The Hating Game (18 page)

“Maybe take her to your brother's wedding? Always gratifying to walk into one of those situations with a hot date.”

We both look at each other, and I ease myself slowly into my chair. The Staring Game has never felt so dirty. The phone rings. I look at the caller ID and the word
FUCK
lights up in neon in my brain.

Josh takes one look at my face. “If it's him, I'm going to—”

“It's Julie.”

“A bit early for her, isn't it? You're going to have to be firm with her.” The phone continues ringing, and ringing.

“I'll let it go to voice mail. I'm too tired to deal with this now.”

“You will not.” He dials star-nine and answers my extension. They teach call center operators to smile when they answer a call. People can hear a smile in your voice. Joshua needs to learn this.

“Lucinda Hutton's phone. Joshua speaking. Hold.” He hits a button, and points at me with his receiver. “Do it. I'm watching you.”

We both watch the hold light flashing.

I'm still that smiling girl in the strawberry patch. Look at me, I'm a good girl. I'm the sweet little thing, adored by everyone. Nothing is too much trouble.

“I want to see you be as strong with other people as you are with me.”

I press the flashing button. “Hi, Julie, how are you?” My ear nearly burns from her deep sigh.

“Hi, Lucy. I'm not well. I'm incredibly tired. I don't even know why I came in. I've just sat down, and already the screen is killing me.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

I lock eyes with Josh. He intensifies his eyes into narrowed scary blue lasers. He's imbuing me with his powers. I am NOT going to care what excuses or requests she's going to make. “What can I do for you today, Julie?” Professional, but a hint of warmth in my tone.

“I'm supposed to be working on this thing for Alan, which he's going to polish up and send up to you.”

“Oh, yes. I need it by close of business.”

Josh gives me a sarcastic thumbs-up.

“Well, I'm having a bit of trouble finding some of the old reports in the network drive. It keeps saying shortcut moved. Anyway, I've tried a bunch of things and I think I need to step away, you know?”

“As long as I get it by five, it's fine.” Josh looks at the ceiling and shrugs. I thought I was being firm there, but he's unimpressed.

“I was hoping to go home and get it done first thing tomorrow, when I'm fresher.”

“Didn't you just get here?” Am I going crazy? I recheck the clock.

“I came in quickly to check my email.” Her tone is that of an absolute trooper.

“Alan said it would be okay if I cleared it with you first.” She's jingling her car keys in the background.

I steel myself with blue-laser strength. “I'm sorry, that's not going to work for me. I need it by five, please.”

“I'm aware of the deadline,” she counters, voice sharpening by one degree. “I'm trying to let you know Alan is not going to have it to you on time.”

“But it's really you who needs the extension, not Alan.” There is a long pause while I wait for her to speak.

“I thought you'd be a bit more flexible on this.” Her tone is
slipping further into an impressive combination of petulance and ice. “I am unwell.”

“If you do need to go home,” I begin as I watch Joshua's brow transform into a scowl, “you'll need to take today as sick leave, and bring a doctor's note.”

“I'm not going to the doctor for tiredness and a headache. He'll tell me to sleep. That's what I want to go and do.”

“I'm sympathetic if you're feeling unwell, but that's the HR policy.” Josh smoothes his hand over his mouth to hide his grin. I'm playing the HR Game with Julie.

“Sympathetic? I wouldn't call this sympathetic at all.”

“I've been fair with you, Julie. I've given you extensions a lot of times. But I can't keep staying late to finish these reports.”

Josh circles his hand in the air. I keep going. “If it's late, I end up having to stay back.”

“You don't have any family here, or a boyfriend, do you? Late nights don't affect you like they do for people with husbands and . . . well, people with families.”

“Well, I'm not going to get myself a husband or a life if I keep staying until nine o'clock at night, now am I? I'll expect the report from Alan at five.”

“You've spent too much time in the company of that horrible Joshua.”

“Apparently so. Also, I can't do the internship for your niece, it's not convenient for me.” I terminate the call.

Joshua lies back in his chair and starts laughing. “Well, shit.”

“I was amazing, wasn't I. Did you see me?” I punch the air and mime giving Julie an uppercut. Josh rests his folded hands on his stomach and watches me shadowbox my reflection.

“Take that, Julie, and your life and husband and your phony sleep disorder.”

“Let it all out.”

“Take that, Julie, and your me-graines.”

“You really were amazing.”

“Take that, Julie, and your French manicure.”

“Okay.” He's smiling at me, openly, in this exact office that was once a battlefield, and I flop back down into my chair and close my eyes and feel the glow of his pleasure from across the marble superhighway. So this is what it feels like. This is what it could have been like, all this time. It wasn't too late.

