The Difference Between Us Page 6

  Maybe a long lost aunt would die and I would inherit a huge sum of money making me independently wealthy.

  I dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. Quitting now would set me back light years. I hustled my ass off to get this account, putting in hours and hours with local skating rinks and putt-putt golf. Finally, my hard work was going to pay off with a national campaign and a big, fat commission. I wouldn’t screw this up, not even to get away from Junior.

  Maybe he was creepy and touchy and crass, but as long as he kept his hands—and legs, face, and all other body parts—to himself, I could put up with him until the end of the project. Black Soul would do more good for my career than Henry could ever do bad. And STS was the lead media company to work for in this area.

  I fell into my desk chair and threw my notebook down on my keyboard. A chill settled on the back of my neck, forcing a shiver down my spine.

  You can do this, I told myself. He’s just a flirt. It’s not you, specifically. It’s how he is with every girl.

  I believed that was true. It didn’t make me feel any less dirty.

  Chapter Five

  To: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  From: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  Date: February 23, 2017 16:13:29 EST

  Subject: Final Details

  Molly,

  Meg is asking for the spice racks you mentioned. Are you able to drop them by Lilou this afternoon? I can send someone to pick them up if it’s too much of a hassle. I am also wondering what time you will be coming to set up tomorrow. I want to make sure someone is available to let you in.

  Ezra.

  P.S. It’s going to be in the fifties tomorrow. You’ll want to wear your bikini to the party, I’m sure.

  I glared at Ezra’s latest email with my mouse hovering over the delete button. I had heard that successful people were often eccentric weirdos beneath all of their glamor and money. That had to be the reason Ezra was obsessed with the weather.

  And my outerwear.

  Emily rolled into the aisle separating our desks. “Is it the Little Tucker again?”

  “Ha!” Tearing my eyes from Ezra’s unexpected email, I turned to my friend. “No, not this time. But give him five minutes, I’m sure he’ll chime in any second.”

  Since our meeting Tuesday morning, Henry Tucker had been a constant thorn in my side. There was micromanaging. And then there was Junior’s super-mega-micro-managing that made me want to stab him with my stapler. He was either emailing me at all hours of the night and day or calling me during those same hours. And when I was at work, he had taken to sneaking up on me whenever I was alone—in the breakroom, outside the restroom, in the parking garage. I swore he wore slippers to work since I never heard him coming.

  He was so in my business that I never actually had time to devote to my projects. He wanted to know every single, minute detail of what I was working on and then he wanted me to explain the how and why of each so he could be sure it was worth my effort.

  And the entire time he was in my business, he couldn’t seem to remember my name. I was starting to wonder if dementia ran in his family. First Mother Tucker never called me by my name, and now his son seemed only capable of referring to me in a series of awful pet names. Darling. Sweets. Babe. Pretty girl. Honey. And the one that made me feel especially stabby my favorite—sweet cheeks.

  I shuddered in disgust just thinking about it. When I realized his degrading terms of endearment weren’t going to end, I’d thought about going straight to Tucker Senior. Surely this was harassment of some kind? But then I’d heard him call Catherine Dawes doll, and she hadn’t done anything more than ignore him. If she could suck it up, so could I.

  Besides, we’d only just begun the Black Soul account. I didn’t want to make things tense with Henry when I’d have to work with him for months.

  Yes, his pet names were obnoxious. And outdated. And beyond tacky. But, they weren’t hurting me in a physical or emotional sense.

  They were just annoying.

  So, I put up with him, reminding him of my real name whenever I got the chance.

  “So if it’s not HT, why are you glaring at your computer?” Emily asked.

  I raised my eyebrows, smoothing out the scowl I hadn’t realized I’d been flashing. “It’s that engagement party I’m throwing,” I told her. “I’m being forced to work with my friend’s fiancé’s friend and he’s difficult.”

  “The chef?”

