16. REEMA

The next day, there are more bagels in the lunchroom. Whoever this generous benefactor is, they are single-handedly supplying my breakfast. When Coleman steps away from his desk, I put a non-poppyseed one by his computer so we're even.

When he comes back, he stares at it and then stares at me. I pretend I don't notice and keep typing on my computer.

There is also no noticing of how his white-collared shirt has the sleeves rolled up to showcase flawless forearms and beautifully articulated hands. The trousers—once again—are fitted, almost insufferably so. Everyone thinks so. That's why he's getting second glances and heads poke out of cubicles to watch him walk away.

When Leo gets in, I turn to him.

"That date was not a winner," I exclaim moodily.

"Why?" Leo sits down and crams a plastic wrapped bag into his desk drawer. From the corner of my eye, I see him scanning my outfit.

"It had nothing to do with what I'm wearing," I argue. "I dressed up for the date." Today's work outfit includes pants from my old wardrobe. Two years ago, they used to be the perfect length when I paired them with sexy pointy-toed heels. But when I started wearing them with scuffed sneakers, the hem of the pants hit the ground and have since worn down. I've tried fixing them with a needle and thread, but I'm not the best at that. The edges keep fraying and there's a spot on my thigh, which is a few wears away from becoming a hole. My top is a wool turtleneck that gave up and lost shape in the dryer.

Leo wisely does not refute my claims of dressing up for Chance Miller, age forty, occupation, owner of a skyscraper window washing business.

"I have a fancy dress," I insist. "For special occasions." One of the few things I keep stored and saved in its original condition.

Leo logs into his computer. "So, what happened with Chance?"

"We went on a walk."

"Scintillating. Go on."

My eyes flick across the aisle. Coleman's headphones are on. He's occupied with whatever client he's trying to sign. Good. There's always a constant drum of voices in this room, but conversations have been known to carry far. Before I collapsed in the elevator with him, he'd brought up something about my dates. Obviously he knows I'm on Finder, but I pray he's oblivious to the reasons why.

Because I lied to my family that I'm in a relationshipis next-level pathetic to most people. He can't learn that part.

Not that I have time to worry about that. Today, I've got a client needing a quote for our consulting services, but they've included so many addendum adjustments that it will take me the whole morning just to put it together.

"What happened after you walked with Chance?" asks Leo, bringing me back.

"That's the thing." I start up the quote. "When I say we walked, I mean we walked a lot. Like three hours' worth of walking!"

Which, in retrospect, I am glad about because walking is free. Dating, I've come to realize, costs money. People want activities, and in this modern age, men don't pay for all those activities. Great concept as a whole, terrible for me in my current circumstances.

"Three hours," says Leo, aghast.

"I know, I know." I'm clicking my mouse so hard, my hand cramps. If I work at double the speed with minimum bathroom breaks, I could finish the quote in two hours. "See, I thought that was a good sign. We're making great small talk, and he's asking me all these questions about myself and the wedding. I tell him that it's a funny story about how I don't have a date anymore, and all the pressures of showing up alone. And again, this man is nodding, smiling, and sympathizing with me completely."

"What a freak."

"I haven't gotten to the freaky part!"

"Did he whip his dick out?"

That deserves a long side-eye in lieu of a response.

Leo senses the look, turns to look at it, and is not appropriately sheepish. He shrugs without losing his grin.

"No, he did not," I say. "Like a gentleman, he puts his jacket around my shoulders since it was getting cold, and I kept it on even though it smelled fishy, and he walked me to the door and?—"

"Kissed you? Has it been a while? Practice with your hand, Reema."

"Let me finish!" I'm flying through client information dropdown fields. "This man had the audacity to agree to come to my sister's wedding, but then asked how much I was going to pay him!"

Leo gasps. "Did we… unknowingly match with an escort? But also, how much? I mean, if it's a reasonable amount, it's not like you've got time to explore many other options."

"It was nothing I can afford," I tell him.

A bar easily met since I can't afford anything.

My computer screen glitches, and internally I cry this primordial scream. It's my computer telling me it needs a second to think about all the data I entered. Fine, it gets thirty seconds. Forced to take a break, I spin my chair around. "What other matches do we have?"

"Even after all that, you're okay going on more dates?"

"I have to be. My mom is telling everyone that I'm bringing someone. It's become News."

Leo pulls out his cell phone. I would feel guilty about distracting him from work, if I didn't know for a fact that he welcomes any excuse to not be productive. It helps that our salaries are structured differently. Leo's job is to work on market analytics for Mr.Davies. That's not tied to any commission structure. His salary is guaranteed, unlike mine.

"Okay," says Leo, scrolling through the dating app. "I signed up for a free trial of their premium service, so we get to see more men at once. Problem is, it's a delicate balance to strike. You can't bring just anyone to your sister's wedding. What if he's unhinged? Defeats the purpose of pretending your life is going great, doesn't it?"

"Yes. No unhinged crackpots, please."

"Women are so picky these days. Now remind me again," he says, glancing at me. "What kind of person will your family be happy with?"

My computer makes a noise. The data has inputted. It's ready for my second wave of assault. Leo waves his hand in the air. "It's fine. Work and talk."

I turn my chair and start inputting again. "So… back when I was fresh as a daisy at the innocent age of twenty-seven?—"

"Prehistoric part of your life, really."

