Knocking Boots - Willow Winters Page 0,9

either state, she laughs a little too loud and right now I’m just not in the mood. I’m still processing everything from my doctor’s visit. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of always saying yes. She’s not mean spirited, she’s not a bad person. She’s just… A LOT to take in. And since Ann is on leave for three months, I’ll admit I’m a tad bit lonely.

“Sure,” I answer, trying not to look at my desk, at the red blinking light on the phone that means I have messages. “That sounds good.” I close my eyes as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about saying no.

“Mac's?” she asks, as if we would go anywhere else. I’m not the only one who lusts after Charlie. Diane flirts with him big time, counting down the days till he’s in her bed.

“Sure,” I say, breathing a small sigh of relief. At least it’s Mac’s.

“'Kay! See you at five thirty, then.” Her eyes travel down my body. “I hope you brought a change of clothes. I’m planning on the two of us getting handsy with some hotties tonight,” her smile dims as she rolls her eyes and adds beneath her breath, “not going to a friggin' funeral.”

Boundaries, Diane. My inner voice is snappy with a comeback but I just smile. I will wear whatever the heck I want. Diane’s embarrassment for me will just have to deal with it.

With that, she steps back and disappears behind the wall of her cubicle.

I blow out a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time Diane has called dibs on a guy I liked, slept with one of them. Diane’s a little competitive… in everything. Work’s like that, too; she likes to have the biggest and best clients under her purview in sales, often promising customers off-the-wall things and then dropping the whole stack of work in someone else’s lap. She did it to me when I first started… I learned quick to tell her my own workload was full.

Wheeling my way back to my desk I send up yet another prayer for more women to be hired here or even men, so long as they’re actually social and then glance at my cell phone, which is face down on my desk to keep me from getting distracted. But right now, I need the distraction. The second I click it on I see a message from Jason on Tinder. I open the app and make a face as I scan the message.

Hey there — you look beautiful. Are you free tonight?

A tingle runs down my spine as I read it and look at the guy’s pictures. Oh yeah… there is definitely a reason I liked his profile. He’s blond and handsome in the photos, and his profile says he’s looking for a serious commitment.

I hesitate for only a moment, then type a message in return.

Thank you! And I am free, actually. What were you thinking? Double checking it to make sure there are no obvious signs that I haven’t dated in practically forever, I send it.

Sitting a little straighter in my chair I think: maybe tonight won’t be a disaster after all. Back to work I go. Time to be as much of a super woman as I can be in the final hours.

I have to return a dozen calls. Only one of them gets to me. Criticism is something I can take. I don’t mind it. But when a client treats me like crap, it gets to me. I wish it didn’t, but it gets to me. Sometimes this job is stressful and it’s 100% the clients who lead me down one path, tweaking a design a million ways, and then wanting to trash it. They do it again and again, while deadlines slip by and they don’t seem to have any grasp on what they actually want. I constantly interact with customers who want four more mock-ups than the three I've initially provided, as per their contract with L. J. Scott & Co. I’ll make them a dozen if they need it. If that’s what it takes to ignite a spark, I will do it all day long. But don’t have me do a dozen, choose one to tweak a million times, then another, then another and waste weeks of work not deciding a damn thing and wanting to start from scratch.

Tapping my nails on the desk I take in steadying breaths and pretend like Anthony from Bike It