The Chemistry of Love(15)

“What would you do with that clone army?”

“Not execute Order 66 and exterminate the Jedi, I can tell you that.”

He smiled, and it was a brilliant smile, like the kind a toothpaste model would have. I realized that he’d understood my joke. It was such an unusual sensation, to feel like I’d been seen. Usually the only person who got my jokes was Catalina.

But that smile . . . it seemed awfully familiar.

It was then that I realized who he was. “You’re Loch Ness GQ,” I breathed.

“You may be drunker than I thought,” he said, sounding concerned.

I grabbed the lapel of his suit. The observant part of my brain noted that it was a very nice suit and probably expensive and that he had the kind of shoulders that filled it out in a satisfactory way. “You’re the CEO of the company. There were rumors that you existed, but none of us had ever actually seen you. We thought you were like a missi . . .” That wasn’t right. I tried again. “A mifi . . .” Nope. I coaxed my tongue to form the right sound. “A mythical creature. And the GQ part was because of the face symmetry. You’re Mark something.”

“Marco, actually. Pleasure to meet you.” He offered me his hand, and it looked big and strong and I thought I might really enjoy shaking it.

So I said with a laugh, “Oh, no thank you.” Whew. That was a close one. Didn’t want to be disloyal to Craig.

Who is marrying someone else, my broken heart reminded me. I could hold hands with whomever I wanted.

He put his hand down, and I felt a pang of disappointment as he prompted, “And you are?”

“Drunk?” I said, then I figured out what he meant. “Oh. I’m Anna. That’s short for Anastasia.”

I didn’t know why I was telling him that. I never really shared my full name with anyone.

“After the Romanov princess?”

It surprised me that he asked this question, like he’d peered into my brain and my past and knew the exact right thing to ask. “My mom used to tell people that she had chosen it because of her love for Russian literature. She was a librarian. But that was a lie. She named me after one of her favorite makeup brands.”

“Good thing she didn’t name you Urban Decay or Hard Candy.”

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. Look at this guy naming off 1990s makeup brands like he’d studied the subject in school, while Craig couldn’t tell the difference between blush and eye shadow.

That feeling of being disloyal returned again, and I tried to brush it aside with an actual wave of my hand.

“Were you planning on going to a costume party after this one?” he asked.

What kind of weird question was that? Who had a costume party in January? “No, this is the only dress I own. Which I recognize as being very sad.”

“Are those staples on the sleeves?”

I clapped a hand over the sleeve closest to him. “Listen, Irritatingly Handsome Man, my dress is fine. Just fine!”

“Is that why you’re crying? Did someone say something to you about your dress?”

“No.” My eyes widened in sudden paranoia. “Did someone say something to you about my dress?”

His eyes shifted away from me, and I realized with despair that they had. I was trying to keep my humiliation private, and apparently I’d unwittingly exposed myself to a very public variety. I cleared my throat. “That’s not why I’m crying. Although it’s kind of making me want to cry more now.”

“Please don’t,” he said. “Why were you crying before? If you don’t mind me asking?”

If he meant to distract me from breaking into sobs, it wasn’t a good idea to circle back to what had gotten me here in the first place.

“There’s a lot of things. I’m no longer employed because I quit my job today. From your company. I used to be your employee and I’m not anymore. I’m a cosmetic chemist. A good one. Which you would know if you had better management who respected their employees and recognized their work.”

“A chemist? That’s too bad. Your department typically turns out excellent work. Did we lose you to a competitor?”

Had he not heard my tirade about Jerry? “No. My boss was a sexist, disrespectful jerk who treated me badly. I also quit because of the company’s nonfraternization rule.” It might have taken me two or three times to say nonfraternization correctly.

Marco frowned slightly. “There’s no nonfraternization rule. You only have to disclose your relationship to HR.”

That couldn’t be right. I was drunk, but not so drunk that I was misremembering events from earlier. I knew what Craig had said. “I think you’re wrong.”

“I’m usually not. CEO, remember? I know the company’s rules.”

I blinked slowly at him. He might be right. But then what had happened in the lab this morning made no sense.

When I didn’t say anything, he asked, “Is that the reason you’re upset? Did you have someone in mind who you wanted to date and thought you couldn’t?” He didn’t say it, but I could hear his implication—that I’d made a huge mistake if that had been the reason I’d quit.

I decided to ignore his question that might have hit a bit too close to home. “I was crying because the love of my life is marrying someone else.”