*Reese
The office lights were blinding in neon blue. Reese's eyes adjusted painfully, and she paused to give them a moment. Knowing that a long day of cold, hard numbers waited for her rounded her shoulders.
Reese wended her way to her desk, five minutes late (but who was counting?) and aching after a restless, broken sleep. It was amazing how an extra three thousand dollars in her drawer made her ecstatic, really fired up to get her advice blog rolling, and it also made her feel like a steaming pile of hypocritical, craptastic, imposter shit for kissing a client. She had also taken advantage of Kenneth's poor dancing skills to press her cheek against his, and cop a feel of his chest and arms, but he didn't know it.
She wasn't fit to be a life coach: the only thing she dreamed of doing for half a decade. Reese was little better than a predator.
Nothing would make this right, except apologizing again for her behavior and making him the Don Juan of seduction, an irresistible bachelor, a figure of manliness.
Or, at the very least, give him tips on how to get laid pronto.
"Hey, Reese's Pieces!"
"Oh, my darlin' Clementine," Reese said, blinking in adoration at her friend's cheerful face.
"You look like death reheated in the microwave."
"Sounds about right. Bring me coffee?"
"Sure, anything for you. I also wanted to ask you something," Clem said. She leaned against the wobbly partition. "I was wondering...are you doing unusual after hours? When you aren't at work?"
What the..."Unusual? No. Nothing unusual going on here. Why?"
"It occurred to me that you hurry home every day, and you're so quiet about your evenings. I don't know."
"I'm about as boring as they get. I crunch numbers and write reports during the day, go home to my Beta fish and watch Netflix until I pass out on the sofa. That's me." Reese forced a short laugh. The laugh might have been too much.
Clem nodded and backed away with a relieved smile. Five minutes later she came bearing a steamy cup of coffee.
"Bless you, O fruity coworker," Reese said as she took the cup.
"You are the candy in my trick-or-treat bag. Always."
Reese's computer struggled to life about as slowly as she did.
Emails. Check the emails first.
There was the same old, same old in the inbox, and she began the tedious task of sorting and prioritizing, shooting out short answers whenever possible. Then came the usual stream of reports and numbers. Her soul withered and dried a little bit more each day she was stuck here.
She had thought Kenneth was crazy for voluntarily creating graphs to help him find the love of his life. Graphs were right up there with balancing budgets: nothing romantic or fun about them.
Emotions were what mattered. What did your gut instinct tell you? What made your heart soar? Listening to the whispers from your inner self. That was how you made decisions. Reese should know. Her heart had yanked her in the opposite direction when her mind convinced her to take the business classes in college because she was afraid of failing if she chose a liberal arts program.
A box popped up in the corner of her screen.
Kenneth: I apologize again for the mix-up last night.
Reese's heart pinched. He was sorry. She was sorry, too, for a million reasons. Nervous fingers flitted over her keyboard.
Reese: It was all my fault. Don't forget to fill out the self-reflection survey.
Kenneth: I'm done. I couldn't sleep last night.
She hadn't slept either.
Did he toss in his damp sheets for several hours before admitting defeat, the same as her? Did he imagine her with him, her breathing, the curves and lines of her body under the covers next to him? Or maybe he told himself he was a desperate idiot, reaching for the wrong person.
She had known him for twenty-four hours and she was a desperate, sweaty wreck. There was something wrong with her.
Kenneth: I'll send them to you.
Reese: Wait, use my private email.
She typed in her email for the blog and then gave him the direct link to one of her pages.
Reese: If you get some time, go through the self-affirmation list, see if any apply to you. Then repeat those to yourself several times during the day. This is an empowering exercise. Not best during work hours, but better than nothing.
No response.
He must be busy helping someone. She clicked on the project review she was working on, leaving the box open in case he came right back.
Her coffee was long gone when the box flashed.
Kenneth: Several lists are good for me. I can't do lunch today. Hell is breaking loose. Talk to you later.
Hell was breaking loose? Had someone clicked on an email virus?
Reese: Sorry to hear it. Quick, are you wearing one of the new outfits and glasses?
Kenneth: Yes
Reese: If you have time later, you should come up to "check" something and we'll test the new you with the other ladies. It will be fun.
Kenneth: We need to talk about your definition of 'fun' lol.
Kenneth: If I can get free. C U.
Reese sat back in her chair. Despite herself, she was excited for him. The new Kenneth could be deadly in the accounting department. For reasons unknown, the fates had stacked the accounting department with an inordinate number of single women—all shapes and sizes, ages, and cooking specialties for the potluck lunches. Hers was spiced melty cheese dip and organic purple corn chips from the local farmer's market.
She was into her third cup of coffee and hip deep in project numbers when the box at the corner flashed again.
Kenneth: I'm here.
Where?
She rose prairie-dog fashion to check above the cubicle walls.
