Page 43 of The One I Need
“Fine,” she says, though I think she’s already half asleep. “Night, Oliver.”
“Good night, Izzy.”
Chapter14
Izzy
Oliver: How was your day?
I read the text message,and shockingly, it doesn’t make me want to roll my eyes. If this were a few weeks ago, and it were any other guy, my immediate response would have been an eye roll. Granted, there have only been a few occasions where I would have given a man my number for these cheesy texts to even happen. But when they did, I would usually see it, let out a groan, delete the text, and then block the sender. Yes, I know I should have at least told the texter goodbye. But who has the time?
For some reason, though, when Oliver sends them to me, like he has every day since I told him that this was only ever going to be friendship, I’m not as annoyed. Maybe because our boundaries are clearly set. Maybe because I now know he’s a truly nice guy. Maybe because as the days go by, this man is starting to really get to know me.
Izzy: Still going…
Oliver: Didn’t you get to the office at like six today?
Izzy: Yes, stupid London meetings. I dread those days. I think Hazel does them to me on purpose.
Oliver: I’m sure she has a good reason.
Izzy: Yes. To torture me.
Oliver: Well, put the computer away. Go home. There’s going to be a food delivery for you in approximately thirty minutes, and I’d hate for it to get cold.
This man…either he’s the most stubborn and persistent man on the planet, or he’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for.
Izzy: You know you don’t have to send me food.
Oliver: Would you have remembered to eat if I didn’t?
Izzy: Maybe. I might have eaten some popcorn?
Oliver: Is there anything else you have to get done tonight?
I think about what I was going to do if I stayed here for another hour. I mean, I’m trying to get ahead for the Vegas trip. At first, I thought the whole department was going to crumble because Jules was coming with me. But things came up and she can’t get away. That helps slightly, but I really do need to get things prepared.
Then again, Oliver’s right, there’s nothing that is so pressing that it will make me push on to a thirteen-hour day.
Izzy: Fine, boss. I’ll go home.
Oliver: I got you that manicotti from the Italian place we went to last week. Hope that’s okay?
I smile, because pasta and sauce and a good glass of wine sounds absolutely perfect.
Izzy: It’s more than okay.
Oliver: Good. Text or call me later. I’ll be up.
I smile as I power down my phone, computer, and gather my things to leave the office. I’m the last one here, so it’s eerily quiet as I take the elevator down to the ground floor and head to my car. I planned on driving home in silence, but my Bluetooth had a different idea.
For fuck’s sake Oliver…
The first song that plays is some cheesy pop hit from the late nineties. I tried to tell him that I thought the song was stupid. So of course, when we went to the farmers’ market again last week, he had it queued to play in his car. He called my bluff when I knew all the words. Though I didn’t realize apparently he put it on one of my playlists without me knowing.
I laugh as I start up the car and make the short drive home. Everything about this man should annoy me. He’s perky. He’s a jokester. He’s almost too sweet.
But the more we hang out, the more he’s embedding himself into my life.
