Page 50 of Phishing for Love
“It’s a fake plant so you don’t even need to water it.”
“I’ll have to dust it.”
“It’s the most low-maintenance plant ever,” I inform him. “It needs no good deeds or kindness. A little bit like your soul.” My tone is light and playful to take away the sting of my words.
He shoots me an under-the-brow look.
I return it with my sweetest smile.
“Annoying woman,” he grumbles.
But after three weeks of working with Aaron, I’m slowly attuning myself to all the various clues he gives off and I’m almost positive I can detect the teeniest, tiniest trace of humor in his voice.
I dig in my pocket and pull out a delicate, stained-glass hummingbird statue, which I place carefully on the corner of his desk.
He scoots his chair back, not taking his eyes off the bird.
“Relax,” I say. “Color isn’t a virus.”
“It’s contagious,” he insists darkly. “When you permit a little color, more will follow.”
With a hand clasped to my heart, I make an exaggerated show of surveying the new additions to his office. “So pretty,” I say on a sigh.
“I don’t want my space to be pretty!”
“You’re welcome,” I say, and with a cheery wave I exit the office I’m determined to transform.
The man inside the office, however, is another matter.
Gathering for after-work drinks at Kelly’s on a Friday night is a sacred tradition at Amell Greetings. I missed last week, opting to spend the evening with Kate and Lisset instead, but tonight I’m ready to unwind with a beer after a busy workweek.
Kelly’s is filled with a busier-than-usual Friday night crowd. The atmosphere is noisy and cheerful. I spot Rick, a pint of Guinness in front of him, sitting at a table with his bloodshot eyes fixed to the football game on the TV above the bar.
Avoiding his table, already too crowded with his ego and machismo occupying space there, I thread my way through the Friday-night throng. One guy bumps into me a little too forcefully and I stumble forward. A strong hand reaches out to steady me.
“You all right?” asks a deep voice.
Aaron. I’m surprised he’s here, but I shouldn’t be. Even though he’s only been at Amell Greetings for three weeks, someone would’ve let him know about Friday night drinks.
“I’m fine.” He’s seated alone at a high-top table that he’s managed to secure in the center of the room. His tie is gone, his top button is undone, and I don’t at all notice the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, wrapping his chest like a tight hug. “Thanks for the help.”
He removes his hand from my elbow. “No problem.”
“It’s a bit crazy in here tonight,” I comment, looking around. I can’t spot Sofia or Kenzie or Nathan.
“Do you see any of your friends?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” I tip my head at his beer on the table. “Enjoy your drink and your evening.”
“You too.”
I make to move away, but a heavyset, bull-necked guy with a little too much drink inside him stumbles into me. “Hey, sorry ’bout dat,” he slurs, glassy-eyed.
“It’s okay.” I try to step back, but he moves in too close and grabs my shoulder in an effort to keep his balance.
Before I can react, Aaron is out of his chair and standing at my side. “Get your hand off her.”
The guy drops his hand. “Hey, I was just being friendly.”