He lurked in the passage beyond the door, stiff and awkward. Despite having new clothes hand-selected by yours truly, he had managed to mismatch his ensemble. His shirt was buttoned to the neck, and his sleeves were tight at his wrists. But there was no horrible tie. Wrong pants. Good shoes. And hot damn, those glasses made a difference.
All right. Close enough. The ladies here were friendly, ready to accept the unusual and lonely, as opposed to the blood-sucking vampires he would encounter in marketing.
She motioned for him to lift his chest.
He cupped his pecs and mouthed boobs, confused.
No. She wagged her finger. Swiping her hands upwards from her chest, she ended by pretending to raise her chin. He nodded and looked upwards.
Reese collapsed onto her chair. A person could not be transformed into suave, sophisticated lover in four days. It was not possible.
But he didn't need to be. He needed to be himself, and dang it all, brains were sexy to everyone, not only starved zombie hotties in bad romances.
Not that there was such a thing as a bad romance, or a bad zombie hottie.
Focus.
She stood and beckoned him forward.
He shoved his hands deep in his faded khakis pockets and sauntered in, going the wrong way first and then back toward her in the rat's maze of cubicles. The engineer who had designed the cubicle layout had thought it would be positive to not have straight lines, making it better for coworker interaction.
You know what else made for good coworker interaction? Sending a 6'4 geeky Greek god through a cluster of available females late in the afternoon on a cloudy autumn day.
They followed him out of the cubicles like sparrows on a breadcrumb trail. Free butter croissants and Nutella wouldn't have brought them faster. And that was a fact.
The glasses seriously made a difference. She could hear the cogs in her coworkers' brains turning as they noticed piercing, glacier-blue orbs (no such thing as bad romantic descriptions, either), and chiseled cheeks. More than that, though—wide shoulders and hell, she had to admit it, a fine ass.
Confidence. He was relaxed and confident.
Clem popped up in front of him two seconds before he reached Reese.
"Well, hello there! You're Kenneth, right? The host of the sci-fi Friday nights starting up soon?"
"Hi," he said and then shuffled a step backward.
Confidence slipping! No, no, no. Reese projected happiness to her face and slipped up behind her bouncy coworker. Keep it going, handsome!
"Yes," he said, eyes on her. He swallowed. "Yes, that's me. We'll start up next month with the Matrix trilogy. Hope you can make it. I don't have any female colleagues signed up yet."
"Sci-fi is my kryptonite. Makes me gooey and weak. How long do we have to wait for a Firefly-slash-Serenity run?" Clem asked, propping her elbow on a cubicle wall. Half a dozen enraptured number-crunchers gathered around to hear the answer. Reese doubted many on them knew what Clem was talking about; she certainly didn't. One more thing to Google as soon as possible.
"Funny you should ask. I plan on stretching Firefly out through the winter months come January. Followed by Serenity, and then on to space travel such as Alien or Interstellar."
Clem nodded sagely, musing on the movie selection.
Reese heard the word "alien" and latched onto a memory. "Alien, like the funky face-hugger shirt?"
Kenneth snapped and pointed at her. "Exactly!"
"What shirt? That sounds great," Clem said.
Utter astonishment transformed Kenneth's face. The look he gave Clem was nothing short of a botanist discovering that not only was there a new life-form growing in his bathtub, but it could speak.
Wait a minute. Alarm bells were ringing. Kenneth's stroll through Reese's department was for his self-confidence, a practice run for real life this coming weekend. Not to pick up another date with the prettiest girl of the bunch.
"Hey, Barb," Reese called. "You remember Kenneth who came by yesterday, right? From the help desk?"
"I remember someone tall and helpful," Barb said, leaning against her wall to poke her head into the action. The wall swayed dangerously.
"Help desk?" Clem asked. She snorted in laughter. "Is that what they call it?"
Kenneth cleared his throat and did his shuffling step again. "Something like that, yeah."
"Oh, and these are a few of my other colleagues," Reese said, continuing on. Something was up whenever help desk was mentioned around Kenneth, but damned if she could guess what it was. "Carol, Bethany, Lucy, Shavon, Tara, and Wanda. And this is Clem, who loves sci-fi shows. I had no idea."
"Hi, everybody," he said, making brief eye contact with the ladies, exactly as Reese's coaching sheets explained. He landed and stayed on Clem, though.
"It's short for Clementine," Clem said. The warning bells in Reese's head went berserk. This was Clem's showstopper test. Any man who made fun of her name was black-marked for life, but any man who didn't was potential mate material.
"But you prefer Clem?" Kenneth asked, not losing a beat.
He passed the test.
Clem was radiant, and Reese broke into a sweat. Her logical side tried to convince her that this was good. He was making serious headway on his chatting skills. Her illogical, hormonal side, which had been throwing fits since Kenneth first proposed to hire her, was, once again, going feral. Clem would sink her kitten claws in her client if she didn't save him pronto.
And for some reason, the thought of anotherwoman getting it on with her hunky nerd sent Reese off the edge of calm.
*** Now he's her hunky nerd? Or is he? ***