Page 27 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
I didn’t even think to check Grant’s location, which means I’m slipping. I usually know where he is at all times so I can make sure he gets where he needs to be. Grabbing my phone, I bounce my knee as I wait for the app to load. He’s not far from here, and when I zoom in to see more detail, my heart rate kicks up a notch.
“Jean-Marc’s,” I say on a breath. The restaurant is known for its breakfast and is a popular spot for corporate meetings because of its many small gathering rooms.
Micah leans over and grabs my phone out of my hand, as if she doesn’t believe me. “They held a breakfast meeting without us? Why didn’t she tell…”
We’re both on our feet in the next moment, working our way through the silent and empty office. The only people we find are the accountant and the lawyer, both of whom have offices tucked away in the back corner and probably didn’t even notice that everyone was gone.
“What does that mean?” I ask as we settle in Micah’s cubicle.
She tugs a dead bloom from one of the bouquets and tosses it in the trash under her desk. “It means they’re going to make a lot of decisions that are going to be wrong.” Another flower comes loose, though this one isn’t as dead. Still, it goes in the trash. “It means Lila has no intention of letting me be a part of the planning. It means I’ve been fooling myself this whole time that I might actually be good enough.”
When the whole bouquet comes out of the vase, I grab her arm before she can throw the tulips away. It should feel strange, touching her when I’ve barely been around her enough to be comfortable with it, but after all of our texting, I feel like I’ve known her a lot longer than I have. Still, the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingers has my brain short circuiting, and I can’t remember what I was going to say.
So I shift my hand instead, sliding it down her wrist and to the dripping flowers she holds. Her eyes track the movement, probably because she knows I don’t generally initiate contact like this. I haven’t told her why because she only asked the one time, but she knows I’m not necessarily comfortable with physical contact.
Or I wasn’t, until I met her. I still don’t know what that means.
When I reach the flowers, I carefully pull them from her fingers and return the bouquet to its vase. I could leave it at that, but instead I take hold of one of her hands between both of my own, hoping she takes this as a sign that I’m still with her on this project.
“This may not be as terrible as you are imagining,” I tell her. “Maybe Lila forgot to tell you, maybe she did it on purpose, but it’s not the end of the world. We don’t know what they’ve planned yet, and maybe they’ve done a lot of good brainstorming to come up with ideas closer to what we were imagining. They caught onto your rustic ideas for the decor, didn’t they?”
Her lips twist into a playful half smile. “I thought being optimistic was my thing,” she says quietly.
“Yeah, well, you seemed like you needed help this morning.”
She puts her other hand over mine, and there’s enough emotion swirling around in her forget-me-not eyes that I wish I could read her as well as she seems to read me. I’ve spent the last five days answering all her questions and telling her details about myself that I don’t tell anyone else, but I’m suddenly realizing that I haven’t asked her a single question. She’s argued against some of my choices, so I’ve learned plenty of things about her, but I haven’tasked.
Isn’t that what she was complaining about to the caterer when she was talking about her date? That he didn’t ask her anything about herself?
Idiot, thy name is Fischer.I still don’t have plans for this to become anything more than a workplace friendship, but Micah deserves to feel valued and important, and she’s clearly not getting that here at her job.
I clear my throat, pulling my hands away but staying close. “Would you rather go for a walk or sit in the stairwell?” I ask. It’s not a clever question by any means, but I want to get her away from this place that, at the moment, seems to be sucking the life out of her. Sure, we could show up at Jean-Marc’s, but I have a feeling Grant doesn’t want me there this morning any more than Lila wants Micah. He would have had to set this up on his own, and he hasn’t done that since I started working for him.
Though she frowns at me, obviously confused by the question, Micah seems to consider the options seriously. “I like walks,” she says. “The stairwell is for singing.”
“You sing?” I don’t mean to sound as shocked as I do, and I wince.
She swats my shoulder. “Okay, Mr. Skeptical. Now you’ll never get to hear me sing.”
I hope I do.“Come on, let’s take that walk while we wait for them to come back.”
“What if they come back while we’re gone? I don’t want to get in trouble.”
I stand and hold out my hand. “You can blame it on me.” I’m good at taking the blame, apparently. The difference is this time I would do it willingly. “I think you need the sunshine to recharge.”
There’s that smile that is uniquely hers. She takes my hand, sending an electric shock through me, and hops up. “And you need sunshine in general,” she says with a smirk. “I don’t know how you can live in Sun City but be so pale!”
“That’s what happens when you work from sunup to sundown.” I try to say it casually, like it’s a completely normal, healthy way to live, but the last few days have made it harder and harder to find the motivation to keep working late. Knowing Micah is waiting for me with questions has been pushing me to send Grant home at five so I can be out of the office before seven.
I think Kale is more convinced than ever that I’ve been possessed by someone else, to the point where he has been avoiding me any time I come home before he’s left for work. While I’m still wary of him in general, I appreciate him giving me privacy.
Micah waits until we’re in the elevator before she says anything, and her hand grows tight around mine as if she thinks I might try to run away. Where would I go? We’re now trapped in a metal box full of the scent of her perfume. I can neither run, nor would I want to.
“Why do you work so much?” she asks gently. “I know you guys are finishing up the remodel of the lodge, but I get the feeling you’re like this whether you’re on a deadline or not.”
I clench my jaw when the elevator jerks, and I shut my eyes so I can’t see our warped reflections. I want to answer her question truthfully, but I also want to do it quickly. “I’ve always had high standards. For myself and from others.”
“Like Grant? Does he really expect you to work twelve-hour days?”
