The Randy Romance Novelist(8)

Needing to talk to her, I pulled out my phone and sent her a text message.



Henry: Can’t we live on an island of our own where we don’t have to talk to douche bag co-workers but instead lie in each other’s arms . . . naked?



I moved my mouse to wake up my computer, where another picture of Rosie popped up on the screen. This one was of me and her in Central Park under a giant tree. A warmth spread through me as I took in her beautiful blue eyes staring into the camera. Seriously, the most gorgeous woman you will ever meet. One day, she will be my wife, no question about it.

My phone vibrated against the wood of my desk, letting me know my girl had texted me back.



Rosie: Freddy corner you in the kitchen again?



She was in the know about my douche bag co-worker; it was the one complaint I had about my job. If it wasn’t for Freddy, I would have the perfect career, but no one could really have that, could they?



Henry: You guessed it, love. Although, I think I might have given him a complex.



Rosie: Tell him his quads were too small? Did he miss leg day too many times?



I laughed out loud and then remembered I was having a conversation through text. I collected myself and texted her back.



Henry: Ha-ha . . . I fear for my life if I ever say something like that. No, I just asked him if he was gay.



Rosie: There is nothing wrong with gay people.



Henry: I know! But I pointed out the fact that he was overcompensating for something and suggested that maybe he might be gay. When I left, it looked like he was really thinking about it.



Rosie: That would be an unfortunate addition to the gay community if it’s true. From the stories you’ve told me, he seems like a complete putz.



I’m about to text her back when I hear my boss’s door open. Quickly stuffing my phone away in my jacket pocket, I opened my inbox and started scanning through emails, looking for important ones to answer first. Heavy footsteps sounded along the lacquered office floors, growing closer and closer to my cube.

“Anderson!” my boss called out my last name, making me cringe.

Popping my head over the wall, I answered him. “Yeah, Eric?”

“See me in my office.” Turning on his heel, he retreated back to his corner office and slammed the door shut.

Fuck, why did I feel like this wasn’t going to be a good conversation? I tried to recount everything that I’d done in the past week, scratch that, in the past month, that could possibly get me in trouble. I’d been texting Rosie more at the office, but I couldn’t imagine getting in trouble for that. I thought I was pretty sly about talking to her while at work.

I’d been doing a stellar job at work; my clients have been happy and I’ve been working incredibly well with the creative team, developing some dope ads. The only thing I could possibly think of that could get me in trouble would involve any kind of association with Freddy.

Nervous, I stood up, buttoned my suit jacket and started to walk toward the corner office. As I walked past the cube farm, Freddy stuck his head up and said, “Dead man walking.” Typical douche remark. I wouldn’t expect anything else from him.

Ignoring the wannabe Terminator, I continued my march until I got to Eric’s door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on it and waited for his signal to come in.

With a motion of his hand, I opened the door and shut it quickly, not letting anyone hear the conversation that we were about to have.

“Sit,” Eric said, pointing to a chair in front of his glass desk.

Eric’s entire office was made of glass; the only things that weren’t glass were his chairs and electronics. The amount of Windex the cleaning crew used in his room had to be astronomical. The entire office sparkled, and the only color that popped was little hints of teal from table accents; everything else was a mirror or glass. I tried not to over-analyze his decorating style, but a part of me couldn’t help but think how consumed he was with himself. Don’t get me wrong, Eric was a great boss, but no one needed that many mirrors in such a small space.

Surveying Eric, I noticed a deep crinkle between his eyes, his forehead was scrunched together, and he didn’t look happy . . . at all.

Eric was the one who hired me. I was his intern when I was in college, and once I graduated, I was hired to work for Bentley advertising, an amazing opportunity I’ve been incredibly grateful for, given the hardship for college graduates to find jobs today. From there, I’ve worked my way up the ladder to the point where I have my own clients, I get to share my own ideas, and I only have to answer to one person: Eric.

“Do you know why you’re in here?” Eric asked, searching my eyes for any knowledge I might have.

Keeping my cool, even though my nerves were wrecked, I answered, “I don’t. Am I in trouble?” Maybe I wasn’t the best at keeping my cool. In all honesty, I was one bead of sweat away from creating a slip and slide down my back for a first grade class.

Eric sat back in his chair and gripped the arms of his chairs. “I’ve built this advertising agency from the ground up. I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this company. I’ve invested my own money into this company to develop it into one of the top advertising firms in the country.”

“You’ve done a fantastic job,” I complimented, putting a giant brown mark on my nose.