Page 10 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

Hanan:Which reminds me

Hanan:I have a new show for you to try!

I’m shaking my head before I even start typing.

Me:I’m not watching anything with subtitles.

Hanan:Did I say anything about subtitles?

I give a snort of laughter. Hanan has been on a foreign kick for the last few months. My guess is this new show, whatever it is, will be no different.

Me:I’ll bite. Does it have subtitles?

The app shows her beginning to reply, then stopping. She starts typing again, stops again, and finally answers.

Hanan:FINE YES OKAY. WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH SUBTITLES. YOU KNOW HOW TO READ.

This woman abuses caps lock way too much—not that she’s interested in my opinion.

Me:If I’m reading, I’m not watching, and watching is the whole point.

Hanan:Har har. Maybe someday we’ll know more about each other, and then I’ll drag you over to my house to watch Turkish shows with me. It’s going to be great.

Something inside me gives a funny little twist at the thought of actually meeting this woman, of lounging on a couch with her, watching TV—did I eat something off for lunch? Was my chicken undercooked?

Either way, it’s a weird feeling, and not one I particularly want to dwell on. Because whenever I think too long about Hanan, my emotions get…confused. Like a tangled ball of yarn. So, even though it’s the coward’s way out, I make my excuses, letting Hanan know that I’m at work and have to go. It only takes her a minute or two to respond.

Hanan:That’s fine, I need to go somewhere too. Later!

I leave her with a thumbs up emoji and then close out of the app, returning my phone to my pocket. Then I settle in for a nice, productive afternoon…

Until about thirty minutes later, when my previous prediction comes true: Maya Ellis shows up at my office.

At first I don’t know it’s her. I just hear someone talking to Josephine from through my closed door, and I don’t think anything of it until Josephine knocks.

“Yes?” I say distractedly as I thumb through financial documents.

It takes a full ten seconds for Josephine to open the door and stick her head in—that’s how slowly she moves. Her gravity-prone jowls wobble as she speaks.

“A very frustrated young woman to see you,” she adds, looking amused.

Whose side is she even on?

“Send her in,” I say with a sigh.

“You can come in,” Josephine bellows over her shoulder, making me jump, and I swear she does it just because she knows it will annoy me.

Two seconds later, though, all thoughts of Josephine fly from my head. Because the woman who storms into my office is two things: exquisitely angry and exquisitely beautiful.

She’s on the shorter side, with lush curves I don’t let myself examine too closely. Her hair is long and nearly black, her skin golden, and her eyes…are trying to murder me.

That’s what’s going on in this situation. As I sit here with my mouth hanging awkwardly open, trying not to let my gaze wander, she is imagining all the places she could bury my body.

I wipe away whatever stupid look is on my face and stand up, holding my hand out for her to shake. Which, I realize as she looks at it with contempt, is maybe a little optimistic.

I pull my hand back.

“Miss Ellis, I presume?” I say, sitting back in my desk chair and gesturing for her to take a seat in the chair opposite mine. She glares at me for a minute before flinging herself down—like she knows that my request makes sense, but she still doesn’t want to comply.

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