Page 45 of Best Served Hot

I arrived at work the next morning—early, so early—with a squint and a feeling like somebody had smacked me over the head with a good-quality cast iron.

“This never happened in college,” I muttered as I dragged myself into the lobby of Mr. Decker’s office building. Even through my vintage cat-eye sunglasses, the marble floors gleamed so brightly they made my eyeballs ache. “What I wouldn’t give for my twenty-two-year-old body. Not the brain, but definitely the body.”

I pressed my palms together and prayed in the elevator to every god who’d ever existed, then breathed a long stream of thank-yous once I entered the office and found it blessedly empty. The cup of coffee I brewed up was much stronger than usual. Double strength so that I’d at least be reasonably functional by the time Mr. Decker got in.

Though really, nothing made me feel more functional than slipping my phone back into my hand. Maybe I was actually an addict. I could worry about that later. For now, I immediately clicked into my account, made sure no major trolls had set up shop overnight (just one minor one, who I blocked immediately). Good. Then over into my texts. My mom had texted me; from the lack of response by now, the police might be showing up at the office any moment to make sure I was still alive. I texted her back to assure her I wasn’t dead.

No other non-work-related messages, but I did have a bunch of missed calls. All from Bennett. I frowned thoughtfully at the screen. That was weird. Maybe he’d been so overcome by the meal at West that he had to rhapsodize about it right then and there? Or maybe his building management was charging him for the oven and he wanted to collect my half of the bill? That would suck.

Or was it about our kiss? Had he panicked?

I swallowed hard. It was kind of early to call him back, and also, that would have involved talking on the phone, so I turned to email. Hey there—saw all your missed calls. What’s going on?

I then had to get into all the emails I’d missed yesterday afternoon and evening, and then Mr. Decker showed up, and I had to get him his coffee and brief him on the calls he had coming up today, so it was a while before I realized Bennett hadn’t responded to me. Which was kind of weird, since he always got back to me so quickly. But he easily could’ve been having a busy day at work, or maybe . . .

Could he have been calling me over and over because something was wrong?

Sweat broke out on the back of my neck as I connected Mr. Decker to his noon conference call. I couldn’t stop the images running through my mind: Bennett blearily stepping into the path of a speeding cab while hungover. Bennett slipping on clumsy feet and falling down a flight of stairs. Bennett reaching for his phone with a bloody, broken hand and calling me.

Bennett not injured, not dying, but realizing that he’d made a huge mistake kissing me. That he’d been terribly unprofessional and wanted to make sure I knew it right away.

I took a deep breath. I was actually going to make a phone call on my personal phone. A big day. I picked up my phone and hit the button to return his call.

It went straight to voice mail, which was anticlimactic.

I didn’t bother leaving one, instead clicking back over to my email. Hey, not to pester, but just wanted to make sure you were okay! Please let me know. Ugh, I sounded so needy, but it couldn’t be helped. I gritted my teeth and clicked send.

The response came immediately. I’m fine.

Two words. With a period and everything. I waited a few more minutes, in case maybe he was typing something more and had accidentally hit send too soon, but no. Nothing. If I followed up with that, though, I’d seem even needier than before. Pushier.

And then I realized that I didn’t care. I blinked, surprised at my own daring. I was quite liking this new give-no-fucks version of myself. So I sent back, Sorry if I’m being paranoid or something, but you don’t sound fine? Is it about what happened yesterday? When we kissed? I took a deep breath. Because you don’t have to worry about it. We can just pretend it didn’t happen. I grimaced as soon as the message left my inbox. Alice would shake her head, tell me I should never start an email to a guy with “sorry” unless I’d truly done something wrong.

Oh well. Too late now.

He wrote back with, Yes.

Wow. Rude. It was like he’d actually reached out and cut me; pain flashed across my abdomen. But Mr. Decker’s conference call was ending, and then I had to run down and grab him lunch—turkey sandwich with provolone cheese and pickles, hold the mustard, salt and vinegar chips on the side but only if they’re kettle-cooked—so it was a little bit before I could get back to Bennett. Which was good, because it kept me from writing back something charged and confused like, What the fuck, you passive-aggressive jerk?

So I sent back, Can you elaborate, please? I thought we were being professional, and this isn’t very professional.

Another email popped up as soon as that one went out, but it wasn’t Bennett psychically being aware of what I was going to send before I sent it. It was Emerson Leigh, an automated reminder for her party that was happening in—ugh, seriously? How had it snuck up on me so fast?—only a few days. She’d added on a personalized message. I decided on yellow for staff! So wear your finest yellow outfit.

Naturally. I looked terrible in yellow.

“Julie?” Mr. Decker called from his office. “Come here for a second.”

But I hesitated, because just then, an email from Bennett popped up. Long enough where I couldn’t read the whole thing in the preview. I’d have to click on it. “Julie?” Mr. Decker called again.

I made a split-second decision. Picked up the office phone. “Good afternoon, Mr. Decker’s office!” I said loudly and chirpily into the dial tone. That would buy me a minute or two, so I clicked on the email.

You were a no-show at West last night. I called you over and over to see if you were going to make our reservation, but you never answered your phone. I understand that you want to keep things professional after what happened yesterday. That’s entirely fine, and I agree with you that we should just pretend our slip of judgment didn’t happen. But skipping our reservation due to our unprofessional personal matters is decidedly NOT professional. You could have at least told me you weren’t going to show.

Best regards,

Bennett

I sucked in a breath. Somehow the most painful part of that email was the sign-off. I’d been relegated from a friend back to a business acquaintance. A laugh almost bubbled up. Imagine me thinking that only a couple weeks ago.