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He smiles his dazzling smile, the one Carly showed me in pictures, pleased with his minion. “Excellent call.”
The women rattle off some corporate jargon. It’s clear that they just really want him to see they’re doing a good job. Everybody loves Henry, magical CEO of the world.
I fix on the projector cord, neatly wound up at the side of the cart, trying not to feel him so keenly.
Latrisha, my furniture maker friend, once said that living, growing trees extend beyond the actual physical space they take up. Standing next to Henry, I think that it’s true of people, too.
It’s not just the body heat of him; his shining power seems to take over the little space. Maybe that’s what won him that hot bachelor award, that the space around him seems to crackle with power. Even the elevator is all about Henry.
I should inch away, but the giant cart is taking up ninety percent of the space. And anyway, he’d assume it was because of him. Like I’m overwhelmed with him or something.
It’s in the CEO job description if the CEO says it is. I make the rules.
So arrogant.
Around the twenty-fifth floor I’m wondering if it’s a smell thing—he has this vague masculine scent with manly notes of cinnamon and something musky. I breathe it in, letting it fill my nooks and crannies.
Maybe that’s what’s affecting me. Maybe he’s wearing some pheromone concoction. A zillion dollars an ounce, made from the tears of mighty lions.
He’s watching the numbers, so I turn my head slightly, in service of my scientific inquiry, breathing him in, telling myself he won’t notice. It’s cinnamon and musk and something oceany. Deep mysterious ocean with huge surges of waves.
I catch one of the boys studying me. “Are you smelling him?” the boy asks. “You were smelling him!”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You turned your face to him and your nostrils went in and out. That means you were smelling him.”
I smile like I think he’s cute and then I give the rest of the women a baffled look.
Everyone gets out. The door slides shut.
Roller coaster belly flip.
Henry pushes off the wall with the lazy grace of a large predator. He shifts so that he’s leaning sideways, eyes like sea glass, gaze glued to my lips. He lowers his voice. “You were smelling me?”
I grip the bar. “Why would I be interested in smelling you?”
“I can think of a lot of reasons you’d be interested in smelling me.” He gets that amused smile I hate so much. He seems to think it’s funny.
My skin heats. “Name one.”
“Hmm.” His eyes drop to my neck. “I’m going to go with lust.”
“Oh my god, you are so full of yourself.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Seriously? Do you automatically assume every woman wants you?”
He watches me, curious.
“Seriously. You think everyone lives to scrape at your feet, scrambling for crumbs of your attention and approval? Trying to smell you? And if a girl is truly lucky, maybe you’ll pick her?”
He tilts his head. Waits a beat.
“Well?” I demand.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you waiting for an answer? I thought that was a rhetorical question.”