"I'm ignoring you said that." Though I can't help but snicker. "Okay, so at twenty-seven, my parents had a list of requirements they heavily recommended. Indian, educated more than me, tall, put-together, great relationship with his family, and a certain kind of last name even though we don't quote-unquote believe in the caste system back in India. Speaking Punjabi fluently was also super important, even though my own Punjabi is fairly weak. And then… my mom had this thing she kept saying to me. I don't even want a lawyer for you, Reema. I want a judge!"

"Has your mother looked up what most judges look like? They are dinosaur-level old."

"Don't worry, because by the time I turned thirty, her judge ship sailed. At that point, they wanted an Indian man who made good money and could speak Punjabi well enough to get by. So, when they met my ex, temple bells rang through our house."

"Actual temple bells?"

"No, that was a metaphor." My computer makes a noise again. This time, being a bad dominant, I ignore its pinged safe-word. You can take more. Don't be a little bitch. "Basically, everyone was overjoyed. The next few years, I was a success in their eyes. Then, wham-bam, divorce."

I'm making light of it. Much better progress than two years ago, when bringing up Harry shattered me into a sobbing mess. See, I'm fine. I've learned there is no time to cry and fall apart. Really, I'm at fault for so much of what happened there. I was such a fool. All the signs I missed… All the choices I made even after knowing better… What no one else in my life has been told…

"Anyway," I say. "Last summer when I visited my parents, you know what requirements they had for me?"

"Your mom is okay with a lowly lawyer now?"

"They said, Reema, do you have a man? Any man will do."

"He doesn't have to be Indian?"

"I kid you not, the only requirement is for this man to possess a penis. I'm fairly sure it doesn't even have to be a working penis as long as it's able to function long enough to spurt some seed inside me that can take root and bloom into a grandchild. Ideally more than once, but they can't be too picky since my eggs are now aging."

Leo coughs "Spurting? I don't think I'll finish my lunch today. Thank you for that."

Wyatt is a chef. He packs Leo the best lunch. He'll finish it.

My computer chants its safe word again. Just in time, my inbox beeps. When I see it's not a new client lead, but my sister, I'm disappointed. The total cost of her wedding is over a hundred thousand dollars, which I shudder to admit is typical for many Big Indian Weddings, but she's been asking me to print name tags and other miscellaneous wedding items to cut costs, as if that will make a dent.

Problem is, she's sent me this big file of things, and I don't have time to read what needs to be printed and what does not. So I've been chunking off and printing it all, a few pages at a time, so hopefully Mr.Davies doesn't notice. Since our client software seems to be clinging to life-support at the moment, I go ahead and blindly send a few more things to our office printer. Too late, I see I've incorrectly printed off her guest list, along with the illustrations she needs.

Pushing myself out of the chair, I stretch and swear I hear my joints creak. I should probably go get those pages before anyone else sees them.

Leo sighs. He sees me trying to get the crick out of my neck.

"You give this job too much," he chides. "After this bonus silliness is over, please take a break. I mean this as the spectacularly supportive work colleague slash best friend who loves you, but you need rest. I've never seen you so tired. Don't take work with you when you go to your sister's wedding. Rest, recover, and rejuvenate, Reema."

"I'll try," I say, blatantly knowing I'm lying. There's only a week left until the bonus is decided. My laptop will be coming along with me. I won't have access to all our programs, but I can work on some of the tasks using the ones I do have.

Leo frowns at me. Maybe I'm not as convincing as I think I am.

"I should get those print-outs," I say, "before someone sees I'm using office resources for wedding crap."

I'm about to leave when my inbox beeps again.

Maybe one quick glance?—

It's not my sister.

It's Moby Dick. A client this firm has been trying to sign since Mr.Davies first opened the office. He goes between agents, pretending to be interested in our services without ever committing to anything. No one believes anyone will sign him, but I've been entertaining his questions for the last year. It's been miserable since his response time is so damn slow, and he keeps asking the same questions about our consulting prices, but today he's… wanting a phone call? That's new. Could he be ready to commit?

I dive back into my chair. I need to catch him while he's still free, otherwise I might lose him again for weeks.

Other agents in the office might think Moby Dick is not worth their time, but you never know how much revenue a business is going to commit. Sometimes a five-minute conversation lands you everything, and sometimes a year of answering tedious questions does. And it all adds up. That's why I don't understand when my coworkers only worry about hunting big fish or aim foolishly for a whale, which is basically a unicorn for how rare they are. It's much better to bag twenty smaller fish and add them all up to juice your numbers.

Coleman and I share the same philosophy. That's what makes him so dangerous.

If I hadn't been working evenings, he'd get that bonus. The last week off for my sister's wedding would have killed my chances. But I've cheated the game to win.

For some reason, I look away from my computer and at where he sits. Forest green reflects back at me. He's watching me as if he's been listening for a while, but that's not possible. His headphones are on. He can't have heard anything, but he's blatantly watching me as if he has.

A body hiccup goes off inside me, if hiccups are warm and swoop around your belly.

Leo speaks, pulling my attention away.

He's hustled and found me three dates in a row. One of them has to work, since I only have three days until the wedding starts.

I tell Leo I'm so happy and we'll strategize more later.

After I call Moby Dick.