Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,7
while promoting the company within the community. All for a good cause,” he says.
He reiterates that he will be in charge of social media, while I will be in charge of writing media releases and pitches. I dry swallow another “um, what?” All that registers in my brain is extra work on top of my day-to-day copywriting duties.
Lynn beams at us, her smile bright enough to power an entire city during a blackout. “Well, I’m certainly impressed at the initiative the two of you are showing. Seeing you come together like this for a good cause is so inspiring. I can’t wait to hear what other ideas you’ll come up with after you’ve had time to meet about this project, to really strategize one-on-one.”
Lynn continues in full-on excitement mode, suggesting that Tate and I meet weekly and update her periodically to ensure this special project is a success. My throat dries up. Work with Tate one-on-one? Meet with him every week? Hell, no. It’s already impossible for us to exist in separate offices across the hall from each other. I have to get out of this.
I whip my head to Tate. “As great as this idea is, I don’t know how much I’ll be able to contribute. It’s your idea, after all, and you just sprung it on me three minutes ago.”
Tate frowns.
“Oh, Emmie. Don’t sell yourself short!” Lynn says. “Nuts & Bolts’ website content has vastly improved over the past couple of years because of you. I know you’ll be able to apply those stellar skills to the charity homebuilding project.” She gestures to Tate, calling him a social media rock star. He raises an eyebrow when she looks back at me. “This project will be dynamite. I’m sure of it!”
She gazes at us tenderly, beaming with immeasurable hope and excitement. I stutter through a few more “ums,” fighting the urge to scream.
After giving us an encouraging squeeze on the shoulders, she claps her hands in delight. “Wonderful! Just wonderful, you two! This idea is so very touching. You know, if you produce some outstanding results with this project, I think I could get you both a week of paid time off each. Maybe even two!”
When I’m back at my office, I plop down in my chair, stunned. I now have to squeeze in bicker sessions with Tate in addition to my regular work during the week. Great.
“That was a weak showing in there.”
I stop typing to see Tate hovering at my open doorway. “What?”
“Look, I know you don’t want to do this extra project, but it’s for a good cause,” he says. “Quit whining and suck it up.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Maybe you should have consulted with me before announcing your grand plan to Lynn.”
He shakes his head at me. “Like you would have said yes.”
My silence is a reluctant agreement. I would have absolutely shot it down.
“How will we even get this project off the ground? We have a hard enough time sitting across the hall from each other.”
“Ah yes, here we go with the theatrics. Give it a rest, Emmie.”
“Do you know how long it takes to build a house from the ground up? About a year. That means we’ll have to work together—one-on-one—for the next twelve months.”
He stares at me with a neutral expression, as if he’s suddenly forgotten our volatile work history.
“This has disaster written all over it.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.”
He pushes off my doorframe and runs a hand roughly through his blond waves before looking at me. I glare at him. He glares back. We are beyond ridiculous.
“Fine,” I huff. “Let me know how you feel after we’ve both gone hoarse from yelling at each other.”
He rolls his eyes. “Would you prefer if we collaborated over the phone? Or we could do all of our meetings via Gchat, not a single word muttered out loud the whole time. We’d still be four feet from each other, but we wouldn’t technically be inhabiting the same space. Would that meet your standards of conduct in the workplace, Ms. Echavarre?”
“Don’t even go there. Maybe I wouldn’t be so hesitant to work with you if you showcased a smidgen of professionalism, instead of sarcastic comments and snide remarks.”
I catch him clenching his jaw before I look away and grab the first object that comes into view. Distracting myself by thumbing through a multi-tool catalog doesn’t work. I’m too wound up to come up with anything coherent to write at the moment.
“Quit being