Page 12 of Falling Slowly
“You brought a camping hammock?”
He grinned. “It’s called Happy Glamper. They had a cool Kickstarter campaign.”
Charlie was a Kickstarter junkie. The cleaners refused to deal with all the delivery boxes in his office, so Rhonda sometimes snuck in late at night and cleared away the recycling. I’d helped her once, ripping and flattening the countless packages, wondering what might have been in them.
At the end of the year, Charlie donated random items to the agency Christmas present pool, where everyone got to choose something to take home. I wondered if he noticed the gasps at the sight of his fancy gadgets among the low-value sample products and corporate gifts from clients and suppliers. I never got the first or even the second pick. Charlie’s buddies Trevor and Lee scraped the cream off the top, pulling out Apple Watches and drones. After that, the other designers grabbed the champagne bottles and food samples. By the time the production people were dipping in, the selection had been thinned down to mugs, calendars, and stress balls. Thankfully, Celia loved stress balls—a fact I didn’t want to dwell on.
“I don’t mind,” I insisted, closing my eyes and getting as comfortable as I could. If I pretended to fall asleep, Charlie would have to give up and take the bed.
“Is that all you packed for the week?” he asked, picking up my small backpack. “How did you fit everything in this?”
“Magic,” I mumbled, eyes still closed.
But he had a point. My toiletries were still in the car, and I couldn’t go to bed without brushing my teeth or flossing. My job didn’t come with a dental plan, which had made me a vigilantflosser. Maybe a teensy bit obsessed. But I figured it was fine, like being addicted to salad greens.
I waited, feigning sleep, but Charlie didn’t leave. Instead, he sat at the end of the couch I’d ostentatiously left vacant, man-splaying his legs so wide that my curled up sleeping position began to feel fetal.
“It’s not very comfortable.” He bounced against the couch.
I pushed myself back up to sitting. “What do you mean? It’s a couch. It’s got cushions.”
“This feels like basic polyester foam.”
“And that’s bad because…”
He shrugged. “I prefer feather down.”
Of course you do.
I picked a spot on the floor and stared at it, to keep my eyes from rolling.
He’s the boss’s son. You need this job.
“Also, couches can have flame retardants and those give out toxic fumes, so you’re not meant to sleep on them.”
I turned to face him. “Okay. How do you know so much about couches?”
He beamed at me, pleased with himself. “We pitched for a campaign for EcoSoft last year. Didn’t get it.”
I thought back to all the campaigns and pitches that had gone through the studio. “I don’t remember seeing that.”
“That’s probably why we didn’t get it.” His mouth twisted, those perfectly sculpted lips puckering. “I did the final art and printed it myself late at night, last minute. It wasn’t polished, but I figured it was worth the shot.”
“Oh.” I could imagine the level of ‘not polished’ he’d produced, but I couldn’t imagine him working late, finishing anything by himself. I’d heard stories of this happening, mostly from Rhonda, but I’d always doubted them. In my experience, Charlie left early, often with an entourage.
He gave me a rueful smile. “I do sometimes go the extra mile.”
My cheeks flushed with heat. “No, I didn’t mean… I don’t think that?—”
“Relax. I know I’m not the most organized person in the office. I don’t even try to be. That’s not my goal. And I do value people who can polish the turds I produce. Like you.”
I tried to push away the mental image of me polishing his bowel movement, focusing on his wide grin.
This was the first time we were alone. I couldn’t remember ever sharing a room with him, with no one else around. The magnitude of his undivided attention made every hair follicle on my body take notice.
Charlie was best enjoyed in small, diluted doses. I listened to his wild stories and laughed at his jokes, which were often funny, as part of the group. The invisible one, at the back, standing behind Trevor or someone else who took up a lot of room.
Aware that I could no longer hide my fluster, I got up and rushed down the stairs. By the time I got to the door, I remembered my backpack, still lying on the floor by the couch. Oh, well.
