Page 24 of The Boardroom: Jonathan
Chapter 6
It had been two days.
The power, thank god, was restored sometime in the early hours of the morning, so we were able to put together the materials for the report and send them to our investors on time. The morning after had been fairly pleasant, and even with the sun up and the power back, it still seemed like we were living in a different universe.
The two days that followed our all-nighter were strange and exciting. Samantha and I waited for the snow to get cleared and found different ways to occupy our time. Netflix marathon, sex, a game of paper football, sex, an old twister board we found in the back room that led to (you guessed it) more sex. We continued sleeping on the pull-out bed and sustained ourselves with food that was left in the breakroom. We went through Sabryna’s leftover pad Thai and Cassidy’s stash of protein bars. It wasn’t that bad. It was a bizarre, emotional whirlwind of a two-day slumber party, and every minute I spent with Samantha managed to in some way surprise me.
We had emailed our employees some assignments to work on while it was still unsafe to travel to the office. After waking up next to Samantha for the second time, we looked outside to see the roads had been salted and cars were beginning to cautiously venture out into the street. It was time to go home, and we could feel it.
“So,” Samantha said, as we cleaned up the mess we had made from our two days of camping out. “I think I’m going to call a cab.”
“Me too,” I said. “Samantha?”
“Yeah?” she asked.
“What now?”
Samantha and I looked at each other, frozen in the moment. There are some loves that only work in worlds like our snow-covered office, landscapes where only the two of you exist with no interference from the outside world. What if what Samantha and I had was one of them?
“I don’t know, Johnathan,” Samantha said, looking down at her briefcase sadly. “Maybe this was a mistake. I mean, I don’t know if I could ever feel right about dating you if you made a decision that hurt my employees…you get that, right?”
I nodded. “And I hope you know that I’m not changing my mind just because we slept together.” The formalized tone I presented when I said the words left me with an ache of guilt in my chest.
“Of course not,” Samantha said.
“Samantha, I…” I started, swallowing my pride. “I really, really, like you, and I know it took longer than maybe you would like, and that it’s complicated, but I would really like to—”
“I don’t know, Johnathan,” Samantha said matter-of-factly, and I felt my heart sink. “I have to think things over.”
“I understand,” I said, as I pushed the pull-out bed back into a sofa. “So, I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days? For the next meeting?”
“Yeah,” Samantha said, and gave me a smile that didn’t glow nearly as bright as the ones I had seen from her before. She kissed me on the cheek and went downstairs to wait for her taxi. “See you soon, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound upset as she walked out.
I watched Samantha walk out to meet her taxi from the office window. The pristine glow of the freshly fallen snow had faded, replaced with a mess of grayish slush and salt. The magic world where Samantha and I had finally reconciled our differences had melted with the snow, and I was afraid it would never return.
***
FIVE DAYS LATER
I decided to take my lunch break at Melodie’s Café, a tiny restaurant nestled in the space next to our towering office building. Melodie’s existed in a strange place…it was a mom and pop that had been there since the 1940s, but they loved trying out the kinds of strange and trendy foods the young people of Seattle craved. It was the only place in town where you could order a sushi burrito and a cronut while eating next to a jukebox that had been in the same place for half a century.
I usually avoided Melodie’s at peak times because of the crowds, but because of the stress of the previous week, I had been nursing an awful craving for one of their bacon-avocado burgers that couldn’t be put off any longer. I opened the door and walked in as the bell on the door echoed across the entryway. Sure enough, the place was packed, filled with families and groups of work friends trying to squeeze in a quick bite before going back to the grind. I scanned the room for a seat, thinking I might be out of luck until I saw a seat open at the lunch counter.
I walked over and took a seat, grabbing one of the menus so I could scan its neon-printed, greasy-fingerprinted glory.
“What can I get for you sir?” a cute waitress with a pixie cut asked, smiling as she scanned me up and down.
“A coke and the bacon-avocado burger and um…a side a cheese fries would be great too.”
“Coming right up,” she said, smiling down at the name engraved on my briefcase. “…Mr. Torver.”
“Thanks,” I said, and amused myself by scrolling through old texts on my phone.
“Torver!” said a deep, yet withered voice to my right. “You’re not Johnathan Torver, are you? Of the Torver Group?”
“Yes,” I said, shaking the man’s hand. “And you are?”
