Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,40

says, and I see Jerry’s eyes shoot over to mine. I’ve apparently said “no” out loud as well. I didn’t even realize I did.

Moriarty swings her chair away from Henry and toward me. “And why not?” she asks me. Her lips forming a thin line.

“It’s not . . . I,” I stammer over my words.

“Come on, Quinn. You don’t have to come up with all the good ideas, do you?” Her voice is sickly sweet, and I feel heat travel up my neck and to my cheeks.

“That’s not what I was saying. I just think an intern works better.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Um . . . well . . .” I have nothing. No defense. I just really don’t want Henry to do this. And I can tell by the look on his face that he also wants nothing to do with it.

“Okay, thank you for that, Quinn,” Moriarty says boisterously. I feel the heat on my face triple. She turns her attention back to Henry and Dwayne. “I think it’s the perfect opportunity for our viewers to get to know one of our execs, and I mean, look at you.” She gestures with a hand toward Henry, and a chuckle filters through the room as Henry’s gaze travels downward toward the table, the tips of his ears a nice shade of red. “Our viewers would just eat you up.”

Yuck. Moriarty is totally flirting with Henry. I wonder how her husband and teenage sons feel about that. Maybe they don’t care. Maybe, like the rest of the world, they turn a blind eye to all Moriarty’s evil ways.

At least Henry looks to be uncomfortable with her words.

“So, what do you say?” she asks Henry.

He scrunches his nose. “I think we should stick with the intern.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Dwayne says. “I mean, if you were up for it, Henry. If you’re not dating anyone.”

I will Henry with my eyes to look at me. I will him to stand up and say, “I am dating someone. It’s Quinn.” And then walk over to me, pull me out of my seat, and kiss me in front of everyone. Moriarty would faint, she’d be so overcome with jealousy.

“I’m not,” Henry says. He lifts his head up to Dwayne, and my heart does this cracking thing it’s never done before. It actually hurts. I mean, he wasn’t lying. I just wish it weren’t true.

“So then, maybe at least consider it,” Dwayne says.

“Uh, sure,” Henry says. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay, if that’s all we’ve got for today, then I guess we’re done here,” Dwayne says, standing up from his seat. Everyone else follows suit.

I move slowly, hoping for just a moment alone with Henry. I’m at a turtle’s pace, pretending to adjust my jacket as I fidget with the buttons. I just need a minute with him. For . . . I don’t know what. But I haven’t even shared a full sentence with him in a week. And I miss him. I miss talking to him, spending time with him. How did he make such a mark after spending less than one week with me?

I must have done something good today because karma throws me a bone: my slow tactics work, and Henry and I are the last ones to leave the conference room. I briefly wonder if Henry moved slower like I did, hoping for some time with me, but then chastise myself for being so ridiculous. It was merely me putting it out into the universe.

“How . . . are you?” I ask, wanting to take advantage of this moment that karma gave me, or that I willed to happen. Whatever it is, I’m not going to waste it.

“I’m good,” he says, his answer clipped, like he’s suffering to have to stand here and talk to me. This sends instant pangs of annoyance through me. I’m not asking for the world here, but some general kindness would do. Did nothing that happened between us mean anything to him? Does he think offering me anything else might make me think he still has feelings for me and then I’d start following him around like a lovesick puppy?

“Good,” I say back, giving him the same tone he just gave me. This suddenly feels like a waste of time. And karma. I wonder if I can get this credit back and use my good luck on something else. I’m pretty sure karma doesn’t work that way.

He lets out a breath, closing his eyes for a