Page 22 of The Cyrano Situation
Just realized I've been talking about myself too much. Tell me more about you, Cyril. What makes you tick?
I stared at the message, feeling a strange hollowness in my chest. What made me tick? Routine. Order. Predictability.
And lately, text messages from Jules... and coffee from Hart.
I looked at the cold cup on my desk, then back at my phone, suddenly uncertain about everything.
Slowly, I typed:
I'm still figuring that out, to be honest.
And for once, I didn't analyze my response at all.
Chapter Seven - Caught Feelings
Hart
Iwasn'tsulking.Iwantthat on the record.
I was simply engaging in extended periods of quiet contemplation at my desk while scowling at my computer screen. Completely different.
"Hart, did you hear me?"
I blinked, looking up to find Priya standing in my office doorway, arms crossed. Based on her expression, this wasn't her first attempt to get my attention.
"Sorry. Busy morning." I gestured vaguely at my screen, which displayed the same email I'd been staring at for twenty minutes without absorbing a single word.
"I said, are you coming to the publicity meeting? It started three minutes ago."
"Shit." I grabbed my tablet and followed her down the hallway. "Who schedules a meeting at 9:30 on a Monday? It's uncivilized."
"You did, Hart. You scheduled it."
"Past Hart was clearly an optimistic idiot who believed in morning productivity."
Priya shot me a sideways glance. "You've been awfully grumpy the last week or so. Is this about the Cyril situation?"
"There is no 'Cyril situation.'" I quickened my pace, hoping to end this line of questioning.
"You've been weird ever since you started playing digital Cupid."
"I have not. I've been busy," I corrected her. "The Anderson book launch is in two weeks, and the author is threatening to wear his lucky sweater vest for the photos, which would be a disaster of argyle proportions."
We reached the conference room before Priya could interrogate me further. I slid into my chair at the head of the table and launched into the agenda without preamble, effectively shutting down any further personal inquiries.
The meeting dragged on for an hour, during which I managed to maintain a veneer of professionalism while my mind wandered repeatedly to the text notification I'd heard from Cyril's phone as we passed in the break room earlier. The way his face had lit up told me exactly who the message was from.
I'd created a monster. A happy, confident monster who apparently no longer needed my help crafting witty literary banter.
Back in my office, I pulled up the marketing plan for our fall romance line and tried to focus. Instead, I found myself opening the dating app on my phone. I purposely hadn't checked it in days—not since Cyril had proudly informed me he was "finding his own voice" with Jules.
I scrolled through the messages between them. Cyril had indeed been holding his own, though I noticed he still borrowed some of my phrasings and humor style. But there was somethingelse there now, something authentically Cyril, earnest and enthusiastic where I would have been dry and sardonic.
And Jules was eating it up.
I tossed my phone onto my desk and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Why did their happiness make me feel like I'd swallowed a cactus? I should be pleased with myself. Mission accomplished. Good job, Hart. Another successful PR campaign! Except the product was my coworker's love life and it somehow didn't feel anything like success.
My intercom buzzed.
