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It’s everything I’ve been waiting for.
Three
Violet
What am I wearing tonight?It sucks that a teasing question from Jude Jenkins, one clearly meant to wind me up and nothing more, haunts me all afternoon. Because I had an outfit in mind for tonight—a silk wrap dress in a misty lavender color, a secret gem that I found in a thrift store last month. But now that he’s asked about it, I’m second guessing everything. Wondering whetherJude Jenkins, of all people, will like that dress.
Whether he’d like to touch it, grazing his fingertips over the silk.
Whether he’ll picture the dress puddled on his bedroom floor.
Gah. Kill me now.
By 3pm, I’ve made an angry little list in my spiral notebook, all outfit ideas for tonight. Nothing feels right, my whole closet is useless, and I can’t focus on myactualwork.
I should be brainstorming ideas for that electric car commercial, not wondering how Jude feels about side-boob. If my rival ever discovers this crush, he will tear me to shreds.
As the day wears on, the office gets buzzier. Louder. Everyone’s restless and impatient, willing the hours away, already gossiping about tonight. Laying bets on who will sneak away to hook up; who’ll turn up three hours late and half-buzzed; whether Mr Corbin will ever crack a smile. On days like these, there’s only one pocket of calm in this whole company, and that’s at my friend Lucy’s desk in the Accounts department.
My boots thud against the stairwell steps as I climb, my dress swishing around my legs. Would have been quicker to take the elevator, but I need to burn off some of this antsy energy.
Lucy will know what to do. She’ll say all the right things, and she’ll look at me with endless patience, just like she always does. Yeah.
The Accounts department is equally jittery and loud when I push through the doors, and I hunt down Lucy at her desk in the corner. She’s wearing a huge, boxy pair of noise-canceling headphones, tapping a pen against the frame of her glasses as she stares at her screen.
Spreadsheets. Always spreadsheets.
There are so many printers running on this floor, their hum tickles through my feet.
“Boo.” I tap my friend on the shoulder, smirking when she jumps and spins around. Lucy slides her headphones down to her neck, blinking as she drags the spare chair out for me with her ankle. Her body’s making room for me before her brain has caught up.
“Hey,” she says at last. “Is it manic downstairs too?”
“You bet.”
Over her years working here, Lucy has built up a makeshift wall of potted plants, cutting her cubicle off from the rest ofthe office. Once I sit down, we’re surrounded by foliage, and it smells like green leaves and damp soil. My blood pressure starts to lower.
It’s genius, really. If I could barricade Jude Jenkins away with plant life, I would.
“Can’t believe you keep all these alive.” A leaf shivers when I flick it.
Lucy scoffs gently. “It’s not that difficult, Vi.”
“Not for you, maybe.” Because Lucy is steady, diligent, responsible—an island of calm in the hectic waters of life. When everyone else loses their mind on days like today, she’s always plugging along, tapping away at her spreadsheets. Always buttoned up in a cardigan, her auburn hair tied up in a neat bun, glasses polished to a shine.
Meanwhile, I’m ready to howl at the ceiling over Jude Jenkins and the way his teasing gaze makes me feel: ready to burst.
“So what’s up?” Lucy asks it nicely, encouraging me with a nod, but her eyes flick to that spreadsheet. I’m interrupting her flow. “Let me guess: Jude Jenkins said or did something and it spun you out.”
Yes.Damn it.
And this is not my first visit here this week.
“No,” I lie. “I’m wondering what to wear tonight.”
Lucy shrugs. “Jude likes you in everything. Don’t stress about it.”
Gah!
