Page 27 of What I'm Looking For

“Whatever you say.”

He accelerates suddenly to pass another car and I grab the door handle, wondering if I’ll survive this trip. Once we’ve made it back to the other lane, I slump back in my seat. “Alright, then. Before we get there, do you want to hear the summaries for the companies I’m recommending?”

“Nah, I’m sure you’ve got it covered. You just keep me posted on how the date goes.” He points at me. “But remember, don’t tell anybody else. Not yet anyway.”

“Don’t worry.”

As we close in on Portland, I fulfill my co-pilot duties by reading off the directions—which I cross-check with the map, of course. After we’ve parked and I’ve touched up my lipstick and retrieved my materials and Steve has one last cigarette, he touches my arm to stop me before we head inside.

“I kid you not, Kate. It’s pretty kick-ass that you’re gonna ask that actor out. Good for you.”

Before I can figure out whether or not that was a compliment, he claps his hands together. “Now let’s go win friends and influence people.”

* * *

Back at theoffice later that afternoon, after Steve calls with Will’s phone number, I take a moment to roll my neck. The scary popping noises are loud enough that Analyst Brad can probably hear them from his cubicle next door. Whenever the green numbers glowing on my computer screen start to run together, I know I need a break. After carefully saving and printing my work, I pull a sheet of paper from my desk drawer to go over my List of Pros and Cons for Calling Will.

Cons first. One: I am currently on a carefully crafted path to success here at Rhodes Wahler and I can’t afford distractions like relationships. Two: Working twelve-to-fourteen-hour days, I don’t have a lot of time for dating. Three: I’m not even sure he likes me. Four: His values and mine seem to be pretty different.

Okay. That’s a strong list of cons.

Now the pros. One: Well, there’s only one. I can’t stop thinking about him. And then another thing occurs to me, which I carefully print in the pro column: I haven’t had sex in over a year. Maybe that counts for three pros?

Whatever, Kate. Yes, it’s irrational, yes, it’s a risk, but sometimes you have to go with your gut, and that gut—or, rather, the region south of your gut—is telling you to Just Do It.

Five big breaths later, I pick up my phone and dial Will’s number. My heart is pounding in my ears so loudly I can barely hear the mechanical voice of the answering machine greeting, but I’m pretty sure I manage to leave a message congratulating him on his success with the commercial and casually giving him my phone number. Or numbers. All of them. I just couldn’t seem to stop talking until the machine cut me off.

Having completed the task, I retuck my blouse, slip my feet back into my heels and head downstairs to the ladies’ room. Ours is a grand old dame of a building. She has ornate cornices, hand-milled crown molding and antique plumbing that regularly gets what I call The Vapors. The facilities on my floor have been under repair for weeks.

Walking purposefully, as if I’m heading somewhere important, I make for the stairwell. When I hear raucous laughter coming from the break room, I speed up to get past whatever shenanigans are going on in there.

A male voice breaks through the laughter. “Kate!”

I keep moving.

“Kate, hold up. We need to ask you something.”

Against all reason, I turn my head. Mark with Glasses jogs out of the doorway to grab my elbow. Before I can come up with an objection, he’s dragged me inside. “We’ve got some new samples we’re checking out, and we need another female perspective.”

“All right, I’m coming.”

I pause in the doorway to take in the scene. Mark joins a circle of men surrounding a red-faced young woman—one of the accounting clerks, I think. They appear to be playing keep-away with some sort of balloon, but the woman is ducking from the flying missile rather than trying to grab it. When it hits her on the head, she flinches and it falls to the floor.

One of the guys picks it up. “Michelle! It’s monkey in the middle, not dodgeball!”

Another guy grabs the balloon and turns to me. “Kate will play, see?”

Instinctively, I grab the projectile before it hits me in the face. Holding up the damp object in my hand, I understand why Michelle looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. It’s not a balloon, it’s a water-filled condom.

What a bunch of assholes. I don’t have the wherewithal to tell them what I really think of their game, but I elbow my way to Michelle, put an arm around her shoulders and escort her out the door. Once she’s safely in the hall, I turn around and whack the condom across Mark with Glasses’ chest.

It breaks, soaking his shirtfront. “Oops!” I say sweetly before turning to hustle Michelle away.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t?—” Michelle’s sobs finish her sentence.

I pat her gently on the back. “Come on. Let’s get you a cold paper towel, and you can take a minute.” I keep us moving toward the stairwell and my original destination. “Those guys are unbelievable. They don’t just cross the line, they’re building condos on the other side.”

* * *

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