The meeting quieted down, and all eyes turned back towards Tasha and me.
"Rainer's comment focused on only one aspect of our app, and we need to make sure we introduce consumers to all of the amazing things GroGreen can do," Tasha said.
My hand was still on her sleeve, so I felt her go rigid when Frankie called out. "Sorry, it's already all over social media."
"Take it back," I said. I reluctantly pried my hand from Tasha's arm and turned to face Frankie. "I know you can delete a post."
"It's already gotten over five hundred hits," Frankie said. He tapped the thick packet. "That's outpacing the majority of our top posts by twenty hits per minute."
I didn't dare look back at Tasha, but I could feel her tension. Being near her was like sitting next to a generator: I could practically hear the gears churning in her head.
The CFO took control of the meeting again, and everyone turned back to the packet. I fought the urge to break Frankie's phone because it lit up and flashed every time he got a new notification. Other team members were watching their media too, and it was hard to bring the full attention of the meeting back to the review.
I sat up and leaned shoulder to shoulder with Tasha. "Don't worry. They say any press is good press, right?"
"For reality stars and celebrities, maybe," Tasha snapped. "For technology, especially apps like GroGreen, one misstep could mean a sharp decline in sales."
I looked around at all the flashing phones. "Do you really think this looks like a decline in sales?" I asked.
Tasha ignored me and turned the page, following along as another chart was explained.
I patted my suit coat in a futile search for a pen. Topher leaned forward and laid one on my shoulder. I took it and thanked him with a nod. Then I leaned forward again and scribbled 'I'm sorry' on the corner of Tasha's packet. She tried to brush it off as if it was a dirty smudge.
I put an elbow on the conference room table and whispered to her behind my hand. "Really, I am. I shouldn't have spoken without your support. I know that's not how teams work and I'm sorry."
She shoved my elbow off the table. "Stop whispering to me. I don't even know you, and I'm trying to concentrate."
Tasha was concentrating so hard she didn't see the interest our little exchanges were garnering. It didn't matter if the lower floor boys were placing bets on us; people could see there was something between us. Now, I just had to convince Tasha it was more than workplace competition and irritation. I was attracted to her, she inspired me to work, and everyone knew that opposites often forged great teams.
This little app of hers was fast becoming the best thing I had ever worked on, and I hadn't even downloaded the thing myself. If I played my cards right, this project would pay off, and no one would have to know the real reason I joined the team. Now, I was certain that I had really felt something when we danced at the holiday party. I knew because the same crackling fireworks were back in my stomach. And I still couldn't take my eyes off her.
"All right, folks, that concludes the review. I'm going to ask that everyone except junior executives and department managers leave at this time. You will hear more later when you have your separate department meetings," the CFO said.
The conference table erupted as the majority of people stood up to leave. I spun around in my chair and nodded to Topher. "That means you too. Don't worry; I'll catch you up later."
Topher was ready to argue, but Tasha cut him off. "If you have somewhere else to be, like a lunch meeting, I can just send your assistant my notes."
I saw the flash of ambition in Topher's eyes. "Ms. Nichols, I noticed your assistant is not here. If you'd like me to stay and take the notes for you, I'd be more than happy."
"Oh, no," I said. "No one's poaching my assistant. That's not very team-like."
Tasha caught the arch of my foot with her heel as she turned around. "Thank you," she said to Topher, "but I've had this handled from the beginning. I've got it from here."
She clearly expected me to get up and leave with the crowd, but I stayed put. "Are you a big gardener, Ms. Nichols?" I asked her.
Sadness flickered across her face and was gone. "My family had a large garden. One of my first chores was to weed it."
I waited for her to return the question, but Tasha swiveled back to the conference table. I kept the conversation going anyway. "The best I ever did was sprouting seeds in old soup cans. I think it was a Mother's Day project at school or something."
Tasha glanced over her shoulder. "You don't really look like the gardening type," she said.
"Are you kidding? I would love a garden." I had her attention now. "Some days it feels like all we do is send emails out into the ether, watch posts on little screens, and type documents that never get printed. Actually getting my hands dirty, growing something from seed, that would feel almost like a cure."
"For some reason, I picture you gardening in your tailored suit," Tasha said. Her smile sneaked out. "Maybe with a big floppy sunhat."
"Laugh all you want," I said, "but you can't tell me the hands-on aspect of gardening isn't the most appealing part of it. Don't you want to produce something solid? Actually grow something real?"