Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Poppy

"Where are you now?" Harper asks. I had sent her a string of angry texts, declaring she was no longer my bestie. She called right away but sounded way too chipper.

"I'm in the bathroom, hiding," I shame-whisper to her.

I awkwardly twist my body from front to back in the cramped, dimly lit stall, the cold metal of the lock pressing against my trembling fingers. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with a hint of floral air freshener hangs in the air, doing little to calm my racing heart.

"Jesus, Poppy, this isn't high school again. Get your ass out there and shake it." She giggles.

I slap my forehead, the sound echoing off the tiles. "Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, more puzzled than hurt. Harper, with her intentions—though often twisted—always aimed to protect me. I'm not upset she kept this from me; Harper would never allow harm to come my way if she could help it.

I can hear the roll of her eyes through the phone. "I only found out the other day. I know you; you would have run. You always run when something good comes your way," She recounts, the accusation in her tone as clear as if she were standing right in front of me.

"I do not."

"Do too," she exhales.

Okay, maybe she is right. When something bad happened to me, I froze. Again and again. I wish I could have run then.

The sound of cars and honking horns fills the background as I imagine her strolling down the streets of Paris, treating them as her own personal runway.

"You run because you're scared. You can't run now. You have to face it. So, your boss is your neighbor, and you happened to kiss him. Happens all the time."

"To whom?" I snap, stomping my foot like a child, only for it to land directly on a clean piece of toilet paper. Great, now it's stuck to my shoe. I perform an awkward foot-tapping dance to shake it off. Just then, I hear someone enter the restroom. Great, now I'm going to look like the insecure lady hiding in the stall.

"To multiple women," Harper replies, "just trust me."

"Trusting you gets me into bad situations," I whisper. I flush the toilet, so it looks like I was actually using it.

"But I always get you out of them. Remember when we snuck into the boys' locker room and found Carter Peters stuffing his underwear with socks." She giggles, "There was no way he was that large."

"And we almost got caught by Coach Jackson." I remind her.

"‘Almost' is the key word," she protests. I can hear the smile in her voice. "Just trust me. This is exactly what you need: a little danger, lots of sexual tension."

"He's my boss," I hiss.

The toilet next to me flushes. Glancing in the mirror, horror strikes me—my cheeks are so red, it looks like I've used an entire bottle of liquid blush on my face. Just call me Bozo the Clown.

I groan and close my eyes. I keep a small tube of concealer in my bag just for cases like this, but I'll need to use the whole tube to cover these red patches.

"Are you still in the bathroom? Poppy, the office is going to think you have IBS. Get out there. Stake a claim or find a new man. Have fun and live. Remember, I'm doing this all for you, so when we are old but still fabulous in a nursing home, we'll have things to laugh about. Really, you should be thanking me."

"You're unbelievable and no help at all. I'm hanging up now."

I end the call, her laughter echoing through the speaker. She texts me right away.

***

I skip lunch. If I put food in my stomach, I worry it might reappear on Julian's shirt. When I'm nervous, I get nauseous. The mere aroma of the cafeteria's offerings sends a queasy shiver down my spine.

Instead of a meal, I clutch a vanilla latte, its warmth seeping into my trembling hands. The rich, sweet scent of vanilla battles against the roiling unease in my belly. The bitter tang of the extra espresso shot stings my tongue with each sip, a harsh reminder of my frayed nerves.

A wave of light-headedness washes over me as I realize, too late, that caffeine on an empty stomach is a grievous mistake.

"Nervous?" the woman in the elevator asks, her eyes trailing my shaking finger that just pressed level 10.

"First-day jitters," I confess, not mentioning the part where I accidentally kissed my boss, ended up living next door to him, and somehow segued into discussing STDs, pumpkin pussies, and a buffet of other cringe-worthy topics. You know, just typical neighborly chit-chat.

"It only goes uphill from here. I'm Jasmine," she says, extending her hand.

"I'm Poppy," I reply as I shake her hand.