“No more late nights for me. I've probably totally destroyed my relationship with her, but it was so worth it.”

“You'll have a life and a husband in no time.”

“No time at all. Probably by next week. I hope he's super nice.” I open my eyes and the way he looks at me makes me wish I hadn't said it. We both hesitate, and his eyes flick sideways. I've interrupted our flow.

“Please, let me enjoy this moment. Joshua Templeman is officially my friend.” I link my fingers and stretch my arms over my head.

“I'm going for my breakfast meeting. Josh, I need those figures by lunch,” Mr. Bexley says, walking in between us. I think we all know this breakfast meeting is with a plate of bacon.

“They're already done; I'll email them through now.”

Mr. Bexley harrumphs, I suppose his best attempt at thanks or praise, and then turns to me.

“Good morning, Lucy. Nice dress you've got on there.”

“Thanks.”

Ugh.

“Got your nails sharpened, do you then? Interviews coming soon. Ticktock.” He ambles to the edge of my desk and peruses me from the neck down. I resist the urge to cross my arms over
myself. I don't know how Mr. Bexley hasn't noticed Josh's murderous glare refracted dozens of times. He continues his usual gimlet-eyed assessment of my appearance.

“Don't,” Josh says to his boss, voice metallic.

“I'm pretty well prepared for the interview.” I look down at my front. “Mr. Bexley, what are you looking at?”

I calmly level my eyes at Mr. Bexley, and he physically jolts. He quickly averts his eyes and begins to comb his fingers through his sparse hair, his face burnished red.

Man, I kick ass today.

Josh clenches his jaw and looks down at his glass desk so angrily I'm surprised it doesn't shatter.

“From the little sneak peek I had in Helene's office, I do think you're well prepared. Doctor Josh, we may need to discuss strategy.”

Holy shit. He's going to tell Joshua about my project. I swing my panicked stare to Josh, who looks at his boss like he is an absolute idiot.

And then he reminds me that no, he is not my friend, and no matter how much kissing we do on his couch, we're still in the middle of our biggest competition.

“I'm not going to need any help beating her.”

H
e's cold as ice and the tone gives me flashbacks. He says it like it is the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. Silly little Lucy Hutton, impossible to take seriously, and absolutely no match for Joshua Templeman in any arena. I'm a joke. I'm not getting the job, because why would I? I have to be coached through a phone call.

“Maybe not,” Mr. Bexley muses. Clearly pleased to have kicked over two beehives, he plods off. As he waits for the elevator, he looks back at us.

“But then again, Doctor Josh, you may want to rethink that.”

The elevator door closes as Josh's silently mouthed
Fuck you
fragments around us. Then he looks at me.

“I was lying.”

The silence rings like crystal wineglasses touched together.

“Well, you're quite a good actor. I sure believed it.” I pick up my bottle of water and sip, trying to ease the angry tightness in my throat. I'm actually grateful to him. This is what I've been missing. We're two racehorses pounding toward the finish line. I've been flagging, but I've just felt the first lash of the whip. I need to hold on to this feeling until I walk out of the interview.

“I always have been. I was mad at him for looking at you like that and it came out wrong. I've got a bad habit of snapping. Look at me, Luce.”

When I do, he repeats himself slowly. “I did not mean it.”

“It's all right. It's what I needed.” I use the same flat, icy tone that he'd just used with Bexley. I have no idea how I can make my voice so cold when anger feels like a blowtorch in my chest. I'm a good actor too.

His forehead has his trademark crease of concern. “You needed that? Me being an asshole? It's all you seem to get from me.”

“You've just given me what I needed to hear.”

Life is all about perspective, and if I choose to believe I've just received a boost to my motivation from my competitor, I can ignore my bruised pride. I am going to keep my focus forward. My focus is now a laser beam that he has given me.

My computer chimes. Five minutes until I have my meeting with Danny to discuss working on my ebook project.

“Wait. We need to clear this up. I can't quite explain it yet, though.” His face twists in agitation. “The timing is all off. I didn't mean it the way it sounded.”

“I'm going out.” I begin gathering my bag and coat.

“And where are you going? In case Helene asks me,” he amends. He looks miserable. “Are you coming back?”

“I'm meeting someone for coffee.”

“Well,” Josh says after a second. “I can't stop you.”

“Thank you for allowing me to do my job.” After spitefully pushing his in-trays crooked I march to the elevator.

I walk to the Starbucks across the street. The thing about being in combat with Joshua Templeman? I never truly win. That's what is so deceptive about it all. The moment I think I've won, something happens to remind me I haven't.