  “The owner,” I clarified. “Ezra. He’s a know-it-all. And he’s apparently detail-oriented because he wants me to sign off on every little thing. There’s only so much I can agree to before I’m just like, dude, whatever napkins you think are best, just go with those.” I smiled at her so she could see I was partly joking.

  She laughed. “Well, he didn’t get where he is today by skipping over the details.”

  I puffed out a short breath. “You’re probably right about that.” Glancing at the clock again I contemplated skipping out of work early so I could run home and grab the spice racks. If I left now I wouldn’t have to deal with traffic on the way to Lilou.

  There were still a few things I wanted to pick up before tomorrow night, and I didn’t want to fight bumper-to-bumper traffic as I hopped around town.

  Emily scooted closer and dropped her voice so our nosey coworkers couldn’t hear. “Hey, a few of us are heading to happy hour after work. Are you in?”

  I watched my mouse click reply and shook my head at my own weakness. “I wish,” I mumbled. “This account is going to give me a drinking problem.” She shot me a sympathetic look. “But I can’t,” I went on. “I have to deal with last minute party details. Maybe next week?”

  Emily rolled her chair back behind her desk. “I can’t believe everything you’re doing for this party.”

  I shrugged, feeling shy. “Vera deserves this,” I told her simply. “I’m happy to organize. Besides, I’m not really doing a whole lot. Wyatt and Ezra seem to have everything covered. I’m just showing up.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Emily decided.

  I rolled my eyes at the computer. “You don’t even know. Vera and I go way back. All the way back. I wouldn’t be who I am today without her.”

  “Ah, she’s one of those friends.”

  I smiled at a framed picture of us on my desk. It was one of my favorites, taken when we were both in college—before Derrek. We were at her dad’s house, goofing around in the kitchen. She was holding a whisk and I was holding a paintbrush. We had been making cupcakes for Vann and the grand opening of Cycle Life. Vera had the brilliant idea to try to make them into little bicycles. She’d made perfect cupcakes and enlisted me to paint the frosting. By the end of the day we were covered in flour and sugar, and sick from eating so much batter and laughing too hard. Her dad had snapped the picture. She had powdered sugar on her cheek and I had a stripe of black frosting down my nose.

  It was only seven years ago, but it felt like a lifetime. So much had happened since then.

  “We raised each other,” I told Emily. “It’s weird that she’s getting married.”

  Not hearing the catch in my voice or noticing the wateriness of my eyes, Emily said, “So what you’re saying is you’d like me to set you up with Adam’s friend?”

  I shot her a look. “Ugh. No. That is not at all what I’m saying. That is the last kind of complication I need right now.” I bit my lip to hide my grimace. Because was it really? I acted busy and overwhelmed, but what did I really have going on right now? I was maybe facing an early mid-life crisis and secretly googling good apartment cats. I had started to worry about the amount of Diet Coke I drank and whether it was too early to start using an anti-aging serum. But other than that, Vera’s wedding was the most exciting thing I had going on currently. And it wasn’t even my thing.

  How pathetic was that?

  Emily’s phone rang, diverting her attention long enough for me to respond to Ezra’s email.

  To: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com<
br />
  From: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  Date: February 23, 2017 16:27:33 EST

  Subject: Final Destination

  Ezra,

  I’ll swing by my apartment and grab the spice racks after work. I can drop them off at Lilou in an hour? I only have four of them. Wyatt was planning to let me in tomorrow. Is that okay?

  MM.

  Also, bikini it is! I’m changing the theme to tropical. Is it too late to cancel the peonies? We could do orchids instead. And leis. We’ll definitely need some tiki torches. Wyatt should roast a pig! How do you feel about a parrot or two? Three? You’re pure genius, Baptiste. Pure genius.

  “Do you have the graphics for the new logo?”

  I jumped, letting out a startled squeak. Henry Tucker hovered over my shoulder, his face too close to mine. I rolled back in my chair, forcing it over a random cord that acted like a speed bump in my hurry to get away from his coffee breath and invasion of my space.

