wall prove it. So what the hell am I doing stalking Abbott and why the hell can I not figure out how to spell her goddamn name?
My long fingers hover over the keyboard of my computer, suspended and at a total loss. They can’t type without a command, and I have no fucking clue how Abbott spells her name.
It’s not like this little Google sesh will amount to anything. It’s not like I want anything from her. Besides, my prissy little neighbor seems more like the relationship type, and we all know I’ll never be part of a couple.
Not any time soon, anyway.
Sure, I’d like kids someday. But like, when I’m forty.
Not the fucking point, Bennett.
Get back to work.
There is a clock mounted on the wall in my office, and its second hand ticking is the only sound. There’s no sound of my fingers typing, nor of my mechanical pencil being dragged along a piece of paper.
Just the ticking of the clock, one second at a time.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
My index finger hits the A key. Then the B. O.
T.
Enter.
How the fuck is Margolis spelled?
M-A-R-G-O-A-L-E-S.
Enter.
Nothing pops up. I try again, this time with a new letter combination.
Nothing.
Fuck.
Dammit.
Why am I wasting my time with this? Why can’t I spell?
I hit my intercom. “Taylor?”
“Yes, boss?”
Cringing, I lean forward so he can hear me. “I need you to find the spelling of a name for me.”
The sound of him shuffling for paper. “Is this the name of a building or the name of a place?”
“Neither.”
“Is this the name of an architect?”
“Why does it suddenly sound like we’re playing a game of Guess Who or Twenty Questions and you’re trying to win something?”
Taylor huffs into the intercom, lowering his voice. “Look, it’s barely noon, I can’t eat carbs, and I am an intern for an architectural firm. I want to design buildings, but I’m stuck answering the phones up front. I have to amuse myself any way I can.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was pushing his bangs aside and throwing his head back, à la Cher.
Pure diva.
“So. Who am I searching?” He’s already clicking away on his computer, no doubt pulling up LinkedIn.
“Calm down.” Why is everything an event with this guy? Don’t they teach these kids in college how to behave less excitably in a professional work environment? “I don’t need you to do the searching for me, I just need to know how to spell a name.”
His enthusiasm tapers, the professionalism returning to his voice. “What’s the name?”
“First name Abbott, last name Margolis.”
If one could hear a set of eyebrows rise into a hairline, I’d be hearing it now. “Alright. Hold on.”
“Thanks.”
The line goes dead. Minutes pass until I’m impatiently swiveling in my desk chair, abandoning all the precious work that earned me my promotion. For what?
To creep on some chick I’m technically not allowed to chase. Even if I’d met her before I created the Bastard Bachelor Society, I doubt I’d have pursued her.
Yet here I fucking am.
I stare at the intercom system, wondering where the hell Taylor is with the information I need. I can’t sit here all damn day staring at the damn clock; I have actual work to do, and if any one of the partners walks in here, I’m in some serious—
“Got it!” Taylor breezes into my office, a yellow sticky note stuck to two fingers. Slaps it in the center of my desk.
“Jesus Christ!” He could have just given me a stroke.
“Your frown lines are going to give you wrinkles.” His lips are pursed, eyes boring holes into my forehead.
“I think I can live with that.” I pluck up the small square of paper. “Are you sure this is right?”
“Yes. It wasn’t hard to find.” Taylor leans against the corner of my desk, pencil eraser caught between his front teeth. “Is she a new client?”
I hesitate. “No?”
“Is she a personal project?”
“No!”
“Do you want her to be?”
“Christ. No. She’s my neighbor.”
“Oh, the plot thickens…” He leans closer, poking my mouse with the tip of his finger, powering up the monitor that had gone black. “Seems super un-neighborly to stalk your neighbor.”
“It’s not stalking. It’s… I want to make sure she’s not…” I pause, for lack of adjectives. “That she’s not…” When I glance up into his smug face, my head shakes. “Stop making that face.”
“What face?” He pulls it again.
“That face—the superior one like you know everything.”
“Hey, I know nothing. All I did was get you the information you asked for. Because it’s my job.”
My