Emma vs. the Tech Guy

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I wear many hats around this office, but tour guide was not one of them. Especially when I’m on deadline. This was more of a job for Jayne. She would gladly dish up the back story on every employee while providing Guy with interesting chitchat in between offices. Perfect! I reached for my phone to call her when Guy stepped into my office. Damn.

“Ready?” He stood with his hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting jeans. He could have gotten a little more dressed up for his first official day, but at least they weren’t hanging off his ass. And he did have on a nice midnight blue shirt that seemed to exactly match his sparkling eyes. Not that I noticed, of course.

“Sure.” I put down the phone and smiled, fully planning to dump him on Jayne as soon as we made our way to her space. “Let’s go.”

Guy followed me out, and we headed down the hall of our basically u-shaped office. Today was more on the quiet side, but there were days when it was like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Those were the days I lived for. When the pressure’s on, that’s when I’m at my best.

As we strolled toward the reception area, I explained some of our daily operations and why many of our offices were empty.

“Some of our staff work part-time or at home, some are freelancers, and others may be here but are just out on assignment right now.”

Guy exhibited genuine interest, smiling and nodding as we walked and talked. He had a seemingly real “happy” aura floating around him like a force field. His hair isn’t that curly. Jayne did tend to exaggerate a bit. I thought it was more wavy than anything. I guessed it was pretty healthy-looking too, from a health sort of a standpoint. I mean, what did I care about his hair as long as the brain attached to it could find and open files that our antique server swallowed into oblivion? Unlike Marty, who would keep asking, “Are you sure you saved it?” A tribute to the confidence he had in the non-tech people in the company.

When we stopped at the doorway of a small office, I said, “And this is Nannette, our receptionist.” With her back to us and a long, blonde ponytail hanging down her back, she spun in her chair and flashed a giant smile like a neon sign.

“Hello, Guy.” She stuck out her hand for an enthusiastic shake. “We haven’t met formally yet. Glad to have you here.” Nannette was sweet, spoke her mind, and could handle a million things at once. Kind of like me except for the sweet part.

“Thanks, Nannette,” Guy said as he clasped her hand in both of his.

Somewhat personal for the office. I was really struggling to tell whether this guy was generally a nice person or just a player. I found it hard to believe that someone could actually like people that much.

“It’s good to be here.” Guy gave another one of those squinty, closed-mouth smiles you give to a little kid or an old lady. You know, the kind George Clooney gives in every movie preview or magazine shot you’ve ever seen of him.

Why I was analyzing Guy’s every move I couldn’t tell you. All I knew was that there was something about him that I didn’t trust; something that seemed to threaten my security. Reading people was one of my many talents. I could smell a liar a mile away, and Guy certainly stank. But was it deception I smelled, or masculinity spritzed with cologne?

Pushing the bad thoughts to the back of my already crammed brain, I walked out with Guy trailing me like a lost puppy. We breezed by the conference room which was diagonally across from my beautiful corner office. The jealousy over my clearly superior view and airy, spacious workspace didn’t bother me, or last long, thank goodness. Besides, I’d earned that office. It was even bigger than Bill’s, but he had this thing about being in the very back, away from the front entry. Yes, I was confident. I used to worry that some thought me arrogant, but I truly had proved myself, and anyone will tell you I’m a team player. I’m not just out to make myself look good.