Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(4)

“No.”

“Want to do it together?” I ask.

He nods and reaches into the back pocket of his perfectly pressed dress slacks and pulls out his envelope. “I’ll read yours, and you read mine.”

“That seems fair. It lessens the blow.”

We exchange envelopes, and he nods at me. “You read mine first. And if it says anything about sports, just end me now.”

“Same,” I say as I pull out the letter. “Ahem. You, my friend, have . . .” I pause, scanning the letter . . . “Oh shit, you have fall fashion trends.”

“Shut up,” he shouts before ripping the letter from my hands and reading it himself. “Holy fuck, a five-hundred-word spread on fall fashion must-haves.” His eyes widen when he looks up at me. “Ollie, do you understand how big a deal this is?”

I chuckle. “I do. I worked with you this entire summer. Everyone is going to see that article, and I have no doubt it will be syndicated.”

“Holy . . . fuck,” he breathes out. “And here I thought Roberts hated me. He just made me get his coffee every morning so he could make sure I had the style to back up the article. This could only mean if I got fashion, you probably got lifestyle. That list of books you’ve been putting together will pay off.” He rips open my envelope, and I wait in anticipation because I truly hope he’s right. Lifestyle would be my ideal topic, the one I know the most about. I’ve kept up with all the reading, beauty, and exercise trends. I’m my very own Andie Anderson over here.

He clears his throat, tosses the letter open with a shake of his hand, and smiles at me.

“Ollie, my dearest friend who has the glowing complexion of an angel—”

“Thank you, plant-derived squalane.”

Smiling, he says, “You will be working tirelessly, writing about . . .” He pauses, and I know it’s for dramatic effect. Ross doesn’t know any other way to operate. At least that’s what I think until his brow creases in concern, and his smile flattens into a frown.

Uh-oh, that can’t be good.

Unless he’s trying to fake me out.

Would Ross do that, though? He’s not much of a prankster.

Oh God, what if I got something bad?

“What, uh . . . what is it?” I ask nervously.

His eyes slowly lift to mine. “I think they messed up.”

“What do you mean you think they messed up?” I snag the letter from Ross and scan it until my eyes land directly on the assignment. “No, this can’t be right.”

“Looking at assignments?” we hear a cheery yet shrill voice say as she walks up behind us.

Candace Roundhouse.

The bane of our existence.

The suck-up of the summer.

The brown-nose that belongs to Alan Roberts.

Abhorrently annoying and a compulsive inhibiter of all fun, Candace has been the second main reason Ross and I came up with a drink of the summer. Roberts is the margarita. Candace is the shot of tequila on the side.

Plastering on a smile because even though we can’t stand her, we have to pretend to get along, I turn toward Candace and say, “Oh hey, didn’t think you were going out tonight.”

She flips her fake fiery-red hair over one shoulder and gives me a slow once-over. “Yes, thought I would introduce my boyfriend to all my work peeps.”

Ew, who says peeps?

“How fun,” Ross says with his genuinely fake smile. I know it’s fake because his teeth clench tightly together while the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly.

“Can you believe Roberts allowed me to put together the assignments? He just tossed it on my desk and said have at it.”

The bitch.

Of course she put these together. I should have freaking known.

“You put these together?” I ask, still trying to hold my composure. I want to flick that red lipstick right off her pursed lips.

“I did.” She smiles brightly. “I knew you would be amazing with the fashion piece, Ross. The minute I saw it, I thought you needed to have it.”

“Yeah, thank you,” he says quietly because sure, she did him a favor. But what about me?

She did this on purpose, I know she did, and it’s all because of the stupid freaking Post-it Notes.

Want to talk about petty?

Candace Roundhouse is the definition of it.

You see, Candace was very particular about her office supplies. So particular that she took in her own, which is fine. If you want to use the stupid gel pens like a girl who grew up in the two thousands, have at it. I’m not going to stop you. But one day, I was running around the office at everyone’s beck and call, and I was on the phone with an advertiser who needed me to pick up a product from a warehouse downtown. I needed something to write the address down on. I was right next to Candace’s desk, and since she wasn’t there, I picked up a pen and a Post-it Note and wrote down the address. When I hung up and turned around, Candace was right behind me, staring me down as if she was one of the twins from The Shining.

I smiled awkwardly, begging for forgiveness.

She folded her arms.

Nothing was said between us, just a stare down still ingrained in my memory as one of the top five scariest moments of my life. There is nothing like utter silence to gain the upper hand when facing a competitor, especially me because I can’t stand the silence.