AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As satisfying as it is to win the argument in my mind, back down here in reality I have to admit that there is no hope of beating Nick’s bullshit argument. Why? Because it’s bullshit. Nick doesn’t care about my age. It’s me he doesn’t like. I suppose he would like to fuck me; I could get that from the way he was looking at me. But anything more than that? A normal working relationship? Apparently it’s too much for him to handle. Just because I’m not a douchebag like him. Or maybe because I had the nerve to call him out to his face.
“Want to talk about it?” Mickey ventures. I snap back to the present and realize I was so lost in my thoughts that I was one step away from outright mouthing the argument to myself.
“No,” I say, trying to smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be bringing brunch down.”
Mickey waves me off with a crab leg. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I give her a look.
“Okay,” she relents, “I’ve had more exuberant meals. But technically this is still a work trip, and I’d rather have a sad brunch than be sitting in the office any day of the week.”
“You’ve got a point,” I admit.
“Of course I do,” she says, grinning. “Now come on. My whole job is to provide support. Lay it on me. Get it all out.”
I puff a sigh. “It is all out.”
Now it’s Mickey’s turn to give me a pointed look that says bullshit.
“Okay, am I a little annoyed that it went down like that?” I say. “Yes, of course. Would it have been easier if he just didn’t like the pitch? For sure. But I think it actually worked out for the best.”
Mickey puts on her best front of pretending like she believes me. “Yeah,” she says. “It is good. You wouldn’t want to uproot your whole life to move here anyway.”
What life? I don’t voice that dour thought though. But I do say, “No, not because of that. I mean it would have been a nightmare to work for Nick Madison. Could you even imagine? I’ll bet he’s incredibly demanding. Probably always scowling over whatever you’re working on.”
“Or screaming about things not being up to his unrealistic expectations.”
“Or breathing down your neck if you’re not moving as fast as he wants.”
“Or strutting around in those hot suits.”
I grimace, trying not to picture said “hot suits” in my crystal-clear memory.
“We’re supposed to be listing negatives!” I exclaim. I’d almost worked myself into a state of apathy about Nick’s sex appeal, but then Mickey had to rip me back to reality.
“That is a negative,” she insists. “Personally, I like the fact that Dan is old enough to be my dad. Keeps me from getting distracted.”
“It doesn’t sound like age has exactly stopped you in the past,” I tease.
“Shut up. Okay, I guess I mean I’m happy that Dan looks like a Band-Aid. No offense, Dan,” she calls over her shoulder as if he can hear us.
I laugh, squeezing my eyes shut. For all his great qualities as a boss, Dan does have the exact same pallor as a Band-Aid.
“Regardless, Nick isn’t even that hot. I’ve worked with way hotter guys in Boston,” I say.
Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Okay I know we’re not supposed to be trumpeting the guy’s attributes, but name one.”
I must be feeling a bit better because I steal the other half of Mickey’s lobster roll and stuff it in my mouth, chewing so I have a minute to avoid her question.
There have to be some hotter guys in Boston. Nelson Hardy has a frat-boy charm about him but doesn’t have the maturity. And Steven Holt looks really good in a suit, but he never shuts up about his boat. Maybe Kent Carlyle?
I mentally put the finance executive next to Nick. Carlyle is distinguished, clean-cut, a Harvard graduate with an easy smile and a Bugatti to boot. But picturing him beside Nick makes the guy shrink down to the size of a postage stamp. He just doesn’t have the gravity of presence that Nick has. I couldn’t picture a room going quiet when he enters it. And I’ve been able to sit through innumerable meetings with him without imagining what he looks like naked.
Still, I put Carlyle’s name forward, just to say something. “What about Kent?” I ask. “You know, the guy who was lead director for that credit union in the North End?”
Mickey whistles. “Good choice,” she says, but ultimately it takes her little time to start shaking her head. “Kent’s good-looking, but he also looks like he’d freak out if his latte was made with 2% instead of whole.”
“No way,” I giggle. “You know for a fact that Kent only drinks oat milk.”
