Page 13 of For The Record

Moments later, the door opens again. I plaster on a customer service smile honed by three months in the shoe department of Nordstrom’s and look up. “How can I help you?”

“I was looking for something but, it seems I’ve found it.” It’s Leo, who is apparently a world-class expert at ignoring all mygo awayhints. Somehow, seeing him, I can’t bring myself to be annoyed. Clad in a three-piece charcoal suit, brown wingtips, and a pair of black-framed reading glasses, he leans against the door.

“That was incredibly cheesy.” Despite the tiredness that weighs down my bones from my shouting match—I mean, civil conversation—with Ryder, my smile at the sight of him is real this time.

“You look upset. May I suggest going to dinner with me?”

“Will it magically solve my problems?” I ask, holding my laptop against my torso, the side of it digging into my stomach. “Or will I still have to work with people who hate me?”

“I’ve heard that good food and good company can, at the very least, distract people from many problems,” he says. Leo gestures dramatically, like an infomercial salesman trying to convince me to buy a ShamWow or food dicer. “And who hates you?”

“Well, since we’re speaking of good company, I’ll just say that my coworkers do not think I am good company. They think I’m here because I’m Ryder’s ex-girlfriend, which is true, and… Whatever. I’ll work it out. Don’t worry about me, I’m a professional,” I say. To be honest, dinner seems really… fast. Rambling about work should drive Leo Perez—or any other man—far, far away from me. After all, he may be attractive and rich and a lot of things that sound good on paper, but that doesn’t mean I want to eat a meal with him, after our not-date and almost-kiss at Ryder’s party. “Dinner. Right. Let me think about it.”

Leo takes a step back as if the only thing keeping me from thinking is his presence. Okay, that’s pretty true. His green eyes fix on me with an intensity that forces me to turn away. “And, in case you haven’t noticed… I don’t care that you’re Ryder’s ex-girlfriend, and no one else should.”

Just because they shouldn’t gossip about me, doesn’t mean they won’t. The boardrooms of Los Angeles P.R. firms have seen more blood than shark-infested waters. “You know what, Leo, let me check my schedule.”

Screw it. Jennifer probably isn’t spying on me, and I doubt the board of Volume has time to care, either. One date isn’t breaking professionalism, right?

“Six pm, this Saturday, I’ll pick you up.”

I scroll through my phone calendar to avoid meeting his eyes. “Make it seven.”

A beeping startles both of us, and he grabs his phone. “I have to take this, but I’ll see you at dinner.”

Opening my laptop so I don’t watch him leave, I smile to myself as I get to work, rays of sunlight shining down on me in the empty room.

#

@TheRyderBlack: Catch me on the latest episode of the Zach Sang Show! Dropping this Friday

@RyderBlackFanOfficial: @TheRyderBlack can’t wait!!!

@ZR789: @RyderBlackFanOfficial lol if you abbreviate your username it’s just RBFO

@RyderBlackFanOfficial: @ZR789 haha… so original…

@ZR789: so are you and @RyderBlackSource still stalking his ex, or what

@RyderBlackSource: @ZR789 I think we all know who the stalker is here, sweetie

Chapter 8: Leo Perez

Annabelle’s email lands in my inbox like an anvil on a stack of fine china, shattering the peace of my Friday afternoon. So much for TGIF—though to be fair, I usually spend Saturdays working too, only taking breaks to see my family for Sunday night dinners. The only exception I’m making is my date with Skye tomorrow.

Mr. Perez,

Don’t forget that you have double-booked lunch today with Ms. Rostova, Mr. Black, and other artists at 1:30.

Regards,

Annabelle Kim

I rub my temples. Well, I got myself into this mess of a lunch. Now I have to face the consequences. I email her back, asking her to make a reservation. Of course, it’s just my luck that she’s already gotten us a table for five at Totoraku. I guess if we’re going to suffer in awkward conversation, it should be over plates of Wagyu beef at the exclusive hole-in-the-wall, not burgers and fries.

Slinging my jacket over one shoulder, I leave the office at twelve-thirty, wondering if I should aim to be fashionably late, or get there first and eat all the steak. A flash of green catches my eye when I step into the elevator, though. I recognize it as Skye; she’s always wearing something in that colour. I hold the doors open for her and she flings herself into the lift, slightly out of breath.

“Running for your life?” I say as the elevator goes down. We have forty floors to go before hitting the ground floor, let alone the parking garage. I don’t know if I should be dreading the ride or making the most of it.

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