Text Me, Maybe - Jolyse Barnett Page 0,5
boy toys. You know, equal opportunity for us ladies.”
Who in the twenty-first century calls the men they date boy toys? So wrong.
Lexie blinked, the dots starting to connect in her mind. “You’re asking me to text him and set up your, uh, date?”
“Yes.”
This can’t be happening.
“Why?”
“Simple. I Googled the phrase he’d texted me, and it happened to be some obscure line from a dead writer. He intrigued me.” Ms. Swann shrugged. “I want to hook up, but don’t have the spare hours to research witty responses.” She didn’t add, that’s why I have you, but then, did she really need to? They both knew assistants at J&C were little better than gofers their first six months.
Lexie rubbed her temple. “Are you sure that’s the way to go?” Perspiration trickled down the center of her back. “I mean, wouldn’t he probably want to communicate with you rather than your assistant? It’s not that I don’t want to help. I do, it’s just that—”
“Of course, you won’t tell him you’re the one doing the texting.” Ms. Swann laughed. “He’ll never know.”
“I’m not, uh, what you’d call proficient when it comes to romantic relationships.”
Her boss shook her head, misinterpreting her reluctance. “I’m not asking you to romance the guy. You’ll use your, let’s say, literary wiles to catch his attention, then set up the date and keep him engaged until that night.” Ms. Swann tore a sheet off a small notepad and jotted something on it. “I’ll be more than happy to take things from there,” she said, handing her the paper. “You have my back, I’ll have yours.”
Lexie glanced at the four-digit PIN, and her skin crawled at the thought of playing matchmaker. But what was the alternative? Return home to live with Mom and beg for work at the local supermarket or factory? Nope. Not happening. So she stood and pasted on a smile. “I’ll do my best.”
“Don’t forget this.” Ms. Swann handed her one of the phones.
A boy toy phone. I can’t even.
HR had warned her against accepting “tasks of a personal nature,” but what would happen if she reported it? What partner wanted to work with a tattletale? She held out her hand and smiled. “No problem.”
After a silent meltdown in a ladies’ room stall, she trudged back to her cube, plopped onto her swivel chair, and stared at her pile of letters to be typed.
Then glanced at the phone in her lap.
She needed this job. There were bills to pay, and that meant she needed to follow her boss’s orders. Phone powered up, she typed in the code, and a screen devoid of apps appeared.
“Alexandra?”
She jumped and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Martin. Didn’t see you there. Good morning.”
The senior partner hovered near her desk, his hands folded over his paunch as he scowled at the phone in her lap. “Busy day ahead?” He shot a meaningful glance at her inbox.
She swallowed hard and nodded, but then stopped when she spied her Phillies souvenir in the corner, the figure’s head bouncing. One bobblehead per cube was plenty, and her Mike Schmidt collectible did the job just fine. With Martin’s imposing black suit still in her peripheral vision, and two more partners expected to arrive any moment, she powered down the phone and tossed it in her purse.
“Very well.” Mr. Martin strode away.
Lexie waited for the click of Ms. Swann’s office door behind the man before she released her breath. Okay, so she couldn’t complete her newest assignment at her desk. Didn’t need Swann’s partners thinking she was a slacker. Slapping the first letter onto her document easel, she settled in.
Three hours later, she placed the typed letters on her boss’s desk. “All typed and ready to sign.”
Ms. Swann looked up from her paperwork. “Nice. You take care of that text yet? I need you to cancel my flight to Toronto so I’ll be available Friday. He’d fit in quite nicely.”
“Figured I’d do that during my lunch hour. Need to consider my response.”
“Yes, well…” Ms. Swann reached for the stack of letters to sign. “Why don’t you take an extra half hour, then? That should give you plenty of time to compose a text.” She turned to her computer monitor. “Update me later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lexie backed out of the office, her stomach growling. Too bad she had no appetite for the task she was about to tackle.
How do I pretend to be my boss when I barely know her?
Grabbing her purse from her desk, she turned and headed