Page 9 of Latte Girl
His chair starts wheeling closer. Another inch and he’ll collide with my shin. I have to do something before thathappens.
I start shifting around, getting ready to crawl out and announce myself before he can bump into me. His chair pauses on its way towards me and I hear him mutter “What the fu—” before my brain decides that yelling something idiotic at the top of my lungs is the best way to fix thissituation.
“I SWEAR I’M NOT ASTALKER.”
“uuUUUUCK?” The end of his exclamation cascades upwards through several octaves ofalarm.
I manage to get my head out from under the desk, and find myself face to face with hiscrotch.
Interesting development,notes my very unhelpfulbrain.
I move my eyes from his crotch to hishorrifiedface.
“I’m— I’m not. A stalker, that is. I wasn’t hiding. I mean, I was just— wait. Let me get out of herefirst.”
Wondering how I managed to get under the desk so quickly in the first place, I try to contort myself enough to escape. I scoot out with my legs still bent up to my earlobes and then try to haul myself to my feet by grabbing the top edge ofthedesk.
This, of course, overbalances me and I reach out for the only thing I can find to keep me from falling, which just so happens to be the armrests of Jordan’s chair. I catch my balance with my arms braced on either side of him, our faces inchesapart.
A soft “Unph” sound escapesmylips.
Heblinks.
“Hey,” hefinallysays.
“Hi,” I reply, my voicebreathy.
Whatever temporary trance we’re in breaks, and I practically jump away from him and move to the far side ofthedesk.
“Is that my briefcase?” he asks, sounding more amused thanangry.
I look down at the briefcase still clutched in one of my handsandnod.
“Yes. Yes it is. I found it, in the boardroom. They told me to bring it here. So I did. Then, uh, the files, they slipped...open, so I just happened to see— But then you came in! And I sort of panicked. I don’t know why, and then I thought you might leave but you didn’t and, well, hereweare.”
I gingerly place the briefcase on the deskbetweenus.
When I look back at him he’s smiling. He has a slightly crooked smile, one end of his mouth rising up just a bit higher than the other so that it comes off as more of a smirk. He runs his thumb along his jaw and I know if I open my mouth right now there’s no way I won’t startdrooling.
“Thanks,” he says. “It’s not every day your missing briefcase gets personally delivered bytheCEO.”
I can feel myself starting to smile. “I didn’t know janitors got such fancy officesaroundhere.”
He leans forward to place his elbows on the desk. “I’m sure there’s lots about the secret life of a janitor that wouldsurpriseyou.”
This is possibly the most ridiculous attempt at flirting I’ve ever been involved in, but I tell myself that the fact things have gone from me hiding under his desk to any kind of flirting at all has to be a meaningfulaccomplishment.
I arch my eyebrows in an attempt at coquettishness. “Likewhat?”
He’s about to answer, when there’s a knock at the door and in strides no other than Cold Cuts. He looks from Jordan to me and back, and then gives Jordan a veryunsubtlewink.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh.” He stretches the syllable out for so long I wonder if he realizes he’s speaking out loud. “Ah, Jordan, my boy, I’ll come back later. Hello again, MissBarrrrista.”
Jordan stands up. “No, Ludo, it’s fine. She was just dropping off mybriefcase.”
Cold Cuts, or Ludo, looks back and forth between us again and his mouth curls intoagrin.
“So that’s what the kids are calling itthesedays.”