"Nice to meet you. Working at a weapons company as a female is like being a vegan at a barbecue. Not easy, but," she taps her temple, "most of the challenges are all up here." She winks. "We're our own worst critics. I work with all men. I'm the lone hen in the fox house. But," she leans closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "most of the engineers were so flustered by the sight of a woman that I couldn't stop snorting with laughter all week. It was like they saw a unicorn. Now, I'm just one of the guys, albeit one with better hair."

I can't help but grin. "Thanks. I needed that." Not that it solved my issues, but it helps to know that I'm not the only woman who overthinks everything.

The elevator dings and halts on her floor. "Catch you later, Poppy." She flashes a smile that's one part Miss Universe, two parts girl-next-door, then strides out on floor three, leaving me to ponder my next move in the sitcom that is apparently my life.

I shift from foot to foot until the elevator dings. I pause before stepping out. How do I approach this with Julian? Do I just walk into his office and discuss our non-relationship?

We really need to get his work schedule sorted out, too.

Ugh. This is why work and play don't mix well.

"Hi!" A young guy sitting at the reception desk beams. That's how bougie level ten is; the CEO and his secretary have their own reception desk.

He stands. "I'm Levi," he extends his hand, and I shake it.

"Hi, I'm Poppy, Mr. Sterling's new secretary," I say as of now.

"I'm so excited to meet you," Levi beams with a boyish grin.

He's tall, skinny, and looks young, maybe twenty at the oldest.

"I need to go over my paperwork with you. My job is part of my school internship. I'm studying hospitality, and we have to complete a semester-long internship with a company," he grins, pushing back his unruly, chestnut-brown hair that falls over his forehead in a charmingly disheveled way. "And it's up to you to grade me. My professor requires an updated email and a small report every four weeks. Debbie started doing it, but since she's leaving, it's now your responsibility." He looks worried, his smile stretching wider in an attempt to mask his concern.

"That's no problem. I used to work reception as well," I tell him, hoping it helps him relax.

"Really? Where?" His brows perk up, and I see some stress leave his shoulders.

"At CypherTech," I say, feeling a pang in my heart as I mention my parents' company in North Carolina.

"There you are," Debbie shouts as she barrels into the room, holding her candy jar. "Mr. Sterling had an emergency and had to leave, but let's tackle his schedule."

What? My stomach sinks. Is he avoiding me? Is the ‘emergency' him trying to find a replacement, or am I overthinking it?

Shouldn't I know what the emergency is as his secretary? Unless it is him avoiding me.

"Will he be coming back?" I ask as I follow her inside.

"Not today." Good thing I didn't eat because I would have vomited from nerves.

He is avoiding me.

Debbie continues, "I know it's scattered, but once you get his schedule worked out, this will all be up to you, and I know you're more than capable of getting that man in line. He should have called you to tell you, but he saw me and just laid it on me. No regard sometimes," she huffs. "He's got a meeting you both need to attend tomorrow at nine a.m., which also conflicts with his physical therapy appointment, which he can't skip." She shakes her index finger at me, like a mother schooling a child.

"Physical therapy?" I ask as I sink into my chair and open the computer.

Debbie nods, "He was injured while he was deployed. Don't mention it; it's a sore subject. Between me and you, that boy doesn't want to be here, but it's the family business. He'll fall in line; he's a Sterling, after all," she says as if I know what that means.

She unwraps a candy and pops it into her mouth. I'm starting to realize her candy is my pumpkin spice flavor. It's her comfort food.

"They had to move his PT here," she waves her hand and grabs post-it notes off her desk. I realize she has dates for future meetings written on the notes.

No wonder Julian's so disorganized; I can see that her paper notes haven't gotten to his digital calendar.

Debbie is sweet, but something tells me my life will be easier with her retirement.

"It's a Zoom meeting, so just meet him in the fitness center. That's on Level 1, just past the cafeteria. It's free to all employees. You'll have the meeting there. Sometimes, we are just designated phone holders, but other meetings are more exciting."

"That's fine." I'm just not sure if he will show up or if I will be employed tomorrow.