Page 22 of Not Safe for Work
Lan waves a hand and smirks. “Yeah, okay. Sure. I totally believe you.”
Chapter Six
After the mixer, Lan and I head to one of the resort’s many restaurants to continue our evening. We end up at the Taproom, paneled with dark wood and filled with plush velvet chairs. The menu specializes in locally made charcuterie and Prohibition-style cocktails.
After we find seats, more WMC rising stars join us, pushing tables together.
Gossip is the lifeblood of any corporation, and tonight, it receives an infusion while everyone scoops up heaping teaspoons of dirt on each executive member. Thanks to WMC’s fondness for nepotism, we’re regaled with transgressions committed at Thanksgiving dinners and family weddings delivered by silver-tongued nephews, dropping judgments like princes holding court.
I try to be interested, but the entire thing feels like a waste of my fleeting youth. I’ll get wrinkles just listening to this drivel. I wonder where Rafe ended up and try not to examine that thought too closely.
On my left sits Andy. He’s from Sacramento, and he’s kind of cute. Maybe more than just kind of, with nice grey eyes and wavy brown hair and a little more fashion sense than the average Khaki. We’ve been chatting for a while, but I’m out of practice. My vagina’s so dark and dusty it’s layered with cobwebs, but I think he’s into me.
“So, what made you choose engineering?” he asks, leaning in closer than is strictly necessary. Yeah, he’s definitely flirting, but this is typical for these events, where the ratio of straight men to women is as lopsided as the wage gap. In a field of dead grass, we become wildflowers attracting bees.
Still, he’s not entirely uninteresting, so I allow it.
Maybe Molly is right, and I need to loosen up on my strict no-work dating policy. What happened years ago has no bearing on the present. Besides, it’s just flirting, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. I just hope he has a flashlight.
Of course, he’s just asked the most boring question in the history of questions, but I answer it with good nature. “I really wanted to do something that makes a difference,” I say, earning me a curious blink. “I’d hoped to work in the environmental sector on projects that would bring clean water to people who needed it. Stuff like that.”
It’s partly the truth. In a way, I sort of fell into this. I was good at math and science in high school, and my teachers encouraged me to consider engineering.
My parents never pressured me to choose any particular career path, but I knew how happy they were when I opted for something sensible and stable with good pay and good benefits.
When my dad immigrated to the US decades ago, he struggled. He spent over a year searching for a job despite his electrical engineering degree. He met my mom a few years later after he was more settled, but those early days never left him. He did everything he could so my brother and I could have a comfortable life. That’s all both my parents ever wanted for me, and I’m trying desperately not to disappoint them.
Andy runs a finger under his collar. What I’ve just described is the very antithesis of what WMC stands for. In fact, WMC doesn’t create or protect anything. We’re simply contracted out by other corporations when they want to upgrade or build a new plant, and it makes more sense to work with us than to hire entire new design and construction teams. While WMC does have an environment division (the one I wanted to lead), it often feels like that work is only for show.
“You?” I ask.
Something nudges my arm, and a chair is shoved into the too-small space on my other side. Rafe plops onto it, his eyeteeth elongating into fangs.
“What the—”
“Hey, Tris,” he says, staking me with his Count Dracula stare before it swivels to Andy. “Hey, man.”
The air around us becomes weirdly tense, and I lean back.
“Hey?” I reply.
“Rafe,” Andy says, sitting up straighter as he attempts to match Rafe’s patented Dark Lord glare. But in comparison, Andy’s a fluffy duckling waddling behind his mother. I should probably find that sweet. “Nice to see you again.”
I frown at them both. “You know each other?” I ask.
The way they’re looking at each other suggests there’s some history here.
“We met at the team lead meeting in Spokane in the spring,” Andy says, and I press my lips together. The team lead meeting that I should have attended.
“Rafe and I work together in the Chicago office,” I say, feeling the need to explain his sudden and overbearing presence.
“That’s cool,” Andy replies, still looking at Rafe like he wants to challenge him to a duel in the middle of the bar. I think about Rafe suggesting we wrestle for the bed, and an unbidden smile comes to my face. No, that wasn’t funny. Or cute. Or charming in the slightest.
“Anyway,” I say. “Andy, you were telling me why you got into all this.” I make a pointed effort to angle myself away from Rafe, hoping he’ll take a hint and find someone else’s blood to drink.
“Yeah,” Andy says, returning his attention to me. “As I was saying…” Andy continues talking as I zone out, catching snippets that predictably include something about Lego and dismantling radios with his father.
It’s not that Andy isn’t captivating (maybe he is, I’m not sure); it’s that in my attempt to turn away from Rafe, I’m now pressed against his arm. Thanks to the inexplicable way he’s wedged himself in between me and Lan, all I can feel is a line of heat burning down the middle of my back. I hear him chatting with her while he shifts, his scent collaring me around the throat.
