Tangled (The Tangled Series)(15)

I’ve had this fantasy a hundred times. Though, I have to say, it’s never included us in our respective offices, glaring at each other across the hallway—accompanied by the occasional obscene hand gesture.

I glance over and see her reviewing her charts. What is she thinking? Is this the Stone Age? Who the hell uses poster board anymore? Anderson is definitely mine.

I’m just putting the finishing touches on my own impressive PowerPoint presentation when Matthew walks into my office. He’s heading to the bars. Never mind that it’s a Wednesday night; that’s just Matthew. A few short weeks ago, that was me too.

He looks at me for the longest time, saying nothing. Then he sits on the edge of my desk and says, “Dude, just f*cking do it already.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my fingers never pausing over the keyboard.

“Have you looked at yourself lately? You need to just walk over there and get it done.”

And now he’s annoying me. “Matthew, what the hell are you trying to say?”

But all he comes back with is, “You ever see War of the Roses? Is that how you want to end up?”

“I have work to do. I don’t have time for this right now.”

He throws his hands up. “Fine. I tried. When we find you two in the lobby under the fallen chandelier, I’ll tell your mother I frigging tried.”

I stop typing. “What the f*ck do you mean?”

“I mean you and Kate. It’s obvious you have a thing for her.”

I glance over at her office when he says her name. She doesn’t look up. “Yeah, I do have ‘a thing’ for her. An extreme dislike of her. We can’t stand each other. She’s a pill. I wouldn’t f*ck her with a ten-foot dildo.”

Okay, that’s not true. I’d so f*ck her. But I wouldn’t like it.

Yeah—you’re right. That’s not true either.

Matthew sits in the chair across from my desk. I can feel him staring at me again. Then he sighs. And says, like it’s supposed to be some awe-inspiring revelation, “Sally Jansen.”

I look at him blankly.

Who?

“Sally Jansen,” he says again, then clarifies, “Third grade.”

The picture of a small girl with light brown pigtails and thick glasses comes to mind.

I nod. “What about her?”

“She was the first girl I ever loved.”

Wait. What?

“Didn’t you used to call her Smelly Sally?”

“Yes.” He nods solemnly. “Yes, I did. And I loved her.”

Still confused.

“Didn’t you get, like, the entire third grade to call her Smelly Sally?”

He nods again and, trying to sound sage, says, “Love makes you do some stupid shit.”

I guess so, because…

“Didn’t she have to leave early twice a week to go to a therapist because you ragged on her so much?”

He ponders this a moment. “Yes, that’s true. You know, there’s a fine line between love and hate, Drew.”

“And didn’t Sally Jansen switch schools later that year because—”

“Look, the point here, man, is that I liked the girl. Loved her. I thought she was awesome. But I couldn’t deal with those feelings. I didn’t know how to express them the right way.”

Matthew’s not usually this in touch with his feminine side.

“So you picked on her instead?” I ask.

“Sadly, yes.”

“And this has to do with Kate and me because…?”

He pauses a beat and then gives me…the look. The slight shake of his head, the grimace of sad disappointment. That look right there is worse than a mother’s guilt, I swear.

He stands, slaps me on the arms, and says, “You’re a smart guy, Andrew. You’ll figure it out.” And with that, he leaves.

Yeah, yeah, I know what Matthew was trying to say. I get it, all right. And I’m telling you—straight up—he’s crazy.

I don’t spar with Kate because I like her. I do it because her existence is screwing with the trajectory of my career. She’s a nuisance. A fly in my soup. A pain in my ass. As aching as that mother of a bee sting I got on my left cheek at summer camp when I was eleven.

Sure, she’d be a great lay. I’d ride the Kate Brooks Express any time. But it would never be anything more than a good screw. That’s all, folks.

What? Why are you looking at me like that? You don’t believe me?

Then you’re as crazy as Matthew.





Chapter 6

PRESSURE’S A FUNNY THING. It makes some people snap. Like the MIT student who decides to take out half the student body with a long-range rifle because he got a B-plus on a final. It makes some people choke. Two words: Jorge Posada. Enough said. Pressure makes some people fall. Crumble. Freeze.

I am not one of those people. I thrive on pressure. It propels me, drives me to succeed. It is my element. Like a fish in water.

I get to work the next day bright and early. Dressed to kill with my game face on.

It’s go time.

Kate and I arrive at my father’s office door at nine a.m. on the dot. I can’t help but check her out. She looks good. Confident. Excited. Apparently she reacts to stress the same way I do.