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“Yeah,” I downplay it. “We were up until almost four o’clock.” Hayden’s already grinning, so I stop him right there. “Talking.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously.”
His eyes widen.
“I told you, she’s different.”
Hayden whistles. “Apparently.” He crosses his arms. “So no sex,” he surmises.
I think about our first kiss. And my hand, gliding up her thigh to find she wasn’t wearing any underwear. And how wet Chari was for me . . .
“You’re doing it again.”
“Sorry.”
“If you didn’t have sex,” he says with a snicker, as if he doesn’t quite believe me, “what exactly did you do until four in the morning?”
I look out at the skyline, so dreary today. Unlike Saturday, when it was filled with promise. I know what’s missing, and it doesn’t bode well after one damn date.
“I told you. We talked.”
And we never once ran out of things to say, even though we’d already spent hours catching up over dinner.
“Now what?”
I stand. “Now we go into that meeting and probably find a new marketing firm.”
Hayden shakes his head, though he stands too.
“No, dumbass. Now what with you and Chari?”
I actually like the way that sounds. Me and Chari.Us.But it still feels like a pipe dream, like something that can’t happen, or maybe something I can’t let happen.
“Good question,” I admit. “We have a virtual date Saturday night.”
“A what?” Hayden looks at me like I’m crazy.
“I can’t take a whole weekend off again. We’re too close to our launch in Europe.”
Something that’s been two years in the making. It hasn’t taken this long because of a lack of interest—rather, there’s plenty of red tape and regulations to consider. The antidote, or the “Angel pill” as it is commonly known, threw a huge monkey wrench into the equation. Despite the fact that it only works with our brand, and if taken alone, has no more effect than a placebo, a drug was a drug. We knew from the start it wouldn’t be easy. But Angel is finally ready for its European debut.
“So you’re having a virtual date? What does that even mean?”
“It means the fifteen minutes are up and we have to go. Ready to play good cop, bad cop?”
It’s a routine we do well by now. Me, always the bad cop. Hayden, the charmer, Mr. Nice Guy. I’m used to being underestimated. When I was younger, none of my teachers ever thought I would amount to much, but I’ve proven them wrong and then some. If the marketing firm thinks Hayden and I are a college frat boy duo who stumbled upon a cool discovery without two licks of sense, well, we’ll show them otherwise.
For the moment, I force Chari to the back of my mind. Time to do business. Angel, Inc. is just getting started.
I pickup my phone for the first time in hours.
She texted, just after four o’clock.
Still on for Saturday?
Screw Saturday. I had a shit day. No lunch, or dinner. Sitting in the back of my car, I watch as the buildings whiz by. It’s after seven, and I’m starving.