  He laughed at my expense. “Did I scare you?”

  You always scare me sat on the tip of my tongue, but I wrestled it back. “I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”

  His smile turned into a leer. “The graphics?” he pressed again. “Am I going to see them before the end of the day?”

  I nodded. “I was just about to send them over. I have a few finishing touches and then I’ll upload them to our shared file.”

  Henry usually emailed everything directly to Ethan or me. He said he liked personalized interactions and it was easier for him to keep track of our individual progress. I refused to communicate through email with him. After Tuesday, I’d asked him to move to our shared file with Ethan.

  It was silly. And way over the top since we were talking about email. But I felt safer with Ethan involved. Henry didn’t use pet names in there.

  “See that you do, doll face,” Henry said. “Will you be around later if I have notes on them?”

  Something uneasy slid through me making my stomach clench. It left a trail of slime in its wake. It was a legitimate question. Only it reeked of fishing. I was suddenly grateful for Ezra’s email. “Actually, tonight I have a thing. Sorry. And tomorrow I’m only here in the morning. But save your notes in the shared file. I can work on it over the weekend.”

  Henry’s smile turned thin and forced. “I should make you come in on Saturday to make up for all the time you’re missing, yeah? This is an important account.”

  I shifted in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest and rolled back further. “We haven’t even met with the client yet.”

  He barked out a laugh. “I’m just kidding, honey. Enjoy your weekend. We’ll hit it hard again on Monday.”

  I tried to smile, but it wobbled and fell flat. “Sounds good.”

  He winked at me. “But I want those graphics before you leave today. Can you handle that?”

  Nodding confidently if for no other reason than to just get him out of here, I said, “Absolutely. Seriously, they just need finishing touches.”

  He straightened, pointed a finger gun at me and said, “You’re a gem, Molly.”

  I breathed out at the use of my actual name. It was refreshing to hear it after a week of honeys and doll faces and every other sickly-sweet moniker used only on females.

  And I just wanted to make a note that I was not the kind of feminist that saw a man and ripped off her bra so she could burn it in effigy. I was more the laid back, equality means equal kind of twenty-first century girl. Hell yes, there should be equal pay. But I also acknowledged that lots of women chose not to enter the workplace at all because they’d rather raise a family. Good for them. We lived in a society where both kinds of women were celebrated and cherished and supported. And it was beautiful.

  However, could we all just take a second to acknowledge the kind of backlash I would get if the next time Henry Tucker asked me to do something, I winked at him and declared, “You got it, champ.” Or “Bucko.” Or maybe, possibly, affectionately, “Dickhead.”

  I glanced at Tucker Senior’s door and imagined him calling security to escort me out of the building for picking on his number one son.

  My computer dinged and another email from Ezra popped up.

  To: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  From ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  Date: February 23, 2017 16:49:44 EST

  Subject: You’re hilarious…

  If you even think about bringing a bird into Lilou, so help me God, Maverick…

  I found myself smiling at the computer screen. I pictured his eyebrows furrowed with fear, his mouth pressed into a firm frown. I imagined his long, elegant fingers tapping out a furious reply.

  I might not like Ezra Baptiste as a human, but I seriously liked messing with him.

  Dismissing the idea of sending another return email, I got to work on the graphics I promised Henry. I waited to send them until I had all of my things packed up for the day. I put my purse on my shoulder, sent the file, shut down my computer, and then bolted from the office without even saying goodbye to Emily.

  I didn’t want to risk running into Henry again. I was officially off the clock.

  Swinging by my apartment to grab the four centerpieces took longer than I wanted it to, but eventually I made it to Lilou and was able to balance all four of them in a precarious stack from cradled forearms to perched chin.

  The hostess hurried to open the door for me and I squeezed between her and the frame, just barely managing to hold on to the spice racks.

