Chapter 30: Chapter Thirty

RAE

“Rae, we were ~so~ excited to hear you could return to Quincy,” Taylor fake-gushes as I settle into my cubicle.

I fake-smile. “Glad to be back.”

“We’re starting a series called ‘Fridays with the Execs’ that we’ll need you to get started on immediately.

“Every Friday, we’re posting photos of an executive with a blurb about their weekend plans and what they like to do outside of the office,” she says.

“Obviously, there are eight executives, and we only have you and Shawn for two more weeks—” She fake-pouts “—but we’re going to queue up the posts. Our followers don’t need to know if we’re fibbing about our plans.”

We all fake-laugh.

“Here.” She drops a sheet of paper onto my desk. “This is your schedule. Today, you’re going to take headshots and candid photos of the executives while they work.

“It’s similar to your first assignment, but we’re going for a certain ~mood~ with these. Fun, lighthearted. I’m sure you can figure it out. What do you think?”

“I like it,” I lie.

“What about photos of them looking relaxed, like wearing a loosened tie or pretending that they’re leaving the office for the night?” Shawn suggests.

“Love that,” Taylor squeals, batting her eyelashes at him. Turning to me with a devious smirk, she adds, “Your first assignment is in ten minutes. Better get ready for some time with Michael!”

Shawn and I lock eyes when she flounces down the row of cubicles. “Is he still, uh, smitten?” he asks, grimacing.

“Something like that,” I mutter.

He snatches the paper off my desk. My stomach plummets when his eyes bulge. “You’ve got thirty minutes with everyone. Michael first, then…”

“What’s the order?” I croak.

“Michael, Dylan, Logan, Howard, Taylor, Serena, Walter, Nicki. Four hours, but you get a lunch break between Serena and Walter, so that’s nice.”

No chance I’ll have an appetite. “Can’t wait,” I grumble.

Shawn salutes me. “Godspeed, soldier.”

I’m definitely going to need divine intervention if I’m going to get through this day. I return his salute and walk toward the offices that line the perimeter of the fifteenth floor.

Michael’s door is closed. Usually, executives’ assistants sit at desks outside their offices, but Michael’s isn’t here. The admin typing away in front of Walter Kirkpatrick’s door smiles sympathetically.

Clearly, I need to work on my fake smile. My discomfort must be evident through my forcefully curved lips. A wave of self-hatred curls around my chest. There’s nothing I hate more than being the object of pity.

Except today, maybe. I really fucking hate today.

“You can knock, dear,” she says kindly.

“Thanks,” I mumble. ~Deep breath in, deep breath out~.

I need more deep breaths, but I look like a weirdo about to start meditating in the middle of the office, so I force my arm through the air that feels like quicksand and smack my knuckles against his door three times.

“Come in.”

The last time I heard that voice, it was slut-shaming me. Fuck Michael and his deep voice.

I tilt my chin toward the ceiling and stride into his office. It’s as messy as his apartment. Stray papers litter his desk. A pencil holder is overturned, but he hasn’t bothered to pick the pens and pencils up off the floor.

I hate him. I hate, hate, hate, hate him.

“So, Rae.” He smiles like the Cheshire Cat. “What are we doing this morning?”

I clear my throat. “I’m going to take some photos of y-you working at your desk. Then, we’ll take some casual shots.”

“Don’t be nervous. We’re adults. We can be professional.” He winks.

~I hope we can keep things professional at the office. ~

I bite my lip to halt the whimper bubbling up my throat. “Great.”

I forgot what a terrible subject Michael is. He does the weird pen-biting thing, spins in his chair, pretends to talk on his desk phone, and smashes his fingers into the keyboard like he’s a hacker in a low-budget film.

After ten agonizing minutes, I work up the courage to ask him to remove his suit jacket and loosen his tie.

Michael loves that idea. “Miss me already, Rae?”

I hug my camera to my chest. “It’s for a series—” ~Deep breath in, deep breath out~ “—about executives and what they do outside of the office.”

“I don’t need to tell ~you~ what I get up to outside of the office.” He winks while he slowly removes his jacket, almost as if he’s trying to do a strip tease.

If he didn’t scare the shit out of me, and if I weren’t a ball of anxiety, I would laugh. Four days ago, he was berating me in front of my—okay, our, but still—apartment building.

Now he’s trying to act all sexy? He’s delusional. It’s absurd.

I finally get a decent shot of him staring out the window at 9:27, just in time to visit Dylan, another person I’d prefer not to be locked in an office with.

“Thanks for your time,” I force out.

“My pleasure.” Michael winks. “I’m willing to give us another shot, by the way.”

Fuck this. Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve an answer. I carefully power down the camera and stride toward the exit, but Michael is faster. He leans against the closed door, hip blocking the handle.

“I said, I’m willing to give us another shot.”

“I have a 9:30 appointment. Excuse me.” He doesn’t move. “Excuse me,” I repeat.

“I want you, Rae,” he murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I’m not interested,” I snap. Well, I try to snap. I sound like a pleading five-year-old, not exactly achieving the sass I was hoping for.

“I can change your mind. Come to my apartment tonight. I’ll make it up to you.”

I want to vomit. “No, thank you. Excuse me.”

