13
Maggie Mae’s voice at full volume pierces through the quiet moaning of Adele, who I am blasting to try to drown out my thoughts.
“What?” I scream from the shower. Why can’t she just wait until I am out?
Maggie Mae takes that as an invitation to barge in. Now there is just a thin shower curtain separating us. She doesn’t care, of course, because she doesn’t have any issues with her perfect 5’7” body and perky breasts. But I am not that tall. My thighs aren’t that slim, and my breasts aren’t that perky.
“One of my apps wasn’t loading right, so I tried it on your phone.”
“Okay?” The water is starting to turn cold, but I don’t want to get out as long as she is standing here. If she doesn’t hurry it along, I won’t have much choice.
“I saw what he texted you!”
“Who?”
“Gatsby!” Maggie Mae screams his name even though we are in the same fifty square foot room. “He wrote, ‘I want to make it up to you. Please go on a date with me this Friday.’”
The water turns ice-cold. I turn it off and peek from behind the shower curtain.
“He wrote that?” I ask, unable to keep the excitement in my voice from escaping.
She shows me the phone. I can’t believe the words on the screen.
“Oh my god, oh my god, Annabelle! I can’t believe you’re going out with a CEO! Oh my god, this is the most exciting thing that ever happened to me!”
I smile.
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, trying to remain calm, but Maggie Mae’s excitement is contagious.
Friday can’t come fast enough. It is four days away, and every hour that I spend at work not seeing Gatsby feels like an eternity. I hate this desperate, bored little girl that I am turning into. I’m not a teenager, for crying out loud! And even when I was, I didn’t behave this way. I always kept a level head. I always made time for my friends. I didn’t just sit around waiting. But Gatsby does strange things to me.
I’m not expecting to see him the following day – I never see him at work. We met in secret after work, and I doubt that Ms. Greaves is aware that I had even met him. But I want to see him, and I wish that he would break the rules and call me into his office.
But he doesn’t.
Late Tuesday night, he does send me a text:
Still at the office. Swamped with work. Can’t wait until Friday!
My heart jumps into my chest. I write a million text messages before sending one.
I’m home. Don’t work too hard. Can’t wait until Friday, either.
I’m home. You work too hard.
You work too hard. Can’t wait until Friday! I really want to see you.
I want to see you. Kiss you. Fuck you.
Don’t work too hard! Looking forward to Friday.
The following day, he texts: Hope you’re having a good day. Friday is only two days away!
This time I don’t debate too long: You too. Can’t wait.
Short and sweet. Perhaps, too short. But it’s enough to keep him wanting more. At least, I hope so.
On Thursday, Ms. Greaves has a lot of expense reports for me to do – not just Mr. Wild’s, but other people’s as well. They keep me busy through the morning and into the afternoon. I’m actually glad for the extra work and put all of my efforts into it. I need something to take my mind off tomorrow.
“You’re working quite hard today, Ms. York,” she says with a smile.
I am caught off guard. I didn’t actually know that she ever noticed how hard I worked or didn’t work. Suddenly, a pang of guilt and horror come over me. Shit. Maybe she also knows that I hadn’t been working that hard earlier!
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“It’s good. Everyone here has been swamped with work recently. I’m glad that you’re pulling your weight. Your efforts aren’t unnoticed.”
No, she is just being nice. Genuinely nice. It is so unusual that I don’t really know how to respond.
“What do you mean everyone? Why has there been so much more work recently?” I ask.
She stares at me, and her mouth falls open. “Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot. You’re quite new here.”
I nod.
“Well, I thought you knew, but I guess not. You’re just the assistant.”
That hurts my feelings, but I need to know what she is talking about.
“Wild International is in the middle of going public. Berkshire Brothers, the investment bank, is taking it public and if everything goes well then Mr. Wild is going to be a very, very rich man. Not to mention powerful as well.”
I’ve heard the phrase ‘going public’; it is something many companies do. But I’m not entirely sure what it means.
“You do know what going public means, right?”
“Yes, of course.” I nod confidently.
Thankfully, she explains anyway. “Wild International is currently a private company, but if the deal goes through then it will be available on the stock exchange. Anyone can buy shares in it. It’s a good way to go for some companies. Ours included.”
I nod.
“As you can imagine, Mr. Wild is under a lot of pressure as a result of all this.”
“Yes, it must be tough.”
And then she seems to have forgotten that I am here. “So I have no idea why the hell he’s got it in his head to go away this Friday. There’s so much to do. I just hope his personal life doesn’t interfere with this company’s future.”
I’m nodding along until I realize that she is talking about me. Me! I am his personal life. I am the person he is going away with this weekend. And I didn’t even know we were going away. I thought we were just going on a date.
“Oh, Christ. I’m sorry!” Ms. Greaves suddenly remembers whom she is talking to. “That’s none of your business. It’s not even any of my business. Forget that I said anything. Please. And go back to work.”
I go back to my desk. I am both excited and scared. I pick my phone and start texting. My hands are shaking, and I have a hard time spelling everything correctly. The damn autocorrect keeps correcting to words that I don’t mean to say.
Are we going away this weekend? I thought we were just going on a date.
I wait for his reply. I thought he would reply right away. But nothing comes. I don’t hear from him for the rest of the day. I don’t know what to do. Did I text something wrong? Did I do something wrong? I start drowning in doubts.
On Friday morning, I make an executive decision. I am taking back control of my life. I am no longer going to be a sad little teenage girl spending all her time checking her phone to see if her boyfriend called. He’s not even my boyfriend! He is my boss. My lying sack of shit boss!
Whatever takes place or does not take place tonight is out of my hands. I promised him that I would go on a date with him, and that is what I am going to do. Nothing more, nothing less. He doesn’t owe me texts, so I’m not going to expect any more texts from him.
No, I can’t control him, nor do I want to really. What I can control is my reaction. What I choose to do. And what I choose to do, starting with right now, is not sit around waiting.
In the precise moment I make this decision, my phone vibrates.
Just wanted to confirm our date tonight. Meet me on the roof at 5:30 pm.
I gasp. Before I get the chance to ask him about my previous messages, he texts again.
Sorry, I didn’t text yesterday. I dropped my phone in the bathtub, so I just got this one. To tell you the truth, it was kind of nice being disconnected for once. The only thing that sucked was not texting with you.
Goosebumps dance up my arms.
I gotta go. Big meeting. See you at 5:30. On the ROOF.