“We want you to start doing a weekly spotlight on the website too,” Rhonda Leech decreed as I toyed with the hem of my T-shirt, already over this meeting in every way possible. She’d called me in first thing this morning, but it’d taken me nearly the whole day to follow orders. With the way she seemed to bark all of her words like an angry dog, I was guessing she wasn’t thrilled about my pace.
“Your video was a hit for several reasons, but I’m not naïve enough to think one of them wasn’t how goddamn physically attractive you are.”
I rolled my eyes as she tossed out a hand and waved at…well, me.
“And you aren’t naïve enough either, so cut it out with the eye rolls.”
“I just had no idea you’d been pining for me, Rhonda,” I teased, and her whole face seemed to ice up.
“Can it, Luca. You’re a pain in my ass. That’s all you are.”
I figured that was true enough and kind of exciting, seeing as a little healthy confrontation was pretty much my running goal with Rhonda. It wasn’t that I wanted to be the token asshole employee, or that I wasn’t taking the job seriously. It was that the more I came to this office—and it had only been a few times so far—the more I saw how terrified Rhonda had everyone around her. She didn’t give pats on the back, she gave ass-chewings. And since no one else was eager to teach her some lessons of her own, I willingly filled the role. It was, in fact, one of my specialties.
If confrontation were a superpower, I’d have my very own cape.
“But people are loving the little dance you’ve got going with Lola Sexton, and I love what the people love. So I’ll deal with the pain by constructing a pillow made of money.”
I had to laugh at her single-minded focus. No wonder the paper kept her at the helm.
“I thought the press was supposed to be unbiased. You know, only here for the news.”
Now, she was rolling her eyes.
Still, a promise I’d made brought my attention back on task.
No more videos. I’d promised it and swore it to Lola during our very first encounter, and if I reneged, any chance of keeping her close would be lost. I was a liar, but not like this—not when it was this important, and especially not when it would completely destroy my own achievements and goals.
“Sorry, I can’t.”
Apparently, Rhonda’d still been talking—though I hadn’t heard a word—and my declaration interrupted her midsentence.
“What?” She shook her head. “You can’t what?”
“Do any more videos.”
She waved me off. “It’s all set up. You won’t have to do any of the other work. Just stop by the office, do the recording, and go on your way. Though, sorry to tell you, smoking in the building is strictly prohibited.”
“That’s okay.”
She smiled. I did too.
“Because I’m not doing the videos. And the rules are pretty loose where I write.” At my apartment.
“Reed,” Rhonda started, her voice placating when she noted the serious set to my face. “Listen—”
“No videos. I can’t. But my column will be on time every time.”
“Reed—”
“Is that it?” I asked, standing from my chair and leveling her with a look that said it was.
Lines ruined the previously smooth skin between her eyes, her face pinched in anger.
“Fine. I can’t force you to do the video,” she acquiesced. The set of her jaw said she’d already checked with Human Resources to find out. “But you should know that this is going to seriously affect your success here.”
“Aw, Rhonda,” I cajoled. “Don’t you worry about me.”
With a rap on the doorframe, I made my exit. Her assistant, Lyle, looked like he wanted to high-five me on the way out, but I didn’t hang around to chat.
Down the hall and down the steps, I moved past the girl at the front desk with a wave and out the doors into the fading sun.
Sunset wasn’t exactly late this time of year, and sun wasn’t a guarantee in San Fran even when it was up. It depended on where you were, what side of the hill, and how badly the fog had settled into the city’s hold. Still, this was a fairly late meeting for the regular working world, and as much as I’d have liked to say it was in an attempt to convenience me and my lack of convention, I was pretty sure it had more to do with Rhonda’s demanding schedule she was always reminding me about. I’d tried to reschedule for tomorrow, but she’d flat out told me I’d lose my job if I didn’t make it in tonight. Hell, she’d probably planned to have me shoot my first video on the spot tonight, material be damned.
I stopped to light a cigarette and looked up from my lighter just in time to see Lola, moving a hundred miles an hour on a pair of roller skates, make an abrasive move, spread eagle, and go down hard right on her ass on the sidewalk.
I tossed the unsmoked cigarette down without a thought and jogged across the street after one cursory glance to check for traffic.
She was still trying to pull her shit together when I got there.
“Need a hand, LoLo?”
Lola stared at my hand, considering the offer with about as much enthusiasm as if I’d offered to share my plague with her. I was about to retract it and my hand when an annoyingly fake British accent-wielding woman approached us in a trumped-up tizzy.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Everyone just saw you fall. That looked so embarrassing!”
She shifted her attention from Lola to me rather quickly when she arrived.
“Oh! Who’s this?” she asked coyly of Lola, who was still sitting uncomfortably on the sidewalk.
I’d had enough. Reaching down, I scooped my hands under Lola’s armpits and brought her to her feet. She looked annoyed, but like there was no way in hell she was going to reference her feelings toward me in front of the fake Brit.
“Reed Luca,” I said, offering her my hand. She took it and held on an uncomfortably long time before I prompted, “And you are?”
“This is Simone,” Lola grumbled before she could answer for herself.
Yeah, right. If this chick’s real name was Simone, I’d pay you five hundred dollars.
