.
But he’s also the guy who gave me this assignment.
He decided to take a chance on me after I triggered him into a tantrum.
Mark shifts his weight, waiting for my answer. I realize I totally tuned out of the conversation before it started.
“Sorry, what?”
“I was just asking about this slide...” He swipes a finger at the screen, which displays a quote from an interview I arranged with prominent marine conservationist, Debra Hollens.
“Oh. Yeah, I decided to pull the best parts from the interview and sprinkle them in,” I say, bringing up the notes, which I transcribed late last night over blueberry tea.
He leans in, close enough to punch me in the face with his cologne, mumbling as he reads.
“Wow. Did she really lose a couple fingers to frostbite going after sea lions?”
I flick my mouse at the photo of Hollens waving, her two missing digits clear as day.
“It was an accident. They ventured too far in an arctic storm. She thought the sea lions were close enough to their camp, but they wandered too far and the wind picked up. It’s like a maze out there and they lost their way. They’re lucky they survived before search and rescue came and nope, no sea lions.”
“Yikes! Talk about a sacrifice for science.” He smiles awkwardly like it’s the funniest thing ever before he notices I’m not laughing. “Uh, shouldn’t that be closer to the front, Dess? It’s a pretty compelling story.”
I suppose he has a point.
“I’ll move things around, yeah. Anything else?” I force a smile, so ready to be left alone.
“Nah, I’m good. Just chiming in to help you out.” He gives me a look like a kicked puppy.
