Page 93 of Mr. Big Shot

This earns me a frown. “You okay? Do you have a fever?” She’s about to step forward and press the back of her hand to my forehead, but I freak out and step back. She takes the hint. “Right, well, if you need anything, let me know.”

The next day, I’m walking down the hall from the conference room, and Scarlett is walking toward me in the other direction. I break out in a sweat. I blow out air. I stop walking, just plain freeze, and then she notices me, so I narrow my eyes down on an arbitrary spot on the paper I’m holding, acting as if it’s really important for me to review it right this moment.

When she gets closer, I look up.

“Scarlett, hey.”

She was walking with Bethany, talking about something, probably work-related and important. She nods to let Bethany know she’ll catch her in a bit, then she stops and turns to me expectantly.

Right. I was meant to have something to say to her other than “Scarlett, hey.”

There’s a little smile on her lips she’s battling to suppress. She likes this.

“Are you uhh…you going to the wedding next weekend?” I try to make it sound cool, like I’m indifferent about her answer, a high schooler asking about the party after the Friday night football game. Yeah, whatever, I might stop by. Like if I have nothing better to do.

“My brother’s wedding?” Scarlett asks, sounding like it’s the dumbest question she’s ever heard.

I blush for the first time in my entire life. I’ll have to nab the security camera footage from this hallway and light it on fire in a trash can to destroy all the evidence.

“No. Thought I’d skip it,” she adds with playful sarcasm.

I scratch the back of my neck, unable to fumble for a funny or witty or—let’s not kid ourselves, at this point I’d even take a semi-articulate—response.

“You’re a bridesmaid?” is the question I land on.

“One of about twelve.” Her eyes widen with the statement. “There are a lot of us.”

“The girls that were with you down in Miami?”

She half-laughs, half-blanches. “Afraid so.”

“That’s great. Yeah, I’ll be there too,” I say stiffly.

WRAP IT UP! my brain screams. This is horrible! You’re acting like a robot!

“With a date?” she asks.

I stutter a response. “N-no. Wait.” I step back. “Are you bringing a date?”

She shrugs and glances down the hall, cooler than cool. “I mean, I’m not opposed to the idea.”

“Right. Yeah, whatever. Same.” Then I do a jerky step forward, nod, and say, “Anyway, bye.”

I storm straight for my office. Lucy perks up when I pass in front of her desk.

“How’s it going?” Lucy asks.

“Terribly.”

“It’ll get better!” she promises, just before I slam my door, rattling it on its hinges.

This has reached emergency status. DEFCON 1. I can’t be around Scarlett, not until I feel like I’m on top of things again. I’ve totally lost myself. Yesterday, I paid for a junior associate’s lunch when he realized he forgot his wallet at his desk. Today, I held the elevator for someone. Willingly! A little while ago, a partner from our corporate litigation department called to ask me a question, and I asked how his day was going. If this keeps up, people are going to start liking me.

I can’t imagine a worse fate.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Scarlett

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