The Hating Game(20)

“I’ve already come up with several team-building activities. We’ll do them in a round-robin style, rotating each group so teams get regularly mixed up. I’d like to be the facilitator for the day. I want to end this war between the Bexleys and Gamins.”

“People absolutely hate team activities,” Helene points out.

I can’t argue. It’s a corporate truth universally acknowledged that workers would rather eat rat skeletons than participate in group activities. I know I would. But until business team-building models make a significant advance, it’s all I’ve got.

“There’s a prize at the end for the participant who’s made the biggest effort and contributes the most.” I pause for effect. “A paid day off.”

“I like it,” she cackles.

“Joshua is planning something though,” I warn. She nods.

She enters the Colosseum at precisely four. As usual, I can hear them shouting at each other.

At five, Helene comes out of Mr. Bexley’s office and arrives at my desk in an irritated state. “Josh,” she tosses over her shoulder, her voice colored with dislike.

“Ms. Pascal, how are you?” A halo floats above his head.

She ignores him. “Darling, I’m sorry. I lost the coin toss. We’ve gone with Josh’s idea for team building. What is the thing called? Paintballs?”

Sweet baby Jesus, no. “That wasn’t the recommendation. I should know; I wrote it.”

Joshua nearly smiles. It shimmers like a holograph over his face. It vibrates out of him in waves. “I took the liberty of providing an alternative to Mr. Bexley. Paintballing. It’s been shown to be an effective team-building activity. Fresh air, physical activity . . .”

“Injuries and insurance claims,” Helene counters. “Cost.”

“People will pay twenty dollars of their own money to shoot their colleagues with paintballs,” he assures her, staring at me. “It won’t cost the company a cent. They’ll sign waivers. We’ll split into teams.”

“Darling, how does it help team building to separate people and give them paint guns?”

While they argue in fake-polite voices, I seethe. He’s hijacked my corporate initiative and taken it down to a juvenile, base level. Such a Bexley thing to do.

“Perhaps we’ll see some unlikely alliances form,” he tells Helene.

“In that case, I want to see you two paired together,” Helene says archly and I could hug her. He can’t paintball his own teammate.

“Like I said, unlikely alliances. Anyway, let’s not fluster Lucinda before her hot date.”

“Oh, really, Lucy?” Helene taps my desk. “A date. I expect a full report in the morning, darling. And come in late if you wish. You work too much. Live a little.”





Chapter 6




At six thirty P.M. my knee begins jiggling.

“Will you be late?”

“None of your business.” Goddamn it, will Joshua ever leave? He’s worked an eleven-hour day and still looks as fresh as a daisy. I want to lie facedown on my bed.

“Didn’t you say seven? How are you getting there?”

“Cab.”

“I’m headed there too. I’ll give you a ride. I insist.” Joshua’s face has been the picture of amusement throughout this little exchange. He’s waiting for me to fess up about lying. It feels good to know I have Danny as the ace up my sleeve.

“Fine. Whatever.” My fury over the team-building hijack has burned away, leaving a husk. Everything is spiraling slowly out of control.

I head to the ladies room, makeup bag in hand. My footsteps echo in the empty corridor. I haven’t had a date in a long time. I’m too busy. Between work, hating Joshua Templeman, and sleeping, I have no time for anything else.

Joshua cannot believe anyone would want to spend time in my company. To him I’m a repugnant little shrew. I carefully draw my eyeliner into a tiny cat’s-eye. I wipe off my lipstick until only the stain is left. I put a spray of perfume into my bra and give myself a little wink and a pep talk.

I have a dangly pair of earrings in the side pocket of my makeup bag and I hook them on. Office to evening, like those magazine articles. I’m tugging up my bra when I bump squarely into Joshua outside the bathroom. He is holding my coat and bag in hand. The shock of making contact with his body clashes through me.

He looks at me strangely. “Why’d you do all that?”

“Gee, thanks.” I hold my hand out and he hooks my bag onto it. He holds on to my coat and pushes the elevator button.

“So I get to see your car.” I try to break the silence. That thought is more nerve-racking than seeing Danny. It’s such an enclosed space. Have Joshua and I ever even sat next to each other before? I doubt it.

“I’ve been imagining it for so long. I’ve been thinking it’s a Volkswagen beetle. A rusty white one, like Herbie.”

“Guess again.” He is hugging my coat idly. His fingers twiddle the cuff. Against his body it looks like a kid’s jacket. I feel sorry for this poor coat. I hold my hand out but he ignores me.

“MINI Cooper, early 1980s. Kermit green. The seat won’t go back so your knees are on either side of the steering wheel.”

“Your imagination is quite vivid. You drive a 2003 Honda Accord. Silver. Filthy messy inside. Chronic gearbox issues. If it were a horse, you’d shoot it.” The elevator arrives and I step in cautiously.