Page 41 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“Uh. Thanks. You did great too.”

Bleeerrrgggh. What wasthat? His compliment had finesse. And facts. And all I come up with isYou did great.

“Great, huh? Wow. I may need that in writing, Pennington.”

He winks. And I can’t even believe what happens next.

My knees actually go slightly weak.

It’s a visceral reaction to a handsome man winking at me. It would happen with any handsome man. He’s a good winker. Of course he is. He actually winks in a way that makes my knees forget who it is that’s winking at them. Not that he winked at my knees. He didn’t. He winked at me. And my knees, weak and uninformed as they are, wobbled a little.

“Well, you’ll have to take my word for it,” I quip. “Because I’m not writing my assessment of your proficiency down unless you’re writing down what you said about me.”

I sound like a petulant third grader. Aaaand … it’s definitely time to take Charlie out for the baked goods I promised him.

When I come back from lunch with Charlie, during which we each consumed a warm chocolate croissant, there’s a piece of paper at my workspace.

I pick it up and read it.

To whom it may concern:

It is my professional opinion that Olivia Pennington did exceptional and impressive work as a content specialist on the Untethered account. Her vision for the logo was spot on. Her rebranding concepts are fresh and on target for the goals of this client.

Sincerely,

Logan Alexander

What. On. Earth.

I reread the note.

“What’s that?” Charlie asks.

“Oh … nothing.” I fold the paper in half.

“Nothing, huh?”

“Yep. Nothing.”

“Work on your bluff game, my friend.” Charlie laughs.

But mercifully, Charlie doesn’t ask me to show him Logan’s note.

What’s Logan’s angle, anyway?

“Give me that note again,” Lynette says.

We’re on a sister-date, shopping and grabbing dinner.

I hand her the paper, which is now folded in quarters and slightly rumpled from the number of times I have taken it out of my purse, reread it, and stuffed it back in my purse.

She reads it again. “This is so sweet.”

“Right?!” My hands fly up. “What is he up to? I’ve read that thing over a few times, and I can’t seem to figure out his angle.”

“A few times? This thing looks like you sat on it, ran over it with your car, wadded it up and played badminton with it, and then, for good measure, chewed a bit around the edges. How many isa fewin this scenario?”

“Maybe more than twenty. But for research and analysis. Strictly. Only that. What is he up to? Is this a basic kill me with kindness situation? Or am I missing something?”

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