The time with my new friend energizes me for the next few days, powering me through meetings and planning, and a lunch with Freddy and Riya on Thursday afternoon.
After I return to the office, Emily buzzes and asks if I can join her in her office.
When I arrive, Heath is there.
15
HEATH
Oh.
I didn’t expect to see Emily’s niece in her office.
Sandy’s been around a bit since the day her loose lips sunk the ship of my novel, but I haven’t interacted with her. I suspect that was for both our benefits, but here she is, parked on the couch next to Emily’s desk.
She waggles a hand. “Hi, me again! Just doing some observing on . . . you know . . . stuff.”
Could she be any cagier now?
C’mon, Sandy. Tell me what you know. Spill the beans. You’ve got it in you.
It can’t be too hard to convince her to serve up details, can it? She’s got to know something about the promotion. She seems to have Emily’s ear.
I glance around, but Emily’s not here yet, so it’s just the two of us. “Good to see you again, Sandy. What sort of stuff?”
“Stuff for my psych internship. Workplace interaction and all. Human resources . . . stuff,” she says again, then waggles her fingers like she’s sprinkling magic and glitter. “See? I’m learning not to overshare. Confession: I’m an oversharer. Always have been. I meet someone and I’m like, here’s my life story.” She brings her hand to her mouth like she’s spitting up. “I just tell them everything. I have three brothers, I love Border Collies, I’m learning to quilt, my last boyfriend was a certified wanker, but I still believe in true love. That sort of thing. But . . . this time I left out a few details about the quilting and the ex,” she says, then pats herself on the back, literally. “See? I’m learning. I didn’t say everything.”
“That’s great.” It’s a shame, though, she’s changing her ways right now. “And how is school?” It seems I ought to at least try to engage her.
Sandy chats about her studies until Emily returns. My manager stops in the doorway, seeming flummoxed at first as she regards the tableau.
Her niece and me.
Talking.
Yes, I’m fucking personable, Emily. Who would have thought? Score one for the grump.
Though, I hate thinking of tallying points. I can’t stand seeing Jo as competition. I like competition, generally, but not with the woman I’m falling for.
A woman I shouldn’t be falling for.
Maybe seeing her as a competitor will help me stay the course when it comes to resistance.
Emily brings me back to the moment, gesturing from Sandy to me. “This is nice to see.”
And now I’d like to pat myself on the back. But I don’t.
Jo waltzes into the office, her laptop under her arm, and heads to the spare leather chair in front of the desk. “Hi, there,” Jo says, then turns to me. “Hello, Heath.”
“Hi, Jo,” I reply, keeping my tone professional, even though our inherent friendliness seeps through.
Jo says hi to the others. When she sits next to me—in the only free spot—she casts a secret glance my way, a demure little smile only for me.
And dammit, my heart races faster at the sight.
Is her pulse spiking too?
“All right, let’s talk about the collection,” Emily says, sitting at her desk, removing her gold-rimmed glasses, and gesturing to us. “Jo, you have the floor. Tell me the status on the lot, the marketing, and the expected attendance.”
Jo dives right in with the prelim plans, checking notes on her laptop, but Emily’s phone trills before she gets far. “Bollocks. My wife. Our dog is at the vet. Let me take this.” She swipes the screen. “One second, love.” She covers the phone. “Let’s make this a great collection. Tell Sandy your progress and she’ll update me. Must step out.”
Emily scurries out of the office, asking about the dog’s belly as she goes.
“Her pup has a special diet,” Sandy explains. “They just changed Polly to a new type of food, so they’re making sure she’s adjusting to it.”
“Of course,” Jo says warmly. “I hope she’s okay.”
“I’ll tell Emily you said so, but don’t worry about Polly. She’s a tough little Pom,” Sandy says.
“I’m sure she is,” I chime in. Because of course, I want the dog to be fine too.
Sandy shifts her gaze to Jo, then rubs her palms. “All right. This will be so fun. Just dive in, both of you.”
Jo turns to me, laughs, then goes at it. We trade off, like we’re a regular duo, updating Sandy on our fast-moving plans from marketing to client outreach.
When we’re done, Sandy smiles as wide as the Thames. “Emily is going to be so happy. She wanted me to convey how important this collection is.”
She doesn’t say it aloud, but her message is clear—our role in this collection will define our role in the company, determine if we’re VP level or not. Jo and I are both contributing to the project, but at the end of the day, there’s only one promotion.