Page 6 of Man Flu

Chapter Two

Monday Afternoon—it should be Friday by now …

“HANNAH, HOLD UP, I need your signature on something,” Nick, our head sales manager shouts over to me as I have one foot outside of the office door.

“Nick, can’t this wait until tomorrow?” I need to leave now, or I won’t make it to the bus stop on time.

“It’ll really just take two-seconds. Come on.” He’s shoving the papers at me without a pen. “I need to get this in to the vendor by five.”

“Well, why did you wait until just now then?” I push his hand back and move toward the elevator.

“It’s two forty-five! The day isn’t exactly over.” For me it is. I work from home from three-thirty to five, and I’ve been doing so since the beginning of the school year.

“Thank you for that reminder, but I’m going to be late to pick up my daughter, and by the looks of it, you don’t even have a pen on you right now. Oh—look, the elevator door just opened.”

“You don’t have a pen anywhere in that massive purse of yours?” Nick asks, looking down at my “mom-bag.”

“I’ve got a pen,” a voice chimes from around the corner.

Logan jogs over to the elevator and hands me his pen. While I should be thankful for his considerate gesture, I was happier not signing the paper. Nick knows when I leave. He just likes to make it known that it’s disruptive to his schedule.

Nick hands the paper back to me and puts his foot against the elevator door to hold it open.

I press the paper against the wall and sign the damn thing before shoving it back into Nick’s chest. “Now, please move,” I tell him. As he’s grinning at me with a shit-eating smile, I hand Logan’s pen back to him. “Thanks, Logan. I appreciate it.”

“You’re a doll,” Nick says with what he thinks is a charming smile. Little does he know, his smile only makes me want to punch him more. He’s one of the pink wall painters, a real guy’s guy who believes women don’t have a place in the corporate world. Also, I was promoted ahead of him, which makes sense since I have five years on him here, but it annoys him. He and his counterpart, Taylor, are thorns in my side, oh, and golf buddies with Rick, of course—just a side effect of one of our company holiday parties a couple of years back when our spouses were invited. I should have known better than to bring Rick.

Logan slips into the elevator just as it’s closing, and I’m suddenly barricaded in a life-size box with the scent of cologne I can nearly taste. It’s like spicy rum and a sweet mango, mixed with a hint of sage. God, he smells good.

“Are you making a run for it already?” I ask him. I would be if I had the chance.

He gives me a quick chuckle and focuses on the blinking numbers above the door. “Nah, Human Resources wants to see me. I guess there’s some transitional paperwork from the temp agency I need to fill out.”

“Those agencies really like to make things challenging for us,” I tell him, watching the same numbers slowly tick down toward the lobby.

“Where are you off to?” he asks. I suppose I should have told him I leave early three days a week. I obviously have this boss thing down, like a boss.

“I completely forgot to tell you, but I leave early and work from home in the later part of the afternoon.”

“Ah, are you moonlighting?” That’s not very professional to ask a boss. I wonder if moonlighting has a different meaning than the one I’m thinking. I think he’s asking if I’m working a second job. Not that it matters.

“No, I have to pick up my daughter at the bus stop,” I respond with a grim smile, knowing I just made myself look about fifty years older to this attractive man-temp.

“Oh, sweet!” He’s more enthusiastic than I would have imagined, although I still know this attraction is only one-sided; therefore, it wouldn’t matter if I had one kid or four. He probably has his choice of arm candy. “What’s her name?”

How long is this damn elevator ride? I hit the lobby button again, but the door opens on the third floor, welcoming no one onto the elevator. I swear there is some asshole running floor to floor, chasing elevators all day, ghosting buttons just so we have to stop at every other floor to find no one waiting to get on. “Cora. She’s five.” Maybe that makes me sound a little younger than fifty.

“That sounds like fun,” he says, glancing over at me, though I only notice through my peripheral vision because I’m too busy staring at blinking numbers to avoid his good looks that will surely be burned into my head for the rest of the day.

“She’s definitely a barrel of monkeys and keeps me on my toes, but I love her.” More mom talk, how cute. “Do you have any kids?” Of course, he doesn’t have kids. He’s the picture of single-manhood, plus he doesn’t have a ring on his finger. Not that I noticed, but—well, he went to press the button just as I did and—okay, I noticed. However, I’m not wearing a ring either, yet I have a daughter. I should stop assuming.

“Unfortunately, no.” Unfortunately? What single guy says that? Wait, no, what single guy who looks like him says that? He can’t be real.

“Well, kids are worth the wait.” Saying that makes me consider the thought of what my life would be like without Cora. If I had waited, I would have been left with nothing and alone after Rick’s dick move, so I’m glad I got something out of that marriage, even if she is a bit of a challenge for one person.

The door finally opens after the world’s longest elevator ride, and Logan presses his palm into the door, waving his other hand for me to walk out first. “Have a good night, Hannah,” he says.

“You too,” I reply breathlessly, as I jog toward the doors in my click-clacking heels.