"Why are you always following me?" I ask as nonchalantly as I can when I hear Christopher enter the room behind me. I know it's him from the faint smell of pineapple and black currant that I get from his cologne whenever he's near.
The solid oak door slams shut behind him automatically, and I turn around from the Xerox printer as the smell of fresh ink wafts through the cluttered room. I cross my arms in front of me.
"This room is completely different from the rest of the office," Christopher notes as he takes in his surroundings. Instead of glass walls and marble tables, it's more like a storage closet and only houses a bookshelf and two high-end printers. The hardwood floors look out of place compared to the rest of the building, and the walls are a faint beige with several framed advertisements we've done for past clients.
"I know," I begin. "It's my favorite place to come when I'm feeling overwhelmed."
Christopher gives me a doubtful smile.
"You get overwhelmed?" he asks sarcastically.
"It's not something that happens often," I tell him, a smile forming on my lips.
He takes a step towards me, raising his eyebrows.
"You seem to be very organized."
"I am," I admit, taking a step back.
He moves with me slowly, his right foot following my left. What is it about this man that makes me so nervous?
"I like it that way," I add.
Christopher is still walking towards me. My back is against the printer now, with only a couple of feet left between us.
"See? Afraid," Christopher smirks, referring to our conversation in the parking lot the other evening. He was talking about taking risks and moving to the city.
I shake my head from side to side in denial.
"No. You're entirely wrong. I just prefer things a certain way," I exhale.
He is inches from me now, the beautiful scent of his cologne engulfing my senses.
"You're afraid. And if you'd just let go of your institutionalized norms, I could help you," he says.
Help me? Who says I need any kind of help?
I open my mouth to tell him just that, but he silences me by speaking again.
"I know you don't need any help, but I would like to let you know that I am a great source of unadulterated opinion." Christopher backs away, his coffee cup still in hand. "If you ever decide you want to open your mind to new possibilities, let me know." And with that, he's gone.
He always gets the last word in.
***
My head is swimming with thoughts, all of them concerning Christopher Peters.
You're afraid. His words echo through my conscious.
I groan aloud. Even the sound of his voice in my head annoys me.
I am not afraid. My life is perfect. I respond to the voice that is Christopher's, knowing damn well that it's not one bit true.
I slap my iPad onto my desk, a little too forcefully, and bring my fingers to my temples, massaging them lightly. I haven't been able to get any work done since our "conversation" in the print room.
When I level my eyes to the door, Halle is walking towards my office, her yellow satin skirt flowing behind her. I pick up my iPad from my desk and stand to meet her outside.
"Christopher Peters keeps asking me about you," Halle states as we both venture towards the conference room for our last meeting of the day. Halle's knee-high black boots click across the lobby.
My eyes roll to the back of my head at the mention of his name.
Halle raises an eyebrow, "Girl, you'd better be careful," she says.
I give her a critical look.
"I'm not doing anything distasteful," I assure her. "He's just very adamant on 'helping me'." I put air quotes around my words.
"Mhm. Whatever you say V," she teases.
Our meeting is with a client from Phoenix, Arizona. Becca and Kailey, the Account Planner, are sitting on one side of the conference table, quickly going over the client's brief on their iPads.
Halle takes a seat directly across from them, as I pull up the presentation on the flat screen, my usual nerves kicking in before a big meeting with an important client.
I'm shuffling my note cards around when Hector and his people appear from the elevators. Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I calm my nerves.
Hector Rodriguez works for Arizona State University and handles all of their advertising campaigns. We offered to fly out to Phoenix ourselves to show him our plans, but he declined. He would rather come to Atlanta, he told us.
You got this. I tell myself, and when I open my eyes, a new wave of confidence has washed my nerves away.
YOU ARE READING
For A Reason
ChickLit"I just thought..." I begin, flustered, not really sure where my words are headed. He shakes his head. "We can't," he states, removing my hand from his. "There are a million reasons why we can't." He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly frustrate...
