Page 61 of Not Safe for Work

Decades. Suddenly, I feel like an escaped prisoner surrounded by snarling police dogs.

The first exercise is to find your “match.” Everyone has a square of paper attached to their backs, and we wander the room seeking our other half. One woman has the words peanut butter taped to her shirt, while another has jelly on the other side of the room. Someone else has oil, and then I notice water pass me by.

Once we find our pairs, we’re supposed to converse using open-ended questions and find three nice things to say about the person.

This is absolute torture.

Three executive members, including Diane Hart and David Gallagher, sit on the edge of the room, observing us. I catch Rafe watching his father with eyes like knife points.

“Am I wet?” a voice asks.

“Excuse me?” A petite white woman with blond hair stands in front of me with an expectant gaze. I think her name is Natalie.

“Am I wet?” She twists so her back is towards me and points over her shoulder.

“Oh,” I say. The piece of paper taped to her shirt says Juliet.

“Um, that depends.”

“What does that mean?”

I squeeze my lips together, caught up in my immature joke. A nearby snort alerts me to Rafe listening to our conversation.

“Just what I said.” I open my hands in a helpless gesture. “When you find your other half, you probably are.”

Natalie narrows her eyes and storms off without another word. I look over to where Rafe is talking to someone, and our gazes meet in mutual amusement.

I continue my way through the room.

“Am I food?” I ask. Sort of.

I turn to someone else. “Do I go well with food?” Yes.

“Am I spicy?” A little.

“Am I white?” No.

“Am I black?” Yes.

“Am I pepper?” Yes.

Feeling proud of myself, I begin searching for my soulmate, salt.

I pass a Homer, a Tweedledee, and a Mac. I catch sight of Rafe also searching through the crowd. He ducks around someone, and then we come face-to-face.

“Turn around,” I say.

“You turn around.”

I cross my arms. “Fine.” I twist around and look over my shoulder, noticing that his eyes dip below the region of my back. “You’re salt, aren’t you?”

He bends at the waist. “At your service, my spicy companion. Though I really think I should have been pepper because I’m just so hot.”

I snort. He isn’t wrong. “I’m amazed your ego hasn’t sunk the island of Maui into the sea.”

He grins, not the least bit offended by my comment. “Okay, lay it on me, Malik. Three nice things about me.” He holds up his hands. “But try to limit yourself to only three. I don’t want anyone getting jealous when you can’t stop. We already know you think I smell nice.”

My nose flares at the reminder of what I mumbled in a half-coherent daze the other night. My cheeks flush, and I cross my arms, trying to ignore his smirk. “Excuse me, but you go first. Three nice things about me.”