Page 5 of Faker
“You think I should thank you for being a jerk to Brett? You’re hilarious.” I stay standing and turn to face him.
“It seemed like you could use some help getting rid of him.”
I squeeze my hands into fists at his patronizing tone, then march to his doorway. “News flash: I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.”
“Really? Is that what you were doing down there? Sack up and report Brett to management. He’d get the message real quick then.”
“There’s more than one way to send a message.”
Tate has a point, but how ridiculous would I sound making a complaint about Brett’s hard-to-define creepiness? He doesn’t say anything that’s outright inappropriate and keeps his hands to himself. His off-putting vibe exists in subtleties: standing too close, the way he says certain words. It would be easy for him to say I was taking it the wrong way. Then I would look like the overly sensitive female who can’t handle working with men.
“Whatever message you think you’re sending? It’s failing.” Tate frowns at me, and it’s pure condescension.
“I’m not a damsel in distress. Back off.” I stomp to my desk.
When I glance up, he’s staring at me. There are a few seconds where I think he’s going to say something, but the hard look in his eyes fades. He turns to his computer instead, the sound of his fingers banging on his keyboard filling the room.
Pulling the camera from my desk drawer, I snap photos while I listen to another episode ofEat Bulaga!But even a wasabi-flavored-bun-eating contest set to dance music doesn’t ease the frustration coursing through me. I’m strong, I’m capable, and I don’t need Tate’s help to fend off anyone, not even creepy Brett.
two
The next morning kicks off with a mandatory company meeting. Some surprise announcement. I’m annoyed at first because the last time we had a surprise meeting, it was to scold us about tidying up the break room better. I’m not in the mood for a lecture, but it saves me from listening to Tate physically assault his keyboard for the rest of the morning, so I’m tepidly on board. He beats that thing like it owes him money.
I find a corner seat in the back. The AC kicks on from the ceiling vent above, blowing freezing air directly on me. I glance up and shiver, then slide over to the next chair. There’s a soft thud next to me before Tate’s blond curls bleed into my peripheral vision. I roll my eyes, but then there’s warmth. The fabric of our sleeves barely touches, but I can still feel the heat from his body skimming across my arm. He’s like a human radiator. The comfort is so unnerving, I have to lean away.
“Scooting away from me? Are we in preschool?” he says, scribbling on the yellow notepad he always carries. He’s a diligent notetaker in every meeting I’ve ever seen him in.
A faint evergreen scent hits, throwing me further off kilter.His cologne. My mind flashes to a lush green forest in the Pacific Northwest. The pleasant image it conjures makes me want to smile, but I bite it back. Why must someone so unpleasant smell so delicious?
Refocusing, I side-eye him cattily, zeroing in on his outfit of jeans, gray T-shirt, blue hoodie, and sneakers. “Nice outfit. Are you going for the billionaire douchebag look today?”
Normally, I’m not one to judge when it comes to dress code. My work wardrobe is a special form of armor selected specifically to deter stares in a workplace populated by dudes eager to gawk at anyone appearing remotely female. The jeans, V-neck shirts in muted colors, and assortment of cardigans I rotate every week are as dull as they are predictable. But if Tate’s in the mood to start a tiff, I’m willing to bite back.
“I guess it makes sense,” I say. “You work in social media.”
Several seconds of silence accompanied by a hard scowl prove I’ve rendered him speechless. I give myself a mental high five and wave at Kelsey from Accounting as she scans the room for a place to sit. It’s mostly full at this point, so I scoot over a chair and let her have the seat closest to Tate.
She slides her voluptuous body close to Tate’s chair, her head locked to the side as she stares at him. Even though she’s midforties, she never misses an opportunity to ogle the younger guys at Nuts & Bolts. A gruff sigh leaves Tate’s mouth, accompanied by an eye roll. Her shoulder-length sandy blond hair bounces as she slides out of her trance and back to the present. She flashes one more smirk at him, but he’s not even paying attention anymore.
Lynn, the Nuts & Bolts special projects manager, stands at the front of the room. “Good morning, everyone!” she says with an impossibly wide smile.
Her cheery and wholesome demeanor is out of place in thisestablishment, and that’s why I love her. Half of our workforce prefers to keep to themselves while the other half curses loudly with every other word. Lynn is short, adorably curvy with a bob haircut, and always wears dangly earrings. Today they’re gold feathers. She possesses a type of fun-mom energy that sets everyone at ease.
“Apologies for the impromptu meeting, but I have a bit of exciting news to share.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Nuts& Bolts has taken on a charity project. We’re partnering with the Midwest Family Homes Foundation to build a house for a family in need.”
A wide smile splits Lynn’s face while she claps excitedly. It takes a few seconds, but the rest of us eventually join in on the applause. I can’t help but grin too. This sounds like a worthy cause.
Lynn explains that Nuts & Bolts will be building a single-family detached home at the north end of the city.
“Employees aren’t required to participate in this homebuilding project, but we very much hope you’ll want to. No outside time will be required for you to take part. Those who choose to volunteer will be doing so Monday through Friday in shifts that fall within the eight-to-five workday. During the homebuilding days, you’ll essentially work half a day, then head to the site. Once five o’clock hits, you’re free to go home!”
Heads bob up and down across the room. I spot a few “not bad” faces. It seems this hard-to-please bunch is on board with doing a bit of volunteer work to get out of their normal workday duties.
She explains that a small group of employees with construction experience will direct the project while the rest of us will be assigned smaller-scale tasks.
Furious scribbling fills the space to the left of me. Tate’s abilityto make noise in a quiet room is surpassed by none at Nuts & Bolts.
The clipboard Lynn has passed around lands in the hands of one of the guys from Customer Support. He squints at the sign-up sheet. “We start building next week? Isn’t that when that heat wave is supposed to hit?”
