Page 27 of Rewrite the Rules

Mani:I’m looking at him right now. His tongue is down some blonde’s throat.

Quinn:Adler Haley! You better have taken an Uber!Txt the second you’re home.

I’m about fifteen minutes into my frigid walk home and my even frostier introspection on whatever is broken inside of me, when I realize I’ve lost my keys. I fish in my purse to respond to Quinn’s incessant text messages about my exact location and don’t hear the familiar jingle.Shit!

Luckily, I have my work badge and the Marquis Business Tower is only a few blocks away. I make a quick detour to grab the spare key to my apartment that I cleverly keep at work. No one greets me when I arrive at the ground-level revolving doors. The building night security guard is sleeping in his chair by the elevators. I’m not expecting presidential-level security, but still it’d be nice if the man who carries the taser was awake in case of an emergency. I badge in to unlock the after-hours access to the elevator and ascend to the thirty-third floor.

When I arrive at suite 3301, I find the main door ajar. Light shines through the bottom crack of the door of the office at the very end of the hallway.

What the hell is he doing here?Unfortunately, I’m going to have to find out. The spare key to my apartment is taped to the back of the top drawer of my old desk, aka Joel’s current desk of occupancy.

I head down the short hallway and pause at the door. I raise my hand to knock and brace myself for another painful impact.

ten

Joel

My eyes bounce between my dual monitors. On one screen, I study a plummeting growth chart. The downward arrow is at a steep decline pulling my mood down with it. The other screen displays Steve’s unwelcome email.

From:Steve McDonough

Subject Line:Aloha

Lewis,

Aloha from Hawaii.

Numbers from your portfolio are on point. Sorry I doubted you for even a second. Everything is on the rise except Rychess Media. That startup has had plenty of time to perform. It’s time to bottom out and cut funding.

Let me know if you need an assist with that conversation. I’ve no problem bringing down the hammer.

Alice says Mahalo for letting me take a break.

Stephen McDonough

Managing Partner, Aura Ventures

303-555-2039

[email protected]

I’ve worked with Rychess since their business birth, eight years ago. I sit on the board. I’ve nurtured that company throughout the entirety of its incubation. It’s not as cut and dry as Steve thinks it is. And no one tells me what to do with my portfolio. I debate between ‘up yours’ or ‘mind your damn business’ as a response to his email when I hear a soft knock on the door that makes me jump in my chair.

“Yes?” I call out through the closed door. Since when does maintenance come by this late?

The knob turns slowly and Adler’s head pokes through the small crack in the doorway. “Hey, I saw your light on.”

A whisper of her sweet perfume sneaks toward me. My heart pounds with excitement. My wide smile gives away my glee at the most pleasant surprise I could’ve begged the universe for.

I remind myself to behave. The thoughts I have about Adler must stay in my own head. If not for HR’s sake, then at least hers. No one can know how much time at the office I waste daydreaming about her. I should fire myself for piss-poor productivity.

I watched her eat an apple for about fifteen minutes the other day like an absolute psycho. I am aware of how creepy I must’ve looked just watching her eat lunch, but I was hypnotized. She bit off small chunks absentmindedly while she pecked at her keyboard, oblivious to how salaciously alluring she looked. She’d bite into the apple and hold it delicately between her teeth when she needed both hands to type. I never thought I’d envy a piece of fruit.

I’m so happy to see her I almost forgot how much she still hates me. “Come in. What’s up? Are you okay?”

She pushes open the door all the way and I resist the urge to roll my eyes when I see her. Someone up there is enjoying a really sick joke. Her skintight dress and her thigh-high boots hug her perfect body tightly, leaving no curve to the imagination. Her long chocolate-colored hair spills down her shoulders. She’s a ten, a complete knockout—straight out of my dreams or more accurately my nightmares. It’s the horror of wanting so damn badly what I can’t have.

“I was on my way home and lost my keys. Unless you moved it, my spare is still in the top drawer.” She points to the left side of my desk.

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