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At that, I pull my shoulders back and sit up a little straighter.
I gave up any delusions of a promotion because I assumed that mark on my record would take me out of the running.
“You. . .you’d do that?” I ask.
“Yep. I think you’d be a fool not to try,” he says. “And I think we could use someone like you in a leadership position. No reason you can’t work your way all the way up, Larrabee. You’ve been at this long enough, and the guys respect you already. Especially after last week.” He leans forward and folds his hands on his desk. “You’ll think about it then?”
I nod. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” He stands.
I stand. “Thanks, Captain.”
He nods, and I walk out into the hallway, feeling like someone just gave me back my life. The first person I want to tell is Emmy.
I mean, we’re friends now. . .again. . .right?
I realize I’d like to have Emmy back in my life.
I walk down the hall and into the common area where Rigsby’s cooking, Jace is setting out plates and silverware, and a few of the other guys are gathered at the table around a small Bluetooth speaker.
I start to say something, but all three of the guys at the table shush me before I get a word out.
I frown and look at Jace, who shakes his head. “They’re obsessed.”
“With what?” I say, as the sound of a woman’s voice fills the space.
“Welcome to The Hopeful Romantic, where we analyze, digest and discuss all things romance,” the older woman’s voice says.
I stand there, dumbfounded.
“Are they serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Jace says.
“I can’t wait to hear what she says about this one,” one of the guys says.
“Blister, shut up, will you?”
I lean over to Rigsby.
“Blister?”
He smiles, nodding in their direction. “It’s Pearson’s nickname. ‘Blister.’ Because he only shows up when the work’s all done.”
Ah. Clever.
“Blister is convinced this lady on this podcast saved his marriage,” Rigsby says. “They listen so they can try to figure out what women really want.”
Levi, who is leaning against the counter, pipes up. “I already know what women want.” He wags his eyebrows in a way that makes it clear he absolutely does not know what women want.
“It’s not rocket science,” I say.
“Says the guy who hasn’t had a serious relationship in eight years,” Jace says.
Fair point. I grab a banana and walk over to the table as the woman finishes a letter from some poor lady in Hoboken.
“This is for real?” I ask. “You’re really all into this?”
