It's Monday morning and already, I'm dreading work. I practically drag myself across the floor, a mental fight brewing in my head: brain vs body. Brain insists I march towards the elevator, sit at my desk, and get to work. Body, on the other hand, wants to collapse onto the ground, close its eyes, and never wake up again.
I've been having nightmares lately, which is why I currently look like a soulless monster wandering around, attracting lots of wary looks. I finally reach the elevator and there he is, the source of my nightmares.
"You look terrible," Jack tells me, as we walk into the elevator.
"Gee, thanks." I wish I could say the same about him, but he looks as fresh as a daisy. "Your suit looks terrible."
Jack examines himself in the elevator mirror. "No, it doesn't," he says, and he's right.
In the crack of the golden morning sun, Jack looks like a goddamn model for the catalog "Business Casual." He's wearing a dark navy suit over a white dress shirt, the suit creasing in all the right places. His slacks fit the dark color scheme, pressed and ironed, and his black Oxford shoes practically glisten.
"It's my personal opinion."
"You're blind, then," Jack responds smoothly. He leans against the elevator rail, arms folded, as the elevator numbers begin rolling up. His gaze is critical and I'm starting to feel self-conscious. "You look really bad, Isla. Maybe you should've stayed home."
Jack's eyebrows crease together, concerned. I hate it. Jack feeling concerned for me feels weird, like I've just walked into another dimension. I snap, "It's your fault."
"My fault," he muses. "Which part? You looking bad or you coming to work?"
"Both."
"Do explain."
I drum my fingers against the elevator rail, contemplating where to start. I sneak a peek at the elevator number and sure enough, we're almost on our floor. "Well?" Jack prompts, and I blow out a sigh. Guess I'll shorten the list, even though it deserves an hour-long rant.
"You sent me a text to come to work," I start.
Jack shrugs. "If you weren't feeling well, you could've defied me as usual. Just ignore what I said."
My eyes narrowed. He's not here to listen. He's here to go against every single point I bring up. Well, bring it on, Jack Lim.
"If I defied you, you would've threatened to call the police."
"True, but if you had explained you were sick, I would've understood."
"You're a cold-hearted bastard," I counter. "You wouldn't understand anything."
"Contrary to popular beliefs, I'm not cold-hearted." Jack pauses for effect. "I'm more... efficient."
"In other words, a complete asshole."
Jack shrugs. "That's your opinion."
My opinion, and probably everyone else working here. They are just too scared to confront him because he'll send them packing up and rushing back home in tears.
"You show up in my nightmares," I say furiously. "That's how asshole-y you are."
"I show up in your dreams?" Jack asks, right as the elevator glides open.
Irene stands there, stunned. Her face is a comedic mixture of surprise: eyes wide, jaw dropped, disbelief etched into her features. However, it's very un-comedic that she's heard Jack's dream comment.
"Hi," I say brightly, and she doesn't respond. She's in shock, her heart doing a slow turn as her mind comprehends everything.
I jab Jack in the ribcage and he scowls at me. Rule number two, I mouth. No bringing the fake dating façade into work.
What am I supposed to do about it? Jack mouths back.
"You two..." Irene starts, her voice dazed. Jack and I jolt to attention, two soldiers in the face of our commander, scared out of our wits. "Are you... together?"
"No," Jack and I instantly deny.
"I would never date someone like him," I explain to Irene's confused face. "I prefer people who are sweet, thoughtful, and who bring my self-esteem up."
Jack smiles tightly. "Exactly," he supplies. "And I hate people, so I don't date."
She still looks suspicious. Maybe we overdid it on convincing her. "Okay," Irene says with a tiny shrug. "Also, guess what happened after you two left?"
We both relax. Emergency, over.
"The police came into the restaurant!" she says excitedly, and I choke.
I start coughing and Jack inches away from me. "I know, right?" Irene mistakes my reaction of horror as one of excitement. "It was completely crazy."
"What happened after?" I ask weakly.
I feel faint. I think I'm going to kneel over and have a heart attack. "Well, they came over because of a suspicious call, but then they couldn't find anything so they left."
"That's very interesting."
"Yes, the evening was interesting indeed," she agrees. "You know what happened later? People began telling me that Aiden confessed when I wasn't even in the room. He must've been so drunk."
Oh yeah, that's what got us in the mess in the first place.
Jack clears his throat and we turn towards him. "If you'll excuse us," Jack says, "we'll be on our way to actually do some work."
Irene looks slightly embarrassed, though she lets us pass. "You didn't have to embarrass her," I whisper, as we make our way toward our cubicles.
Our cubicles are unfortunately next to each other and on a normal day, I would've stiffly sat down, mentally preparing for the war that would soon ensue. Jack or I would make a snippy comment and then it would be a showdown of polite words with the undercurrent of venomous hate.
It feels strange, now that we're on the same side. "She was distracting us," Jack says pointedly, as he leans back into his ergonomic chair with an alpha-like posture.
"Yeah, but you didn't have to say it that way." I open my laptop, check my email, and begin replying to them.
As always, Jack's typing sets me on an edge. Fast, furious, and making me feel anxious all the time. "What way?"
"Like she's an idiot. You were like"—I drop my voice to mimic his, forcing as much arrogance into my tone as possible. "—'we'll be on our way to actually do some work.'"
"Should I apologize for telling the truth?"