Please, let me enjoy this moment. Joshua Templeman is officially my friend.

It's nothing but win, then lose, lose, lose.

Danny's already at a seat by the window. The fact I'm late is another nail in my professionalism's coffin.

“Hi. Thanks for meeting me. Sorry I'm late.”

I order coffee and then briefly outline my idea.

“I've got time this weekend,” Danny offers nobly. He's been looking at me with undisguised interest; my tied-up hair, my bare throat and the red of my mouth. I have a bad feeling he's hoping our bad kiss was a blip.

“I'd be paying you out of my own pocket. Can you give me an idea of how much?”

Danny doesn't look concerned. “Why don't we make a deal. Credit my work in the interview and mention my new self-publishing software to Helene. There may be some cross-functionalities that could suit your project. And . . . three hundred bucks.”

“That's fine, and of course I will,” I rush to assure him. This is something I can do. Give him a little exposure to the exec, and help build his business.

A couple of B&G people are queuing for coffee and look at us with speculative glances. Another walks past on the street and waves at me. I'm sitting in a big glass fishbowl. My cheeks start to burn when I think about everything I've said and done with Joshua on the top floor. The barbs, the insults, the circuit-frying kisses. In our own isolated little world, everything seemed so normal and acceptable.

“Thanks for thinking of me on this.” Danny sips his coffee.

“Well, after our dinner on Monday I knew I could trust you
with my little secret. And like you said, I needed some help and you were the first person I thought of.”

“Oh, so it's a secret?”

“Helene knows, of course. Mr. Bexley knows about the project
concept
but not the actual finished product I'm hoping to present.”

I wish I didn't have to say this next part, and I'm sad at how messed up this situation has gotten.

“I need to ask you to please, don't say anything to Josh. I know you won't see him again, but let's keep it between us. He's so sure he's getting the job. It's more important than ever I beat him.”

“I won't. But, actually, he's over there.”

“What?” I nearly scream it. I can't turn around. “Act businesslike.” I draw a diagram on my notepad and Danny draws some slashy lines on it.

“What is his
deal
? He always looks furious.” Danny shakes his head at my notepad and we do a bit more business-miming.

“That's his face.”

“You guys have a weird dynamic going on.”

“There's no dynamic. No dynamic.” I begin swigging at my coffee. It's too hot and a terrible idea.

“But you know he's in love with you, right?”

I inhale my huge mouthful and begin to drown on dry land. Danny leans over and thumps me between my shoulder blades. Tears are streaming down my face. I wish he'd let me die.

“He's not,” I wheeze. I use a napkin to wipe my face. “That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Ever.”

“As your
friend
,” Danny articulates with a little smile, “I'm telling you he is.”

“What's he doing?”

“Scaring the cashier shitless. People are concerned about how
things will be if he gets the job. We know how good at cutting staff he is. A few guys in design are brushing up their CVs, in case.”

“I'm sure he'd be fine to work for.” I muster my diplomacy. I won't stoop to Josh's level. I stand up and gather my things.

“Let's say hi to him,” Danny says and I'm pretty sure he's messing with me. His mouth is lifted into a half smile.

“No, we're going to climb out the bathroom window. Quick.”

He laughs and shakes his head. Once again, I'm impressed by his bravery. Everyone else tries to avoid the monster in their midst. But I do know a secret about Josh. I think of him last night, taking my pulse, counting each beat of my heart. Covering me with a blanket, tucking my feet in. It's quite remarkable how he's managed to maintain this frightening façade for so long.

“Hi,” we both say in unison as we approach.

“Well, hello,” Josh says archly.

“Quit stalking so much.” My tone is so aggrieved that the girl at the coffee machine laughs out loud.

Josh fixes his cuff. “Missed each other, did you?”

I am lasering the word
SECRET
into Danny's brain. I raise my eyebrows and he nods. Josh watches this exchange.

“Lucy's talking to me about an . . . opportunity to . . . work with her.” Danny is a genius. Nothing is more believable than the truth.

“That's right. Danny's helping me with my . . . presentation.” We couldn't seem more shady if we tried.

“You're working on your presentation. Right. Okay.” Josh takes his coffee when his name is called and gives such an accusing look my face nearly melts off. “And were we doing that too, Lucinda? Last night on my couch?”

Danny's jaw hits the floor. I am not amused. If this got out,
my reputation would be in shreds. It's too juicy. Danny's still in contact with too many people in design. And he's also a sticky-nosed gossip hound.

“In your
dreams
, Templeman. Ignore him, Danny. Walk back with me.”

I tug Danny ahead so he doesn't get tossed into oncoming traffic. Josh follows at a languid pace, sipping his coffee. I'm holding Danny's arm so tightly he winces as I drag him across the road.

