Jack rolls a shoulder in something too elegant to be called a shrug. “Well, Rictor’s a dick. Everyone knows that.”
Ryan chuckles in agreement, making my blood pressure spike.
“It’s not about one random dick,” I say, my voice rising. “It’s about the very real fucking differences in the way men experience this office culture versus the women.”
Jack’s eyes narrow thoughtfully on my mouth. “I’ve never heard you curse before.”
“Well, I curse sometimes.” My lips prickle, a buzzing sensation that intensifies the longer Jack stares. “When I’m passionate about something.”
“Passionate is good,” Jack says in his whiskey voice. “I respect passion.”
“Good. That’s g-good,” I stammer, feeling twenty years old with Cheetos fingers again.
How does this man always manage to throw me off with no more than a word? A look? A blink of those snakeskin-green eyes that makes me feel like butterflies are dancing in my stomach?
Of course, Iknowwhy. It’s because he’s ridiculously sexy and I’m a lair-dwelling, loner writer weirdo who doesn’t spend enough time around attractive men—or any men who aren’t my neighbors or blood relatives, for that matter.
Jack would be so much easier to handle if I’d been that second son my father wanted.
But that’s the story of my life. If only I’d been a boy, Mom dying when I was a toddler and me being raised in a bachelor’s house—and everything that came after—would have been so much easier.
For everyone.
If only I’d been a boy…
An idea leaps suddenly into my brain, fully formed, like Athena ready to burst from Zeus’s forehead.
But unlike Athena, my idea doesn’t arrive draped in a Grecian tunic or carrying a brass shield. My idea is dressed in a three-piece suit and sporting a pair of swanky Italian leather dress shoes.
“So, it’s settled?” Ryan shoots Jack a look that leaves no room for argument.
“Sure,” Jack says, his gaze sliding my way. “We’ll start tomorrow, Ellie?”
I look up, so excited by my shiny new idea that I can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across my face. “Perfect.”
Oh, yes. We’ll start tomorrow, Jack. And you won’t know what hit you.
CHAPTER TWO
Jack
A man about to experience somehighly
unexpected new feelings for
a co-worker’s moustache…
Day 2 Thursday 8/2
How is it that we’ve invented phones advanced enough to stream movies and order groceries with a single tap, but no one can sort out how to make the subway smell less like urine?
Will scientists colonize Mars in my lifetime?
Will subways on Mars still smell like pee?
If people eat asparagus on Mars and pee on the subway, will the subway smell like pee, or asparagus?
These are the mysteries I ponder as I stare across my mahogany desk, wondering if the guy I’m interviewing has any clue I’ve already voted him off the island.