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I wiped away some mustard on the side of my mouth. “Yup.”
“I saved you from the utter humiliation of ripping your top off during some Beyoncé song.”
“Shut up, you did not.”
“Have you ever known me to lie to you?”
“I wouldn’t know if you’d lied, dumbass, because that’s the point of a lie, that the other person never finds out.”
“You speak the truth.”
“It’s a great song. I mean, she’s crazy in love,” I said. “She shakes and shakes it all out of her system in the video. I was simply doing the same thing.”
He laughed. “You are not Beyoncé.”
“No one is Beyoncé except Beyoncé.”
“If I hadn’t already been so wasted”—Garrett yawned—“I would have asked Rodney from my department to take a picture of you and then sent it around on the company intranet—you know, that ridiculous thing your department does after every staff party, posting photos of people like it’s a yearbook or something they expect all of us to sign when school’s out.” He crumpled his bagel wrapper and tossed it into the garbage bin. “Three points.”
“I’m not playing today.”
“You suck every day.”
Putting my burger down, I took a long sip of Coke. “I forgot completely that Siobhan made Rodney take photos. Holy shit, I need to get on the committee that picks the pictures.”
“So …?”
“So I can (a) make sure there’s at least one embarrassing photo of you up for all the company to see and (b) to ensure that I’m nowhere to be seen.”
“Wait—”
“Shhh.” I pulled out my BlackBerry. “Always happy to volunteer.” I recited as I typed. “To help out with the intranet party photos—forgot to mention when I saw you this a.m. Please let me know what you need.”
Garrett kicked my foot under the table. “Kiss-ass.”
“I’m not kissing ass; I’m saving my job.”
“At the expense of mine.”
“Oh please.” I kicked him back. “Siobhan doesn’t have a clue who you are, and it’s better that way. Plus, programming doesnotreport to marketing. Like, in any world.”
“She knows my boss, though.”
“Everyone knows your boss. She’s the head of nonfiction programming. And a complete inspiration to budding documentarians everywhere.”
“I’m going to steal those photos.” Garrett started in on my fries. “Code break my way into the file-sharing folder where the photographer dumps them all, and start a blog.”
“A blog.”
“Yup.”
“You’re going to ruin my life for all eternity by posting embarrassing photos of me on the internet?”
“It’s all a part of my master plan to make you realize you’re wasting your time at that job and you should really apply for the assistant job that’s come up in our department.”
“Can’t do it—the pay cut alone makes it impossible.”
“Money will not save your soul, Kelly.”
