Make Me Bad(24)

A little bubble pops up to show she’s typing a reply. It disappears. Then another one pops up in its place. It disappears too. She’s obviously overthinking whatever she’s about to tell me. If she were here in person, I’d shake her and tell her to spit it out.

Finally, a new message appears.

Madison: Okay, great. I just didn’t want to make things too personal if you’d rather leave them professional.





Another text immediately follows that one.

Madison: I feel like I’m not coming across well via text. Does my tone seem weird to you?





Andy walks into my office then with a cup of coffee in hand. He’s whistling under his breath, much too happy to be in the office this early on a Monday morning.

“Who’re you texting?” he asks once he sees my phone in my hand.

“I’m not texting. I’m checking my emails.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re smiling, so I know you’re lying. Second of all, why would you check your emails on your phone when you’re sitting at your desk with your computer right in front of you?”

I glare at him and make a point of dropping my phone, turning my attention to my computer, and going straight to my email.

“Do you need something?” I ask brusquely.

He helps himself to the seat across from my desk usually reserved for clients, crosses one ankle over his knee, and gets comfortable. He’s smiling at me. His blond hair’s a little disheveled. His socks are brightly colored and striped. He’s getting on my last nerve.

I want to tell him to get out of my office, but he speaks up first. “I wanted to check in and see how things went on Friday. You left early.”

My phone vibrates and we both stare at it.

“Need to get that?” he asks, eyebrows raised tauntingly.

“It’s fine,” I say, turning back to my computer.

He sips his coffee, eyes narrowed on the window behind my head as if he’s just enjoying the morning sunrise.

He has work to do. We both do.

My phone vibrates again, a reminder that I didn’t open the last text message.

Andy clears his throat and with a near growl, I grab the phone like I’m angry at it.

Madison: You know what? Forget I said all of that. Ha ha. Also, I’ll stop texting you now. You’re probably very busy at work.





I fire back a quick response.

Ben: I texted you first, remember? Also, I don’t have a client meeting until 9:00 AM.





I’m staring down, waiting for the little dots to pop up again. She clearly doesn’t subscribe to the standard rules of texting as evidenced by the fact that she texted me three times in a row before I replied. Now, nothing.

The dots don’t appear. I lock my phone, unlock it, open my texts again. Nothing new has come through.

Then something finally does.

Andy: Hi.





I resist the urge to laugh. I really do hate the guy.

When I glance up at him, he’s smiling over his cup of coffee, phone in hand, pleased with himself.

“Anything you’d like to share?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Nothing.”

“I saw you disappear with Madison at the party.”

I open my desk drawer, drop my phone inside, and then slam it closed. “I was in the bathroom.”

“For thirty minutes?”

I shrug. “Bad fish.”

“We live on the coast—there’s no such thing.”

“Andy, I’m not going to talk to you about her.”

“Oh I know. I’m just over here wondering why that is.”

I’m saved from having to reply to him when my secretary, Mrs. Cromwell, walks in with an armful of files.

I work straight through the morning and then meet my dad for lunch at the club. I don’t see him as often as I should, especially considering how close we live to one another. I think it’s easier for both of us to have some distance. The last few years have been hard, and I don’t think either of us has quite adjusted to the reality of our situation: it’s just the two of us now.

He met my mom when they were teenagers and they got married young. She was with him through college and law school, and she helped him build his practice to what it is today. He’s one of the top litigators in the state and has no plans to retire any time soon.

We look a lot alike, and though his hair has turned gray and he wears glasses now that his eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be, he’s still a handsome guy. He could date if he wanted to, but I know he won’t.

“Tell me something good,” he says after we finish our meals and the waiters are clearing our plates.

I lean back in my chair. “The firm’s really taking off. I think we’ll need to hire—”

He laughs and the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Outside of work, son.”

Right. That’s all we talked about through lunch.

I wipe my mouth with the linen napkin and fold it neatly across the table, stalling. “The house has really come together. The landscape architect you recommended put the finishing touches on the back yard last week, and with the pool, it’ll be a nice spot for entertaining.”