Page 23 of Latte Girl
Where’sWaldo?
Jordan
“Hello,Mr.Knox.”
The twenty-something secretary flicks a thick braid of black hair over her shoulder when she sees me walking up toherdesk.
Do we exclusively hire female secretaries?I think as I approach.What isthis,1950?
“Maria, I told you to call me Jordan. Mr. Knox is myfather.”
Maria laughs loudly, leaning forwards as she does so that I can see the cleavage straining the neck of her beige top. I don’t think the gesture is unintentional. A second secretary is dropping off some papers behind the desk. She glances between Maria and I, and I swear I see her lip curl indisgust.
It’s been a week since I decided to embrace chauvinism and everything has basically gonetoshit.
My intention was to keep the debauched comments within my finance team, but word travels fast around the Knox building, and it now feels like the entire company has pinned me down as a piggish playboy. The reactions I get can pretty much be divided into two categories: like Maria, some employees seem more interested in me than ever before, or like the second secretary who’s hurrying away as if an entire building isn’t enough distance to put between us, some think I should be thrown in a trashcompacter.
My team is working even better than before, but as their productivity increases, so do their testosterone-fueled tales of recent conquests— and yes, I have heard them use the term ‘recent conquest.’ I’ve tried to cool things down, but my reputation has advanced to the point where any attempts to do that are justlaughedaway.
On top of everything, Hailey seems to be around almost every day now. I missed an entire meeting because I knew she’d be catering. I feel like I’m pumping more and more air into a balloon that’s about to pop, bracing myself for the momentitdoes.
“So, Mr. Knox,” continues Maria, stopping to affect a giggle. “Oops, I mean, Jordan, are you going to the Flirtini Friday nightthisweek?”
Flirtini Friday is a monthly event held by the Knox Security social committee. Given the lifelessness of the company, it surprised me to find out we even had a social committee at all. I soon learned it’s mostly run by interns and the very small under-forty crowd here, looking for an excuse to drink away the monotony and, in the case of the finance department, find new ‘conquests.’
“I’m not sure, Maria. Still deciding,” I tell her, hoping to fend off any ‘Flirtini-ing’ she might tryrightnow.
“You know,” she whispers, leaning forwards even farther and running a finger along the neck of her shirt, “some people call itFuck-tiniFriday.”
“That’s very clever of them,” I reply, averting my eyes from the cleavage that is, admittedly, very distracting. “I just wanted to see if the clients Ludo and I are supposed to meet with havearrivedyet.”
“Oh,” she says coolly, hiking up her shirt. “Yes, they have. They’re in the suite 220 conference room withLudonow.”
I head off in that direction after saying thanks. All I get is an uninterested “Mhmm” in response. She’s been after me since the rumors first started going around, and I wonder if my attempts to turn her down have finally made a lasting bruise onherego.
God, I’m even starting to sound like an asshole in my ownthoughts.
I spend the rest of the day going in and out of meetings until five o’clock finally comes around. I pack up my briefcase and glance out the window to where 19thStreet is being pelted with a cold November rain. Well, either that or it’s the tears of a thousand financial sector employees mourning the years of their lives spent wasted in thisplace.
Getting out of the elevator in the lobby, I pull out my umbrella and am about to brave the storm when I see an apron-clad figure standing next to a coffee cart, staring out at the rain streaking the glass of the lobby’sbackexit.
I tell myself I’m imagining it, but there’s just something about her that seems out of place, something that never fails to draw my eye. Everyone who walks into this building fades into a grey as lifeless as the marble of the lobby walls, but Hailey is a Technicolor splash on the monochrome canvas. It’s like spotting Waldo’s striped shirt in a sea of anonymous trenchcoats
Except it’s an incredibly sexy woman version of Waldo, with a cart full ofmuffins.
I stop and wonder if she’s stranded without an umbrella. I try to force myself to review myreasons to stay away from her, but right now I can’t remember asingleone.
“Need one ofthese?”
She looks over her shoulder at me as I approach, holding up my umbrella. The shock of how gorgeous she is surges through me all over again, a jolt that’s like being hit with acaffeinehigh.
“Yes, actually,” she answers. “I’m kind ofstuck.”
“What was your plan?” I ask, opening up the door and undoing the strap on my umbrella. “Stand here until itstops?”
She takes hold of the cart and shrugs. “That, or work up the nerve to make a runforit.”
She pushes the cart outside and I walk besides her, holding the umbrella overusboth.