I sigh. He's entirely missing my point. "No, but you could've said it nicely. Everyone's going to avoid you if you're consistently rude."
"Okay."
It's no use trying to convince him. He'll forever remain the rude co-worker that everyone's scared of. I frown. Why am I even concerned about his work reputation?
Jack notices my frown. "What, you think I can't act nice?"
"You can," I say after a beat. "But then you come off as patronizing. Or sarcastic."
"Really?" Jack asks thoughtfully, and I nod. "Well, I guess all people can't be nice."
We resume our intense typing though side-by-side, it's clear I'm the losing typist. After twenty minutes, I can't bear listening to Jack make progress faster than a car going a hundred miles per hour. I abruptly stand up and Jack sends a questioning look in my direction.
"I need caffeine," I say out loud. I also need to get fresh air, because there's a pressuring atmosphere hovering around me.
"Already?" Jack also starts to stand. "It's only been"—he checks his laptop. "—twenty minutes since we started working."
"I need a breather," I admit.
"I can come with you—"
"No!" I interrupt, and he looks startled. "I'd prefer to go alone."
Jack looks disappointed, but it's only for a split second before his expression goes impassive once more. "Okay." He sits back down. "See you."
I almost feel bad for leaving. Then I remember that I hate him. I ride down the elevator, the pressure in my chest slowly dispersing.
The café I typically go to—and mostly everyone working here—is just across the street. They basically profit from our company, with the many sleep-deprived office workers.
I step inside the café, where I'm greeted by the loud grinding of coffee beans. The scent of coffee and pastries fill the air. At the back of the line, Roxie from HR waves at me enthusiastically. I wave back, joining him.
At least I can be around someone who gives me positive vibes. Roxie is a nice guy, forty, and single by choice. Like me, he's taken to befriending nearly everyone in the office. There's only one flaw I can complain of. He's a huge gossip.
"Isla," Roxie whispers urgently. "What's happening between you and Jack?"
"What are you talking about?" I whisper back, trying to act casual. "There's nothing between us."
I'm getting déjà vu from when Irene interrogated Jack and I. "No, but—" Roxie widens his eyes for emphasis. "—didn't he take you home?"
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean anything." I suddenly recall the interaction between Jack and Roxie, the night before. No, Jack couldn't have... "Roxie. What did Jack whisper to you yesterday?"
Maybe that's why Roxie is so suspicious of us. Maybe Jack insinuated that we were going to have sex to get Roxie to back off. I've seen it in movies before, so it's certainly plausible.
My neck flushes, both from the crude thought and the embarrassment. Roxie looks briefly confused at my question before his eyes flash with realization. "It's a bit embarrassing to say, though," Roxie says, lowering his voice. "I don't know if I should say."
"Roxie, come on. What did Jack say?"
Roxie's reaction all but confirms my worst fears. I will kill Jack at lunch. Maybe poison will do the trick.
"I shouldn't say," Roxie insists and I grit my teeth. Of all the times Roxie decides to keep his mouth shut. "I don't know if Jack would appreciate—"
"Roxie, goddamn it, just tell me!" I snap harshly, and people in the café turn to stare. I make my tone nicer. "Please."
"Why do you want to know? He didn't say anything that peculiar. I mean, it was a bit of a strange comment, but—"
"I'll pay for your coffee," I interrupt, "and I'll also give you a penny for free."
Roxie gapes at me, before shrugging. "Fine."
We sit on a nearby bench, where the autumn leaves tumble past our feet. The wind is cool and soothing, but I can't relax and enjoy the scenery. I'm here to interrogate someone.
"So," I prod. I'm full on sergeant, eyes hard, voice cold. "Do tell."
Roxie trembles under my commanding gaze, playing the part of the terrified subordinate perfectly. "So, like," Roxie starts, ruining the moment.
I inch forward, hungry for any pieces of information. "Well." Roxie sighs. "How do I describe it?"
"You don't need to describe," I say eagerly. "Just tell me what Jack said."
"I need to set the scene. So I remember the night being inky black, with silver stars peeking out from beneath fluffy cotton-candy clouds, alcohol scorching into my skin."
In his free time, Roxie likes to write fantasy books. He also likes keeping people in suspense for as long as possible.
"Roxie, just speed to the scene where Jack said something to you."
"Oh, yes. So a strand of his dark hair fell into his brown eyes and then he leaned in." Roxie lowers his voice to a murmur and I strain to hear the next words. "He said, and I quote—"
My heart hammers. I'm practically sweating. It feels as though I'm doing aerobic exercise, just by listening to Roxie. "Yes?" I hedge.
Roxie looks around for any eavesdroppers, but there are none. "'I need to take a piss, but I also need to drop Isla at her house, so I'm trying to move fast here. You're going to slow us down if you try to help.'"
I stare. "He didn't say that. There's no way."
"He did," Roxie insists. His expression softens. "I hope he got to the bathroom in time."
This doesn't make sense. Jack would never say something like that. "Are you sure you heard right?" I ask.
"Of course."
I ask the next question that's been bugging me the whole time: "So why do you think we're dating?"
"Because—"Roxie nods at the figure advancing towards us—"of that."
***
author's note:
thank you so, so much for the support for this book! question: where do you think jack and isla work at? (i.e. book publishing company, tech company, etc.) I haven't explicitly (or implicitly) mentioned what they do, but i'm curious about your thoughts! also if you've enjoyed this chapter, please vote and comment!