“Rae, you’re breaking my heart,” he whines.

“Let me OUT,” I roar.

I don’t think he expected me to yell. I mean, ~I~ didn’t expect me to yell. Michael jumps back, face flushed, and I storm into the hallway.

Heads pop over the cubicle barriers like meerkats peeking out of their cute little tunnels in that Animal Planet reality show. The kind assistant who told me to knock on Michael’s door shoots me a concerned look.

I return a fake smile, turn my head both ways, realize I’m frozen in place and don’t know where Dylan’s office is, and whisper, “Where is Dylan? I mean, where is his office?”

“Two doors down,” she replies, smiling in a poor attempt to hide the shocked expression on her face.

I guess I’m not the only one who’s terrible at fake smiles here.

Of course, Dylan’s door is shut too. ~Rude~. I don’t want to spend a Friday with any of these execs.

Except Logan, but…

“Can I help you?” barks Dylan’s assistant.

“I have a 9:30 appointment with Dylan,” I explain, proud of myself for not stammering a single time.

“It’s 9:32,” he snaps.

“I’m running late because Michael wouldn’t let me leave his office,” I snap right back. This time, I sound snappy. ~Go Rae~?

His eyes widen. My eyebrows raise. I’m challenging him. I’m losing my cool, and it’s 9:32 in the morning.

“I’ll see if he’s ready,” the assistant says, and he slips into Dylan’s office. An excruciatingly painful minute later—sixty seconds under the gaze of nosy meerkats is a long-ass time—he returns and tells me to go inside.

Dylan’s spotless office is the opposite of Michael’s. I think he scared off every speck of dust, which is kind of funny, because his tufts of gray hair kind of look like dust collecting on his head.

~Yikes~ . That was mean, but Dylan’s mean, so fuck it. I’m snappy today.

“Hi, Dylan. I’m Rae. I’m here to take some pictures.”

He narrows his normally bulging eyes. “Wasn’t someone else doing that?”

“The contract was updated Friday.” It’s technically true. Better than telling him I was fired then un-fired.

“Got it. I assume you’ll just lurk around and watch me work?”

“Pretty much,” I fake-laugh.

Dylan’s an asshole, but he’s easier to photograph than Michael because he prefers to ignore me and do his job.

After snapping more candid shots than I’ll ever need, I ask if he would mind pretending like he’s leaving the office on a Friday afternoon. Dylan does mind, thank you very much, so I’m back in the hallway by 9:53.

I hide in the bathroom until 9:59.

“Hi, Rae,” Logan says softly as I enter his office through the open door. He’s barely looking up from a stack of papers on his desk.

A week ago, I was ecstatic because I thought I found my person, a man who saw me for who I am and wanted me for it. Today, he can’t even stand the sight of me.

“Hi,” I mumble.

“We can’t use a headshot from last time?”

“Taylor wanted new photos,” I explain.

When his eyes hit mine, my heart stops. Pure sadness is etched into his face, contorting his features. His perfect, teal eyes are watery and just a tad bloodshot. Has he been crying?

Certainly not over me, but over his dad, maybe? No, his eyes aren’t puffy or teary. They’re exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in a month.

Just Friday morning, I asked how he slept, and he said well, and then he pulled me closer and kissed me and—

“I hope you took a class on making people look less like shit in your BFA,” he mutters.

“You don’t look—” I stop because I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe when I look into his weary eyes, when I see the pain radiating from inside him.

I want to hold him close, to pull the sadness away, but all I can do is hide behind my camera and snap photos of the man I still care about, the man I was falling in love with, even though I’m not enough for him.

“Thanks,” he sighs. “Should I pose?”

“No. Just go about your normal work, please.”

Yup. I just instructed a CEO to do his day job. Luckily, this CEO is too nice to trunk me out of his office. He just moves his focus to the monitor that stretches across half his desk.

He brushes stray locks of caramel hair aside as he leans forward, peering at the screen, biting his lip in concentration.

I grip the back of the chair where we first made—no, where we first fucked. That was all I was to him. A fuck. A distraction fuck and a therapist. A therapist with benefits.

I cough to clear the lump from my throat. Before it returns, I force the request out of my mouth. “The… The next part is taking pictures of…of…looking like you’re leaving.”

“What?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Sorry. The next—”

His door swings open, and in comes Taylor. She flashes her too-white teeth—okay, they’re very nice and I shouldn’t shame her dentist—at Logan, then me, and then she squeals that she has an idea.

“I was thinking, we should show the friendship between executives. Rae, take some pictures of Logan and me.”

“Great idea,” I choke out.

Taylor leans over Logan’s desk, chatting about nonsense (probably important business topics) that I can’t hear.

She says something that makes him laugh, and it doesn’t even sound too forced. I hate that I’ll have to upload these later. Uploading means reliving.

“Pretend like we’re leaving, Logan!” Taylor sings, pawing at his tie.

He bats her hand away, probably out of compassion for me, and follows her to the door.

They laugh and converse and make for perfect subjects, and I capture moments of perfection that I’ll never know myself. Because all I can do is observe life’s beauty. I’ll never be part of it myself.

I guess I should be grateful for last week. For six days, I entered the world of a perfect person, and I pretended that I belonged.