Page 44 of Things I Overshared
Oh! I said shit balls mother out loud.
And my mouth is still making an F sound.
“No, uh, I didn’t see anything!” I blurt like a moron, standing there, seeing everything. “I mean, okay, yes, I, um, see everything, but it’s not like you’re naked and you’re the one in the common area. This, this is the common area.” My arm starts gesticulating without my consent. “You’re the one out here glistening shirtless and like how? Why? How? Personal trainer. Has to be. For eight hours a day or something. How do you ever get any work done, Emerson? How? And you know what, I just gotta say, damn it, well done, Miranda.” My hands are now clapping of their own volition. I’m clapping. His eyebrows raise. “Yeah, I said it—go, Miranda. I’m woman enough to admit it. That freaking beanpole model girlfriend of yours is one lucky little bitch.”
He throws his head back and laughs.
Emerson Clark laughs. Hard.
And the jolt of it, well, somewhere a zip code with a broken transformer box just got their power restored, I am sure of it. His torso shakes with the throaty sound. His eyes crinkle. His sweaty hair falls back from his face. It is entirely, utterly too much.
“Now you’re laughing?! Are you kidding me? With the teeth!? Get out, go, get out of here. Go to your room.” I hold up my hand to block my view of him. “Seriously, get your water and get out ofthe common area!”
I realize I sound hysterical. I also realize that it has been a long time since I’ve been around a man, or on a date, or seen a man shirtless. Months. This is not a crush forming on the Ice King. This is the by-product of loneliness, shame, dashed dreams, broken expectations, everything the last few months have been. This is just a stage of grief—that’s got to be what this is.
After he leaves, I get my coffee and a banana and go back to my room to get ready. I will not be coming back out into the common area until the absolute last second before we depart. I will also strive to stop calling it “the common area” like a nervous tick.
I finally build my courage to face him again, popping out of my door, just as, I’m positive, he was about to call out that it was time to go. He’s there in a three-piece navy suit, which is now a whole separate thing, because I know what’s underneath that sucker. I can feel my face flushing as I look up at him, but he’s not looking my way.
It’s not until we’re next to one another in the elevator, his eyes straight ahead, that I even register he’s wearing a pink tie. A pink tie? What the actual hell? I am dying to comment, to demand to know who bought these new ties and when. Come to think of it, yesterday’s tie was a deep purple. So dark I didn’t think of it, but his tie was purple. There is no way he had these ties before this trip. Is he mocking me? Trying to match me? Trying to meet me in the middle?
I think these questions and one million more, but I keep my mouth shut. He is his normal chilly self, as if this morning’s world-changing laugh never happened. He doesn’t engage with me or Charlie, doesn’t make eye contact. I am relieved but also annoyed. I thought a bit of nudity, and my utter ridiculousness in response to said nudity, was just what we needed to find the beginnings of a real friendship. I guess I was wrong.
I shake off my thoughts when we get close to the Sainsbury’s corporate office. Sainsbury’s is like Walmart back home, which means huge orders from us each year. We’re meeting with Julie Nymes, their cards and party buyer. As the car slows, I say my mantra to myself under my breath.
“Hmm?” Emerson turns to me, suddenly noticing he is not alone in the vehicle.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Let’s do this.”
I wonder if Emerson is nervous at all. This is the biggest meeting I’ve ever been to in my life, by far, but it’s really his show. I can talk small numbers and product specifics, but today, he and Julie will talk huge orders, margins, and projections. I will take notes and try to keep up.
After pleasantries are exchanged and beverages are poured, Julie jumps right in. It’s then that I see Emerson Clark’s bedside manner in all its glory. Adam told me to get him talking about numbers—now I see why.
First, he listens, and not absently or even actively. He listens deeply. As if he’s trying to hear words behind words, meanings underneath meanings. Julie has explained something she noticed with sales of our products last quarter, and I can see Emerson’s mind working for a beat before he responds.
“Brilliant, yes, I agree, that’s exactly what these number show,” he says with . . . enthusiasm. I’m shook. Julie gives a small grin, happy to be on Team Genius. Emerson wakes up his iPad. “Now, look what next year will look like if we exchange the quantity of these two orders and increase this margin here by just three percent.”
“Wait, three percent? That’s it?” Julie sits back.
Emerson grins, and I am pretty sure I blush at the sight. “Just three, yes.”
Julie is smiling and shaking her head. “That’s negligible. No one will balk at that.”
“Precisely.” Emerson pulls up a new spreadsheet. “We can do that in a few places in your last order, again negligible, and change things dramatically. Here, let’s see what you think about this one.” He turns his body toward Julie with his iPad.
Julie is lighting up like a Christmas tree before my very eyes, and I get it. While he is the clear genius, and could’ve come in with rigid step-by-step instructions, he has already complimented her, let her figure out his methods, and asked for her to weigh in. He could almost be a teacher. Except for the whole people-in-a-classroom part. But now my mind is picturing him in an elbow-patch sweater at the desk of my hot history teacher Mr. Brandt, and I’m blushing again.
I get back to writing my notes, which I have completely forgotten about while watching the Emerson Show the last ten minutes. I can feel my heart racing and my temperature climbing. This is not good. I cannot crush on the Clarksicle! I cannot! I writenoon the top of my notes, underline it, and circle it fifteen times for good measure.
Just get through this meeting, and it’s my turn to do the wowing! Focus!
Chapter 13
After the meeting at the Sainsbury offices, it’s time for the fun part of our day. We climb into a limo together and head to our lunch destination. Julie’s personal Instagram is littered with plant porn like a bona fide hashtag plant lady. So we’re headed to the amazing Sky Garden, an indoor sanctuary at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city.
“Have you been to Sky Garden before?” I ask Julie on our way.
“Yes, once when it first opened—2015, I think it was?”
