Page 82 of Phishing for Love
Yes, my cards have attitude. Calvin, however, wants cards that feel like a suffocating group hug from aunties overly invested in your life.
To soothe my ego, I email my ideas to Sofia. I can hear her snort laughing all the way from my cubicle. At least someone gets my snarky brand of humor, which, I’m proud to say, I inherited from my grandmother.
My mind strays, as it sometimes does, to leaving Amell Greetings and starting my own greeting card company with Sofia and Kenzie. Between the three of us, marketing, writing, and design are covered. We’d make an awesome team, no doubt about it. But the idea, while exciting, feels too daunting and overwhelming to bear serious contemplation.
I let out a silent groan. Right now, Calvin’s extending me a lot of grace in light of the fact that, since his rebuke, I’ve been close to faultless on the security front. I’ve attended and stayed awake in all of Aaron’s training sessions. I’ve succeeded in flagging most of the mock phishing emails, even the cunning one impersonating the HR department, requiring employees to click on a link to update their personal details. The memory ofAaron’s quiet congratulations and eye-crinkling smile still sends a warm rush through me.
I have no choice now but to swallow my pride and write a series of banal hearts-and-flowers messages. Despite feeling the stir of a rebellion deep down in my soul, this is my job and I just need to get it done. I’m good with words, it’s only a couple of lines for each card, but it still takes me hours. At 6:30 p.m., I text Sofia to cancel our ladies’ evening tonight.
It’s nearly 8:00 p.m. by the time I’m finished. Feeling no great sense of satisfaction, I email the final pieces off to Enya, only expecting to hear from her tomorrow. The building is empty. Most of my colleagues are only too eager to head home when five o’clock hits.
I’m hungry and grumpy, and not in the best of moods. I check my phone. No messages from Nathan, who has his usual Wednesday night gaming evening with friends. I’m thankful he’s busy because I’m craving some alone time. The only companions I’ll tolerate tonight include a bubble bath, dark chocolate, and a good book.
I pack up my stuff, grab my purse, and make my way down the hallway. Given the late hour, I’m surprised to see a light on in Aaron’s office. It appears he’s also working late. It feels rude to simply leave without popping my head in to let him know I’m heading out. To be honest, it’s actually been pretty good between us this past week. Since our mutual decision to press reset on our professional relationship, our interactions have been easy and comfortable. I’m making an effort not to press his easily pressable buttons and he’s loosening up more around me.
Aaron is closing his laptop when I enter his office. He looks as weary as I feel.
“I’m done for the night,” I announce from the doorway. “Just wanted to say goodbye.”
Slipping his laptop into his laptop bag, he gets to his feet and rotates his shoulders. “You don’t usually work so late.”
I pull a face. “I was struggling to finish a few card assignments.”
“The words wouldn’t come?”
“Not when they involve pregnancy and babies, no.”
Laughter rolls out of him. “I wouldn’t have much to say about those topics either.” He circles around his desk and stops in front of me. “Don’t you have your ladies’ night on Wednesdays?”
“I had to cancel last minute so I could get these cards out.”
His tie is loosened, and the faint cedar scent of his aftershave drifts my way. “Walk you down?”
I nod. “Thanks.” It’s at that moment that my stomach growls. Not a classy, subdued growl. The noise sounds like a truck going past. Embarrassed, I place my hand on my stomach to quiet it.
A small smile touches his face. “Have you had anything to eat?”
I shake my head. “Just a sandwich for lunch. I was planning on grabbing a pizza on the way home.”
“A pizza?” He scratches his chin. “I can do better than that.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What beats pizza, other than tacos?”
“Thai.”
I frown. “There’s no Thai restaurant in Brown Oaks.”
Which is a source of great sadness to me. I love Thai food, and the only way I can eat it is to travel half an hour to the next town.
There’s a glint in Aaron’s eyes. “I have it on good authority there is currently a Thai food truck in Brown Oaks.”
“What?” My voice rises several octaves. “No way!”
“Yep. They’re serving Thai and Asian fusion street food.”
I feel my knees go weak. “How do you know this?”
“I have my sources.”
