The Hating Game(68)

“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 fa?ade 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.