Page 28 of Desserts for Stressed People

“No,” I say, and I sound out of breath, because I am. “I’m...I—” I try to make my voice sound more stable. “I’m the project manager for the Devòn event.”

“Oh. Right,” he says, grabbing the folder.

Speechless, I stare at him as my heart throbs and my legs shake. I can’t stop blinking, and it might be because I’m about to cry, though it seems unlikely since I never cry at work. But he forgot me, and there’s a ball of fire pressing on my chest. Am I that irrelevant? That...unimpressive?

“They look good,” he says after barely throwing a look at the two cream-colored cards. “I’ll get them to the clients.” When I remain still, he faces me. “You can go.”

Here we go again—I can feel the words spilling out. Though I can’t exactly get mad at my boss for not remembering me, I can’t walk away either. He’ssorude. “We’ve met, you know.”

He draws in a deep breath. “Yes. I know.”

“Did you forget what I look like?”

His back rests on the chair, his fingers linking over his stomach. “I didn’t mean to offend you—err...”

I scoff. “Really? You forgot my name?”

“No, I remember. It’s...” As he purses his lips, I wish I could punch him. Not only is it extremely disrespectful that he’d forget my name, but it’s highly unlikely. No one ever has, which might be the single perk of being the only person in the world with it.

“Heaven,” I spit out.

He snaps his fingers, his head slowly rocking up and down. “Right. Heaven.”

I spin in anger and storm out the door as the word “sorry” hangs in the air. Even in that deep, warm voice of his, it takes zero of the sting away.

One thing is for sure. Never has a nickname ever been more deserved.

* * *

I entermy office and drop in the chair. New day, new never-ending list of to-dos. I haven’t seen Shane after yesterday’s blow-up, and I don’t exactly want to either.

Since I’ve started working here, he texted Nevaeh three times. The first message was a generic, “Doing anything fun tonight?” With the second, he proposed we could watchBack to the Futuretwo together. That one was difficult to pass on. The third one, even more so. “Tired of me already?”

God. I am not tired of him at all. I amexhaustedof office-him. But not chat-him. And it’s shitty that I disappeared right after he gave me the key to his favorite place, but there isn’t much I can do about it.

I turn my computer on and check my emails. Fifty-three. I almost want to hit my head against the glass wall, but I open the one from Shane.

From:Shane Hassholm ([email protected])

To:Heaven Wilson ([email protected])

Location must be set by the end of the week, Heaven.

Shane Hassholm

Events Director at IMP

Huh. He added my name. He never did that before. It’d be a horrible waste of time, which on this floor is a capital sin. Is he making an effort? If so, why?

I sigh and move onto the next email when I get a text.

Emma:

Met Mr. Asshole today, yet? He came to sales half an hour ago, and I almost walked into a wall.

Heaven:

No. But then again, if we did meet, he’d forget.

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