Count to three. Do not kill your boss.
And do not fall in love with him.
That's a good start, especially when you work for New York's most eligible bachelor with millions in one pocket and half of Manhattan's panties in the other. Not to mention tho...
"I see you've brought the female of your species."
Dr. Zaius, Planet of the Apes (1968)
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"And I couldn't. I stood there, in that fancy restaurant that cost me a fortune, with the ring in my pocket, and I just couldn't. So I said I needed to use the bathroom to, you know, explain why I got up so abruptly, and I left. And the worst part is that I actually used it."
Greg keeps on describing his evening while I stir my coffee with a vacant look on my face. I'm probably a crappy friend for not paying much attention, but I didn't get much of a sleep last night. I barely slept at all.
"And she was so beautiful and... Camryn? Cam, hey?"
I look up from the mug. "Hm?"
"Are you listening to me?"
I sigh and stop with the stirring. "I am. You chickened out and didn't propose, again. Though I'm not sure if again is still usable in your case. Even this word must have some finite limit on how many times it can be used to still have some meaning, and you've probably exceeded that a long time ago."
He has the audacity to look shocked. "Wow. Supportive much today, aren't we?"
"Two words, Greg. Finite. Limit."
He narrows his eyes suspiciously at my grumpiness. "How was the grand showing yesterday?"
"You know what, why don't you tell me more about that dinner? I would love to hear it all."
"That bad, huh?"
I let go of the feign enthusiasm. "Worse," I grunt and put the mug on the kitchen counter behind me. "And to top it all, there's that business dinner tonight where I'll have to wear decent clothes to look presentable," I spit out the words that's been lying in my stomach for days.
Greg looks me over, confusion forming on his face. "What's wrong with your clothes now?"
I laugh dryly. "Yeah, that's... an interesting question."
His confusion deepens, but I don't get enough time to fill him in on the whole I need you to look presentable thing that feels like a finger down my throat, luring the content of my stomach up. Or are the yesterday's words the source? I'm not even sure anymore, I just know the feeling is there. Our morning conversation is cut short as we spot Mr. Knox walking down the hallway.
The feeling that seeing him evokes in me is indescribable. His yesterday's accusation comes back to me, vivid and as unthinkable as when he made it. Oh yes, that is the source of that horrible feeling in my stomach, because there goes that invisible finger down my throat again.
"He looks pretty sour today," Greg observes, watching the man through the glass wall of the kitchen.
I make a face. "Nothing new, then." I grab a clean cup with a saucer above the sink and press a button on the coffee machine.