Sensing Lola’s annoyance with absolutely everything transpiring in that moment, I turned my attention to Simone. “Nice to meet you. Practicing for a role?”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Your accent. I figured you were practicing for a role. Which is a good idea, by the way. It could use a little work.”
“I’m not an actor,” she protested, a little uncertainly but dialing up the charm.
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s probably a good thing, huh? Pretty tough field to break in to if you’re short on talent.”
Lola coughed to cover a bark of laughter.
Simone turned to her with fake concern. “Oh, dear. That cough sounds horrible. So unattractive too.”
“Know what, Simone?” I cut in. Her big doe eyes came back to mine. “It was really nice bumping into you, but we’re late.”
“Oh? What for?” she asked, and Lola looked to me again. I didn’t mind. This was one of my absolute favorite fucking things to do.
“We’re doing a huge shop for a thing we’re doing with Meals on Wheels. That’s actually why she’s on the skates.” I hooked a finger toward Lola with emphasis. Simone looked between us, and her eyes lit up. Time to squash that.
“Anyway, it’s too bad you’re not an actor because we were hiring a few extras for the whole TV spot, but we really do need people with experience.”
“Oh, when I said I’m not—”
“Nice seeing you,” I interrupted her, pulling Lola into the store on her skates by an elbow. She turned awkwardly to wave over her shoulder, so I moved behind her and grabbed her by the hips to make sure she didn’t eat it again.
“Bye, Simone.”
“Oh, my God,” Lola cried when the automatic door closed safely behind us. “Far be it for me to give you credit for anything, but that was amazing.”
“What?” I asked innocently, grabbing a basket and hooking it on my arm. I didn’t need anything. I hadn’t been intending to shop at all, but I figured that was the reason Lola was here.
“Using your evil to do good. I swear Simone is the vapidest, fakest, most annoying human being on the planet, and you just schooled her at her own game.”
“And yet,” I mocked, a finger to my chin in question, “you seem to be friends with her.”
She rolled her eyes. “We can’t just ditch her. We’ve been friends for years.”
“Sure you can. It’s easy. People I don’t like in my life? Zero.”
“Well, even if I get rid of Simone, I still have a very persistent one,” she said pointedly, and I laughed, guiding her into one of the aisles. She just hung on for the ride with two hands clamped around my elbow.
“You only fake-hate me. That’s different.”
“No, no. The hate is very real.”
I waved her off and grabbed a box of tampons from the shelf, throwing it into the basket. “No. You hate that my opinion is different from yours on many topics, but you don’t hate me. You like me. You enjoy me. You’re entertained right this very second.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to get away from you,” she protested, skating six inches away and releasing my arm all at once. “In fact, what are you even doing here? Are you fucking stalking me? Because that’s creepy on a whole new level.”
I moved her easily with a hand at the small of her back, the skates aiding my quest, and pushed her until she could see out the glass windows at the front of the store.
“See that?” I pointed to the building across the street. “That’s the office for the Journal. You know, where I work?”
I noticed she was silent then.
“But it’s interesting that you would accuse me of stalking you.”
“Why?” she asked warily.
“Because the easiest deflections come from a place of truth within yourself.”
“Are you saying I’m stalking you?” she scoffed as I grabbed a couple of packs of cookies and threw them in the basket.
“If it quacks like a duck,” I confirmed.
“As if!”
“Well, that sure looks like my office across the street. What’s a man supposed to think? That you just like this grocery store?” I pursed my lips and shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“I do like this store! They stock my favorite coffee creamer.”
I nodded as though considering it and steered her in the direction of the refrigerator section.
“Okay. Wow. I guess you’re right. A situation actually can look like one thing and be another. Kind of like how a guy could not call and the reason could be something other than him just not seeing how awesome his date was the whole time?”
“Oh, you are an asshole.”
“Thank you. That’s pretty much the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day.” And quite frankly, that was true. Rhonda’s dislike for me made Lola’s fake hate look amateurish.
“Are you always this—”
“Likeable? Yes.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say, and you know it.”
I pulled open the refrigerator and asked, “What kind of coffee creamer did you say was your favorite?”
“The Willow Hill Mocha…”
Finally, she started paying attention to more than the way I made her heart beat faster.
What? It doesn’t hurt to hope.
“What are you doing? Are you buying my creamer?” she questioned, rapid fire. “Are you trying to be like me? Jesus, next thing you’ll be cross-dressing.”
“Only on the weekends,” I muttered and she froze.
“What?”
I raised my eyebrow.
“God, you are such a liar.”
“Thank you.”
“That was not a compliment.”
“It was to me. And no, I’m not buying your creamer. This basket is yours.”
“What?” she asked as I handed it off, and she took a minute to look through it. “What the…tampons? Jesus. I actually love these cookies. And this toothpaste is my brand. How the hell did you do this?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” And that was the truth. That toothpaste was my brand. I’d gone ahead and tossed it in for later—when I convinced her we were friends and we had sleepovers—you know, the good kind.
With one last look and an innocent kiss to her cheek, I turned and made my way out of the store while she stood and looked after me.
“Reed!”
One last wave.
“Bye, Lola.”
I’ll be seeing you soon.