Page 63 of Friend Zoned

“Quintin,” he says, barely looking her way. He doesn’t bother to take her hand.

“Quintin? I could have sworn it was D.B. You definitely look like a D.B.” He ignores her and looks at me. He opens his mouth several times, but no words come out. Layla moves closer. In all the years I was with Quintin, he never displayed any kind of jealousy. I thought it was because he felt secure in our relationship, but now I wonder if it’s because he assumed that no one else would be interested in me.

“Can you get the hell out of my office now?” I ask. “And out of my life, while you’re at it.” I give him my back and pretend to arrange the bouquet on the windowsill.

“I’m here because I have business here.” His voice is hard now.

“Well, go deal with Eve. She’s in charge of that,” I say back, my voice just as hard.

“She’s not here, so I’m speaking to you. Aren’t you the manager?”

“Well, now you look like a Karen,” Layla says, barely holding her laughter.

“What do you want, Quintin? What can I do for you?” I face him and put both hands on my desk.

“The customer service here is not what I expect for such a high-end place.” I rub my temple and count to ten. Then I pick up my phone and dial Eve’s extension. She picks up.

“Eve, Mr. Gardner is here and has some concerns. Are you available to speak with him? Please throw in a complimentary dessert for his little party.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says. “Send him in.”

“Eve is back from lunch and is available,” I say. “Layla, can you please escort Mr. Gardner to her office?” And get him the hell out of my face. Quintin looks into my eyes, and I hold his stare until he turns and faces the door. He bumps into the cart on his way out, and one of the vases falls to the floor and shatters.

“My apologies,” he says. He looks back at me, but from the coldness of his eyes, I know he’s not sorry. It was intentional.

“No problem. He’ll get me more.” He yanks the door open and storms out without another word. I pick up the roses, pick up the broken glass and wipe the water from the floor. Just as I finish, Layla comes back into my office, holding her stomach with one hand and carrying an empty vase with another. She puts the vase on my desk and plops herself on the chair. She laughs for a full two minutes.

“This confirms it. God exists. Since I found out about you and New York City’s favorite coach, I’ve been praying to a higher power to be around when the douchebag found out. Did you see his face? And he doesn’t even know who yet. You should have seen him stomp down to Eve’s office. And the way he slammed her door. I’m going to be like a kid at Christmas when he finds out who your man is, because lady, there’s no way he can compete.”

While I rearrange the flowers in the new vase, I say, “I can’t wait for this shower to be over so he can stop showing up here.” The visits have always been mildly annoying, but now they’re beginning to make me angry.

“He’ll find another reason. Maybe he’ll propose and have his wedding here.”

I groan at the thought. “Back to work,” I order.

She stands, laughs some more, and walks out of my office. As soon as she’s gone, my office phone rings. I expect it to be Eve with her own tirade about Quintin, but it’s not her.

“Hey, babe,” I say. I do my best to sound happy and upbeat, but Quintin’s presence here has left me a little unnerved. “I thought you were in a meeting.”

“We’re taking a quick break, and I wanted to hear your voice.” All anxiety leaves me.

“I’m glad you called. A very handsome football coach sent me half a dozen bouquets of roses.”

“Just wait until you get home,” he says. “Those are your office roses. Leave them there.”

“Thank you. I can’t wait to see you tonight. Happy Valentine’s Day.” I don’t remember the last time I celebrated this day. Quintin never cared for it. He calls it a commercial holiday created to make Hallmark rich.

“Neither can I. I miss you.” I bite my bottom lip. There’s a knock on my door, and I hold my breath, expecting to see Quintin, but it’s Layla with some mail that was delivered.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. She leaves the box on my desk and walks out.

“What makes you think anything’s wrong? I’m just nervous about giving you your present since you went above and beyond.”

“Try again,” he says. “Quintin?”

“He was here on the pretext of looking for Eve, but I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to be with you.”

“Me too, baby. Me too. I’m counting the hours.”

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