Page 25 of A Certain Appeal
“Toby just told me about that. Am I right to assume you organized it?”
“One of my many duties.”
“Then I’m sure it will be an unforgettable event.”
I tamp the espresso into the filter. “You always this smooth?”
“Only when the company warrants.”
“Wow.” He is quick, I’ll give him that. “Save some material for Saturday. Do you have the details or should I get your email from Toby?”
“How about I give you my number and you can text me the information?”
“But then you would have my number.”
“Yes, I would, wouldn’t I?” He says it as though he didn’t come to the conclusion himself. His eyes say otherwise.
I let out a sigh for effect, though I purse my lips in legitimate consideration. He’s cute, even with the cheese-oozing. He’s also receptive, which is a far cry from Mr. Tolerable, however pleasant Monday’s wet-nap massage was. He’s at least worthy of maintaining a text exchange; further assessment can be administered Saturday.
“Tell you what.” I pull the espresso, raising my voice over the din. “Give me your email, and I’ll get back to you.”
Wickham smiles, and Toby pokes his head back into the break room. “Toby, your Liz is a firecracker. Where did you find her?”
“Craigslist?” Toby looks between us. “You need a sec, or—”
“We’re good.” I hand Wickham the double shot. The crema is a perfect shade of brown. “You have ten seconds before the flavor changes.”
Wickham raises his eyebrows.
“She’s right,” says Toby, joining us. “She took a class.”
Wickham tosses back the coffee, returning the cup to the saucer with a short clatter. “Liz, that was exceptional.” He places the cup and saucer in my waiting palm, and his fingers graze mine during the handoff. He winks at me, then shifts to drape an arm over Toby’s shoulders. “All right. Show me around your empire, bud.”
The phone’s ringing shatters the quiet of the lobby, but I let it go two rings before picking up, just to maintain my air of diligence. I don’t have to look at the “Toby” icon on the cradle to know who’s calling.
“Work It, this is Liz. How can I help you?”
“You know, Liz, I don’t think I can wait until Saturday.”
I turn to face my boss’s office, where Wickham leans against the desk. He waves, Toby’s phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear. After their tour of the Work It “empire” wrapped, the guys posted up in Toby’s office until Toby was summoned to handle a question with HR. Wickham’s been boring a hole in the side of my head since. It’s been fun to ignore him, though I’m almost offended he held out as long as he did.
“Is that so?” I ask.
“After hearing how you take a phone call? I’m powerless.”
“Ididwatch a video.”
“On phone etiquette?”
“I take my continuing education seriously.”
“That settles it,” he says with authority. “I have to ask you out for a drink tonight.”
“Sure.”
“Really?”
“I respect risk-takers.” I face my computer screen again and makea few purposeful strikes of the keyboard, even though I’m only deleting spam from my inbox. “We can meet at Mother’s Ruin, over on Spring,” I say, because I may or may not have spent the head-boring minutes making a list of possible options should he have greater ambitions than casual flirting. I look at Wickham, who smiles faintly. “Six work?”
