This Changes Everything by Jennifer Ashley Page 0,16

body I want to lick all over. Again. I need a full-length poster of him in my cubicle so I can gaze at him whenever I wish.

Nothing like that would be allowed. Not in this sterile office. We get one or two photos of family and that’s it. Everything personal is discouraged.

My boss, Mr. Beale, is a tall, thin guy with eyes like steel ball bearings. Not one to inspire confidence. He doesn’t much like women, but he has to deal with us, because there are a lot of us in the marketing and sales departments. He watched me in severe disapproval this morning while I made my presentation.

It didn’t go well. Didn’t I understand the product? Mr. Beale snapped at me in front of the whole department. Did I have any imagination at all, and could I come up with one single decent campaign?

Not today, sir. I have a heartache.

Will I ever see Zach again? I live way south in Chandler, almost to Sun Lakes, and his family’s main office is somewhere around Seventh Street and Bethany Home, about thirty miles away through dense traffic. My chances of running into him casually are nil.

I could call him. His business, McLaughlin Renovations, is prominently listed in the phone books that still arrive in my driveway, and it’s on their website. Which I don’t have up on my computer at all. That wouldn’t be allowed.

It’s a decent website technically. Easy to navigate, fast—I hear that Ben McLaughlin is in charge of it. But it lacks pizazz. The marketer in me wants to redesign it with better colors, catchier photos, maybe a nice pic of the brothers and their dad and mom. People like a locally owned business with a family you can trust. Faceless corporations have become repellent.

I hear Mr. Beale’s footsteps, and I quickly minimize the site on my computer. There’s a ripple of consternation that spreads out as he walks down the maze, like he’s a gator in a Florida swamp.

And about as cold. “Warren,” he snarls at me as he halts outside my cubicle. “I need those sales materials redone before you’re out of here tonight. I’m not allowed to keep you from your lunch hour but consider taking your work to the lunchroom with you.”

“Okay.” Nothing much else I can say.

Mr. Beale curls his lip and stomps away. I feel the relief from other cubicles as he goes. The gator isn’t after them today.

Usually my job isn’t bad. I like my team and co-workers, the pay is decent, and so are the benefits. I tell myself Gator-man will have to retire one day, and then we’ll have a party. For us.

As I gather up my tablet computer and handouts on the new product, my phone buzzes.

I check it quickly, telling myself it might be something important from my mom. A call or text from Zach? No, that won’t happen.

So why do I drop everything to snatch up the phone?

It’s an email, and not from Zach or my mom. I open it in curiosity, and my eyes widen as I read it. I sit down slowly, still reading, and then I go over it twice more to make sure I’m not misunderstanding.

I hit reply and type with shaking fingers. I hesitate a few seconds with my thumb over the Send icon. Then I take a deep breath and tap it.

If this works out, it will change everything.

Chapter Six

Zach

“So you and Abby hooked up?” Austin asks me in the office Monday morning.

I choke on my coffee. I cough and cough, setting my cup down on the empty receptionist’s desk. Friday had been Sandra, our receptionist’s, last day.

Austin stands in front of me with his coffee, waiting in curiosity. He isn’t condemning me. He just wants to know.

Ben, who had come out of his IT dungeon in time to hear the question, makes the zipping motion over his mouth. I didn’t tell him, he was saying.

I didn’t think he had. Ben is honest.

“What are you talking about?” I manage in reply.

Austin rolls his eyes. “Come on. The two of you doing the dirty dancing, then ignoring everyone to talk together, then disappearing after the reception. Conclusion—Zach and Abby hooked up. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I say tightly. “Don’t want to talk about it. None of your business.”

Austin chortles. “It was good, I can tell. If it had been horrible, you wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. Wallowing in disappointment.”

“Disappointment about what?” says a woman’s voice.

The new speaker has us