How to Fail at Flirting(64)

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A week later, I sat at a long conference table in the president’s suite. I tapped my fingers on the mahogany and glanced around as the room filled. No one spoke. They chose seats and tried to look busy, everyone on their phones.

    Jake: Stop worrying. It will be fine.

Naya: How did you know I was worrying?

Jake: I know you. Maybe picture everyone in their underwear.

Jake: Although, I’m not sure the image of Flip in tighty-whities is going to ease your mind.

Naya: I dunno. He’s not bad looking for an older guy.

Jake: Whatever makes you happy. Tell me about it later.

Jake: The meeting. Not your, I assume explicit, fantasy about Flip in skivvies.



I smiled to myself, took a deep breath, and stilled my fingers. It doesn’t matter that I’m one of the youngest, least-experienced, and lowest-paid people in the room. I am qualified to be here.

Jill from the accounting department walked in and shared a brief smile with me, but she took one of the few available seats on the other side of the room near Doug. He’d been a good friend of Davis’s and was a member of the president’s cabinet. Though he’d never done anything specific to me, their association gave me the creeps. President Lewis made eye contact with each of the twenty people around the room as he spoke. “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming.”

I settled back into my chair. Here goes nothing.

“We’ll have a few others joining us, but let’s get started.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’d been given our charge. We were to speak candidly with the consultants about our opinions on some early findings they’d unearthed. President Lewis concluded by saying, “I can’t promise you’ll all be happy with every decision, but it’s important to me you are here.”

I glanced down at my agenda. I’d told Jake about my spot on the committee, and he’d offered to tell Flip about our relationship, but I knew I should be the one to do it. I planned to talk with him about the conflict at the end of the meeting. His secretary had indicated he would have fifteen minutes, and that I should walk with him back to his office before he left the country on a fundraising trip. I figured that would give me time to exit gracefully if he removed me from the group.

The imposing wooden door swung open with a loud creak, and all heads turned to stare at the latecomer sauntering in. He was tall, in his late forties, and wore an expensive-looking suit with a sharp red tie. No, no, no. I was afraid to look up to his face, but it didn’t matter. I’d recognize that cocky swagger anywhere.

He took the chair across from me, pulling materials from his briefcase. My body went cold, and my foot bounced at full speed under the table. There was no quick way out of the room, and his proximity triggered an urge to run.

The president stopped to ask Davis to introduce himself.

“Sorry for my tardiness. I am Davis Garner, formerly—” He paused for a minute as his eyes met mine across the table. His eyes flicked down and up over my chest. “Former professor in the business school. I’m in administration at State now.”

Around the room, some murmured hello and others gave him wide smiles, and the president continued with a nod. I tried to face him, but my gaze wandered back to Davis, who was eyeing me with his head tilted.

The president spoke for another fifteen minutes, providing context for what would be asked of us before opening for questions from the group. I noticed Davis thumbing at his phone. A chill ran through me and lingered as I felt my own device buzz in my pocket. I didn’t dare pull it out for fear of what I might see on the screen.

I packed my things quickly. I wanted to get to the president before he was mobbed. I even got to my feet, but was stopped by a hand on my arm.

“I’m surprised to see you here. I thought it would only be senior people.” The smug, clipped baritone of his voice hadn’t changed.

I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before I turned. He can’t hurt me here. Be professional and get the hell out. “Hello, Davis.”

“You look good,” he said, scanning my body again, this time moving down to my black high heels and all the way back up.

I turned to face the president again, but before I could speak, Davis spoke up. “Flip. So sorry I was late, but it’s great to see you!” He smiled warmly at the president, who returned his smile and joined us. The warmth between them only chilled me further—I had no idea what game Davis was playing.

“Glad you made it,” the older man said, clapping Davis on the shoulder. “And you’re Naya Turner, right? Taking Joe’s place?”

I nodded, extending one slightly trembling hand. My voice had gone somewhere, I wasn’t sure where, but I couldn’t find it.

“She’s come a long way from the little student who followed me around,” Davis joked with the president.

“Ah, so you’re an alum as well as a faculty member?”

“I—uh—no.” I figured out Davis’s game, and I mentally scrambled to reestablish my footing. “We met a year after I started working here. I was never a student here.” And I never followed this asshole around.

Davis tipped his head to the side. “Are you sure? I could have sworn . . .” He tucked one hand casually in his pocket and scratched his chin with the other, as if trying to recall something important.