Page 32 of Is This for Real?
He smiles. “I can’t think of what that would be in Italian.”
“Yes, and someone might understand it. We need an unknowable code word.”
“Darling?”
I nod. I push out my chair so I’m facing him.
“Do we need any other code words?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to read up on it.”
“Okay, I don’t want my client’s wife, Myrtle, to sneak up on me from behind, like last time, so once you’ve met her, if you see her approaching, point your index finger in that direction. Either overtly or more subtly, depending on what seems appropriate.” He demonstrates by placing his hand against his cheek with the index finger pointing out.
“That’s not subtle,” I say.
“Subtlety is not what I am seeking here,” Rory says. “This is full-on defense.”
“What do you think her endgame is?”
Rory shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t want my client thinking I’m flirting with his wife.”
“We need our dating history down pat, like how we met and how we got together.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “We met in college when you were holding your own against all those drunk guys and I finally had an excuse to talk to you.”
So, he does remember. I was coming home late from the art studio when some drunk guys from a frat party spilled out onto the street in front of me, harassing me. I gave them what-for, and I was handling it, but then Rory appeared and said, “Hey Curls, sorry I missed you at the library. Can I walk you home?” The boys melted back.
I recognized him immediately from my dorm. He had this brown mop of hair, unshaven, square jaw, a ready smile, and the physique of a basketball player. And I had seen him at some of our dorm dance parties. When he and his roommates announced a party, people would start quietly lining up outside their dorm room hours before it even started. I’d never mustered the courage to approach him at one of his packed parties. Our eyes had met once when I’d been cheering him on at a basketball game, but I still didn’t think he knew who I was. And as much as I’d fantasized about our midnight walk blossoming into a romance that night, I also knew, deep down, that I wasn’t in any emotional shape for a new relationship. I was mired in grief for the loss of my parents, and my free time was spent sleeping. My main memory from that time is my single bed in my darkened dorm room, the afternoon light peeking through closed curtains—interrupted by Zelda making me get up and go out socially.
“And then how did we start dating? But let’s not say I was crying over an agent rejection.” My agent rejection sob story is a little too close to reality.
“A few weeks ago, I was walking you home after dinner and a movie out. When we got to your door, I just went for it and asked you if I could kiss you.”
Our glances meet—and hold. My heart melts just a little bit. Rory’s warm, blue-green eyes slayed many a woman in college. I cross my legs. It sounds so simple.
He gives me that half-smile. “Just make sure you stick close tomorrow when Myrtle is around. Maybe we can hold hands or something.”
“But isn’t this a professional function? Won’t handholding be weird?”
“Handholding is not weird. It’s a celebratory party, so I think handholding is fine. Do we need to practice?” He holds my hand.
I pull my hand back. “I know how to hold hands.”
“But do you?” He gently takes my hand and laces his fingers with mine. With his thumb, he makes circles in my palm. My pulse quickens. Deliciously.
Our hands look good together. Like a partnership. A promise.
Chapter ten
Roryholdsmyhandas we walk into his office party celebrating the new ad accounts that he and Disha landed. He’s doing the commercial campaign for the eco-friendly Adventurer car, and she won an ad campaign for premium gas. The two teams are going to work together, so this party is kicking off their collaboration.
The murmur of music and conversation greets us. Fashionably dressed people are chatting in groups, tropical drinks in hand, all part of the adventure theme. I feel like I should have dressed up more. I’m wearing my blue dress again. New clothes are not in the budget.
The playlist is all songs referencing adventure or gas in the lyrics: “Gas, Gas, Gas,” “Life’s a Gas,” “Adventure,” “Keep Your Eyes Open,” and “Drive All Night.” They’re still working on licensing the actual music for the ads. I’ve been to Rory’s office before, but never for this type of party or in this spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows giving views of the Hudson River. The lights of New Jersey glint in the distance. One bar is in the middle of the room, and another bar is against the north wall. Against the east side wall is an elaborate food spread, including iced shrimp and a charcuterie board.
Rory points out the actual physical storyboards for the campaigns on easels in the east corner of the room, the slogans above them on banners hanging from the ceiling.
Rory and I spent one Sunday afternoon in his apartment after a brunch trying to think of ad slogans for this campaign pitch. We put up all sorts of different combinations on his whiteboard: Go on an adventure, be good, hit the road, roll down the windows, seize the day, joie de vivre, all in, live your life, broaden your horizons, grow your world, road less traveled, make lifetime memories. Anything we could think of that was related to cars, travel, adventures, and being good for the environment. The process was similar to the way we brainstormed the title forMidnight Masquerade.
