Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Good morning,” he says as he opens the door. “Fancy meeting you here.” Russ heads up the non-fiction department and is always telling us about the outlandish stories he receives. He’s the one who raves about this place.
“Morning,” I say in return, and walk ahead of him. “Can I get your coffee this morning?” I ask, knowing he won’t take me up on the offer. Russ is old-fashioned. At least, that’s what he tells us all in the office. He is about twenty years older than most of us, divorced, and doesn’t have any children. Russ never leaves the office before five and is normally the first one in. Basha has told me he’s always invited to join the team at after-work drinks, but rarely meets up with anyone outside of work.
“Of course not,” he says with a chuckle. “But I’ll happily get your breakfast.”
“You don’t have to do that, Russ.”
He smiles kindly. “I’m fully aware, but I insist.”
I nod because there’s no point in arguing with him. The last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings or make it seem like I don’t care or appreciate his gesture. We stand in line for an excess of ten minutes and then wait just as long while our order is made.
“I normally order ahead,” he tells me while we stand off to the side and wait for the barista to yell out our names. “But I was running late this morning.”
“Everything okay?”
He nods. “I watched the game yesterday and put off the edit I wanted to finish. I ended up going to bed late.”
“What game?”
“The Pioneers. They played yesterday.”
Oh, crap.
“Oh, no.” Dread fills my heart.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say as I shake my head. I messed up, but Russ doesn’t need to know about my blunder. Finally, we hear our names, grab our coffee and croissants, and head out the door. My thoughts are on Alex and how he invited me to his game. I had every intention of going. But I thought the game was this coming Sunday and not yesterday. This could explain why I didn’t hear from him yesterday.
You also didn’t text him.
I like Alex. And the past few days with him have been fun. He shocked me when he kissed me over dessert, and again when he walked me to my door. I think he wanted to come in, but I’m hesitant to get involved with him after everything I’ve read online. It’s refreshing that Alex doesn’t bad mouth his ex. But it also makes me wonder if they’re truly done with each other.
Russ and I make small talk on our way to work, mostly about upcoming projects and the weather. Unlike the dreariness of last week, this week is beautiful. The sun shines, and while still chilly, it’s a pleasant reprieve from the gray skies.
Inside, and after a quick elevator ride, I head to the breakroom to put my lunch away. At my desk, I sit down and wait for my emails to load. I spent my weekend editing the football manuscript and left myself a bunch of notes—things I need to ask Alex. Of course, now that I stood him up, he may not be willing to talk to me about anything. I hope I’m wrong though.
It’s almost lunchtime when Robin Boyce, our front-end receptionist, calls me. The dim ringing of my phone catches me off guard. No one has our numbers, again because of the open-concept layout. It’s impossible to talk on the phone without disrupting people, and we prefer to do business via email. Leaving a paper trail is necessary, especially for negotiations.
“Hello?” I cover the receiver and mouth with my hand to muffle my voice.
“Hi, Kelsey. There’s a Mr. Moore here to see you.” Robin is incredibly formal and takes her job seriously. According to her, she wants people who visit (which isn’t often) to respect Willamette Publishing, and by asking their last name, it shows they’re respecting each other.
“Oh . . . um,” I stammer, trying to come up with the right words. “I’ll be out there in a minute.” After hanging up, I take a couple of deep breaths and run through any scenario that might bring him here. I know for a fact we don’t have a lunch date or meeting, and I was only just thinking about reaching out to discuss some questions—and apologize for not attending the game.
On my way to the front, I brush any lint off my clothes and try not to fidget. Alex makes me nervous, and it’s because I like him.
Alex’s presence catches me off guard. He’s a looming feature in our small foyer. His back is facing me, which gives me a long moment to take him in. He’s not dressed as I would expect for a usual Monday afternoon and is wearing slacks and a peacoat. In my mind, I see him in joggers or those tight pants he wears for the game. Although, the thought of him walking around town in those pants is utterly ridiculous. Still, the images make me chuckle.