and they ended up in screaming matches about their month-end budget. His parents could never top mine on the humiliation scale, though. My parents had everyone else beat. Effortlessly.
He exhaled a sad sigh. “They just, really have strong ideas on how life should play out. And nine times out of ten, it’s not what I want.”
Part of me wanted to hug him in consolation, the other half wanted to slap him into taking action. As they say in the sexist world I lived in, Man up, bro. Also, I knew quite well now, hugging and/or slapping would be an HR violation. “I think you need to think about whether you should fight harder for what you want.”
He nodded. “You make it look so easy.”
I coughed out a bitter laugh. Yeah, so easy.
“I’m serious. You fight for what you think is right, no matter what. It’s amazing.” He cracked a smile.
“Well, nine times out of ten, it doesn’t work in my favor,” I scoffed. “Failure ain’t pretty.”
“You bounce back, though.”
“Right. And by that do you mean I don’t take a hint and keep trying, or I’m successful at recuperating from failure?”
He looked me in the eyes. “You don’t give up. And your life is what you made of it.”
“Well, I’m not the type of person who gets things handed to them on a silver platter.” I swept my arm and flicked my hand toward him. “I don’t usually make friends with guys like you, no offense.”
He cocked his head. “You think we’re all that different?”
Hahahahaha. Is this guy for real? I leaned forward on my elbows. “Look, I worked hard to get my job, all by myself. None of this silver spoon shit. I don’t have any family in high places.” I fell back into my booth seat. “That’s why I didn’t want your help before. I didn’t want to be associated with you because people would think I was getting special treatment just by knowing you.” A beat passed. “No offense,” I added with a wince.
“I don’t understand why you care so much about what other people think,” he said, thoughtfully drawing out every word. “It shouldn’t matter.”
I shot forward. “I feel a lot of pressure at work. If I’m too tough on the team when they mess up, they call me a bossy bitch. When I go easy on them, they take advantage of me. Working late means I have no life, even though guys here do the same thing and no one makes fun of them. Can’t people just treat me the same as everyone else? Well, the answer seems to be no.”
Taking a sip of wine, I continued. “In my old job, I was way more confident . . . and valued . . . and appreciated. They knew I worked hard and I proved myself over time. Here, I feel second-guessed all the time.”
Nolan sighed on my behalf. “You’re great at your job and the company needs you. I think you should demand a raise. Your game has such visibility, and whether you like it or not, so do you. I bet they’d do it.”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind to ask for a raise. It was true: the studio needed me. I was a hard worker and the only female producer at the company since Maggie left. “I like your idea. I’m going to Sheryl Sandberg the shit out of this and ask for a raise.”
He grinned and rolled up the label of his second beer into a thin tube and put it on the table. He shifted in his seat and our knees touched briefly, sending a jolt of tingling warmth through my body. I hoped it would happen again.
When our waiter came by, I handed her the gift card and my credit card tucked underneath it in case we went over the limit.
My phone buzzed and I glanced at the screen with eyes bleary from drunkenness.
Calendar reminder. Call with China. Thirty minutes.
I looked up to find Nolan trying to get a hot sauce stain off his shirt cuff with spit and water, his thick, wavy hair falling forward. He looked up, his eyes crinkling but his mouth frowning a little.
I joked, “Don’t worry, you have hundreds of shirts just like that to replace this one.” Ones that fit his body perfectly.
He waggled his eyebrows. “Ohhhh, so you notice what I wear?” Lowering his head, he peered at me through his dark eyelashes. “You know, I actually bought more of them because you said