“You should try harder,” I quip.
“Or I should stop fighting it.”
Pulling back, I study the guy crowding the hallway who’s keeping me from going to bed. The bags under his eyes. The hunched shoulders. The defeated pussy who was once my confident friend.
“What do you mean?” I probe.
“There’s just something about her….” His voice trails off, and I can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to piece together the enigma that is Charlie Bannon.
He’s not the only one that’s tried to figure her out, and he sure as hell won’t be the last, either. There were guys all throughout high school that wanted a night with her, but I was always able to convince them it was a terrible idea. They only wanted one thing. And Charlie was way too good for any of them. I don’t think she knows how many times I’ve had to intervene and keep her from dating assholes. I don’t really care, either. When the right guy comes along, I’ll be there to congratulate them. But until then, it’s hands-off.
“Yeah. She’s definitely one of a kind,” I admit.
“I just know that if I don’t go after her, I’ll regret it.”
“And I know that she’s not going to give you a chance. Sorry, man. But you don’t know Charlie the way I do.”
“Exactly. Which is why I want you to help me convince her to give me a chance.”
With a dry laugh, I slap him on the shoulder. “Conner, I have enough shit on my plate. I don’t have time to coach you through your relationship problems.”
“We both have enough shit on our plates, man. You’re not the only one drowning at Montague Enterprises. They do this to weed out the weak, but once you’re in, you’re in. They’re one of the top companies to work for in the US, and their turnover rate is one of the lowest.”
“You don’t need to remind me, Conner,” I grit out. “I’ve done just as much research as you.”
“Yeah. And so you know how much this internship means.”
“I do.”
“So, what would you say if I was willing to give up my spot if you helped me get Charlie?”
I scoff. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he replies, stone-cold sober.
Needing to sit down, I wander to the family room and take a seat on the couch. Conner follows and rests on the chair across from me.
There’s a silence that permeates the room as my mind digests his comment. After a few brief seconds, I clarify, “So, you’re saying that you’re willing to withdraw your resume for the final position if I help you get a date with my best friend?”
“Not just a date. I want a real shot with her.”
“I can’t make her date you, Conner.”
I’m not sure I’d want to, anyway. Sure, Conner’s a pretty good guy. I guess. He’s never been one to sleep around, and he always opens the door for the old lady across the hall. Hell, he’s a better guy than I’ll ever be. But the thought of him actually dating my best friend makes my stomach roll.
“I’m not asking you to,” he re
plies with his hands raised up in surrender. “I’m asking you to help me sweep her off her feet. I’m asking you to be a voice of reason. To help her see the real me, and that I’m not Asshat Conner Daniels.”
With a laugh, I picture Charlie cursing him with every fiber of her being. Conner’s delusional if he actually thinks she’d be into him. He’s not her type. At all.
“And what clarifies me delivering on my end of the deal? A single date? A kiss? Am I pimping out my best friend?” The sarcasm is thick in my voice, though I won’t admit that I’m actually considering this.
The thought of Charlie dating Conner is comical. She’d never go for it. Hell, she doesn’t even need me to step in this time to tell her what a terrible idea it would be. She’s already figured that one out. But the possibility of Conner withdrawing his application? Guaranteeing me a position at Montague Enterprises so that I can step in and take care of my mom?
That is appealing.
She needs me. She can’t look after herself the way Charlie can. Not for much longer, anyway. And I haven’t even received the diagnosis yet. What if an MRI is the least of my worries? What if it’s cancer? What if she has to go through chemo? I shake my head and focus on the present scenario unveiling itself right in front of me instead of the depressing what-ifs that accompany any thought that involves my mom.