“Even if he kidnaps and tortures you, don't tell him what you're doing for me. He'll use every bit of information he can to screw me.”

“Wow, you guys really
are
mortal enemies.”

“Yep, to the death. Pistols and swords at dawn.”

“So he's doing this to try to find out your interview strategy?” Danny says hi to a colleague and checks his phone.

“Exactly!” I let out a nervous whinny. I think everything is covered up. “I'll call you after work once I've worked out what book I want you to format for me.”

Josh is nearly upon us. I'm beginning to think I might toss Danny into oncoming traffic myself to end this agonizing little tableau.

“Okay, talk to you tonight. Bye, Josh. Good luck in your interview.” Danny continues along the footpath.

Josh and I don't say a word to each other as we get into the elevator. He's so livid it's a visceral thing. Meanwhile, I'm still partially deceased by what Danny said.
You know he's in love with you, right?

“He's so nice. What a nice guy. I think I get what you see in him.” He speaks so sharply I bump backward. “I must have had a vivid dream last night.”

“Hey, what can I say? I
lied.
I'm a good actor.” I spread my arms wide and push ahead to my desk.

“So, you're embarrassed of me?”

“No. Of course not. But no one can know. I think he's a gossip. Oh, don't give me that sourpuss face. People will talk about us.”

“Newsflash, people have always talked about us. And you don't care if people talk about you and him, but not you and me?”

“You and I work ten feet from each other. It's different. I want to reestablish some level of professionalism in this office.”

Josh pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I'll play it your way. If this is the last personal conversation we ever have in this building, then I'll tell you now. Bring your bag on Friday.”

“What? What's happening on Friday?”

“Bring in your stuff for the wedding. Your dress and stuff.”

At my walleyed stare, he reminds me. “You're coming to my brother's wedding. You insisted, remember?”

“Wait, why am I bringing my dress on Friday? The wedding is on Saturday. Is there a rehearsal? I didn't agree to go to the wedding twice.”

“No. The wedding is at Port Worth and we have to drive there.”

I look at him, doubtful. “That's not too far away.”

“Far enough away that we need to leave after work. Mom needs my help with a few things the night before.”

I'm filled to the brim with annoyance, terror, hurt feelings, and absolute certainty this is going to be a disaster. We stare into each other's eyes.

“I knew you wouldn't be happy but I also wasn't expecting such complete horror.” Josh leans back in his chair and assesses me. “Don't freak out.”

“We've never even gone to a movie together, or to a restaurant. I was nervous getting a ride in your car. And now you're tell
ing me I'm driving several hours with you and to bring my pj's? Where are we staying?”

“Probably a seedy hotel.”

I am close to hyperventilating. I am this close to running down the fire escape. I've had a fair idea we'd at some point get around to playing the Or Something Game. I imagined it in his blue bedroom, or while hissing hurtful insults at him in the cleaner's closet. But too much has happened today.

“I was kidding, Lucy. I have to talk to my mom about where we're staying.”

“I didn't properly think about meeting your parents. Look, I'm not coming. You were a real asshole to me just now, remember? You don't need help beating me, remember? I'd have to be crazy to help you now. Go by yourself like a big loser.”

“You made the commitment. You promised. You never break your word.”

I shrug and my moral fibers strain uncomfortably. “Like I care.”

He decides to play his ace card. “You're my designated moral support.”

It is the most intriguing thing he could have gone with. I can't resist.

“Why exactly do you need moral support?” He doesn't answer, but shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

I raise my eyebrows until he relents.

“I'm not dragging you along as my sex slave. I won't lay a finger on you. I just can't walk in without a date. And that's you. You owe me, remember? I helped you vomit.”

He looks so grim I have a chill of foreboding.

“Moral support? Will it be so bad?”

His cell begins to ring, and he looks between it and me, torn.

“The issue here is timing. I have to take this.”

He walks down the hallway, and I resign myself to looking up the route, because unfortunately it's true. I promised.

O
NCE, A TINY
eternity ago, I could lie on my couch like any other person. I could watch TV, eat snacks, and paint my nails. I could call Val and we'd go try on clothes. But now that I'm an addict, I have to hang on to the cushions with my chipped fingernails to stop myself from standing up, putting shoes on, and running to Josh's building. The effort is making me ache. I weigh myself down with my laptop on my chest and halfheartedly flick between news sites, my interview presentation, Smurf auctions, and my favorite retro-dork clothing site.

I get a pop-up notification that my parents have just logged into Skype, and I dial so quickly that it's a little embarrassing. My mother appears onscreen, frowning and too close.