Page 57 of Phishing for Love
Mevia:Uh-oh. Hot Guy’s got his angry eyes on.
Tess:Who are they aimed at?
Mevia:You’re the only one who riles him up.
Tess:How much time do I have?
Mevia:Ten seconds.
Mevia:Okay, thirty. I just told him Dana needs to talk to him.
Tess:I owe you one.
Mevia:When you and Hot Guy make a baby, name her after me.
Tess:Are you insane?
Mevia:I know chemistry when I see it.
Tess:Not happening, Mev. Not in a thousand million lifetimes.
Mevia:What if he’s The One?
Tess:The one to send me to an early grave.
Mevia:Have screenshot this convo to display on your wedding day.
Thirty seconds later, I spot Aaron striding toward my cubicle, his annoyed face back in place. I seem to be remarkably adept at reading his limited range of emotions—irritation, exasperation, grumpiness, impatience. Possibly because I tend to provoke those emotions in him.
Heads pop up like meerkats over cubicle walls and then duck back down again, as if sensing danger. No one wants to be caught in the crossfire on a Friday.
Aaron stops at the entrance to my cubicle, displeasure coming off him in waves. Taking a bracing breath, I swivel in my chair to face him.
“You didn’t do the training,” he says, keeping his voice low for all the radar ears around us.
“I forgot.”
“There were reminders,” comes his exasperated reply.
I plaster on a fake surprised face. “There were?”
He flattens his hands on his thighs, striving for control. “The training is there for a reason, Tess.”
Yes, Aaron, to put me to sleep.
My chest feels tight. Must the man take up so much space? I can’t breathe properly when he’s in my cubicle. It’s like he sucks up all the oxygen.
“You don’t understand,” he says at last. “There are monsters out there who can destroy your world. With just one scam, they can take everything from you.”
He stops abruptly, as if aware he’s revealed too much. There’s a note in his voice I haven’t heard before, one that sends a shiver skating across my skin.
Into the silence, I work up the courage to ask, “What happened to you?”
“This is not about me,” he says roughly. “This is about you. And the fact that you’re not taking this seriously.”
“I’m trying,” I say, but the lie feels big and heavy between us.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”