  “Can I help you?” the college-age girl dressed all in black asked.

  “I just need to drop these off,” I told her. “They’re for a party tomorrow night.”

  She stared at me blankly. “Is someone expecting you?”

  “Yes,” I told her while eying the host stand and wishing Ezra had given me more explicit instructions.

  “Who?” the hostess with the most-ess asked bluntly.

  “Ezra, Wyatt, most of your kitchen staff.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’ll find Mr. Baptiste,” she offered.

  “No, that’s okay—” But she was already gone. Belatedly, I realized I should have asked for the floor manager. Now I would have to deal with Ezra.

  So help me God, Maverick...

  I shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold weather.

  A manager walked over a few seconds later and asked if I was making a delivery. I explained that the hostess had gone to find Ezra. He stood next to me and waited to find out if I was telling the truth or not. Because in my wide-leg trousers and cold-shoulder sweater, I apparently looked like a dangerous criminal.

  Ezra arrived thirty seconds later, mouth already turned down, eyes already laser focused.

  “Molly,” he greeted in his usual way. “Let me get those.” He shot a glare at his floor manager and scooped up the centerpieces before I could object.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  He tilted his head toward his office. “Walk with me.”

  Not waiting for my reply, he turned around and headed back the way he came. I glanced nervously at the snooty floor manager and clueless hostess.

  Neither offered any comfort or help.

  Ezra paused just before he reached the dining area and noticed I wasn’t directly behind him. “Molly,” he clipped out.

  His terse order got my feet moving and I reluctantly followed him around the outer edges of the restaurant toward his office.

  Nerves jumped and buzzed in my stomach, my fingers tingled and I tried to build my case quickly against this man I didn’t know what to think about anymore.

  It was the way he said my name, I decided. That was how he kept getting me to do his bidding.

  I’d always disliked my name. Even as a child I had realized it sounded like a child’s name. Now as a grown-up it was the farthest thing from mature. It was on the opposite side of the spectrum from sexy and sophisticated.

  Molly.

  It sounded like a toddler’s name. Or your best friend’s
name. Or the eccentric cat lady that never left her apartment.

  No wonder I’d been friend-zoned so often. No guy could imagine themselves married to a plain, boring Molly.

  Except when Ezra said it, Molly didn’t sound boring or plain or friendly. He said my name like a command. He glided over the consonants and caressed the vowels. When Ezra said my name, I was anything but the crazy cat lady. I was bold, beautiful, and everything defiantly female.

  I responded to Ezra because he said my name how I had wanted to hear it my entire life.

  “Shut the door,” he ordered as he set the spice racks down on the center of his desk.

  “Am I in trouble?” I asked archly.

  His back was to me, but I heard him clearly when he said, “Only if you’ve brought tropical birds with you.”

  “They’re in my car. I’m telling you, it’s a world-class menagerie.” When Ezra didn’t laugh at my reference, I tried to help him out. “Aladdin? You know the Disney movie?”

  He turned around and planted his hands on his hips. “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Are you serious? It’s like a staple of my childhood. Vera and I would constantly fight over who got to be Jasmine.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t have a Disney movie kind of childhood.”

  Instantly, I regretted every word I’d spoken in the last two minutes. I wanted to snatch them out of the air and shove them back in my mouth. Instead, they buzzed around the small office like biting flies. I knew he’d had a tragic past. I knew his mom had died when he was a kid and he lived out the rest of his childhood in foster care. I knew he hadn’t known his dad until he was almost dead. But I only knew any of that because Vera had told me. So it wasn’t exactly like I could bring it all up now.

  I settled on a weak and pathetic, “Huh...”

  His gaze moved over me, noting my fitted sweater and the cutouts over my shoulders and biceps. A smile tugged at his lips but he refused to loose it. “Thank you for bringing these by. I’m sorry Meg didn’t reach out to you directly. She can be spacey.”